#how does it feel to be this fucking stupid

[asce-of-hearts]

dilf!toji hates wearing his glasses

"You're squinting again." That's the first thing Toji hears before an overwhelming sense of dread overcomes him. He mutes the television, turning to look at you from the sofa.

"How do you know? You're like a kilometer away inside that kitchen. Is dinner ready, by the way?" He tries to play coy, and you walk over to him. Hands on your hips, a favorite of his, means he's getting scolded. Which he finds hot for no particular reason.

"Where are your glasses?" You ask, your eyes narrowing into slits as you look into his mossy green irises. And he averts his gaze, a sardonic smile on his face as he avoids the question.

"Didn't even remember I had those things. God knows where they are."

"Toji."

"Fine, fine!" He groans, like a child who refuses who clean their room. "In the room, first drawer. Where I keep my underwear."

"I'll kill you if you're lying." You hiss at him, and search for the stupid glasses case and bring it to him. The marks of its non-existent usage visible by how the glass is completely clear, transparent and pristine.

"Great. Now can you go back to—" You grab his face, almost poking his eye out as you try and place the frames over his nose bridge.

"Stay the fuck still, you menace—" You growl as you finally manage to get him to wear the things. His eyes immediately adjusting, not looking uncomfortable anymore. He swears his headache dissapeared. And now he can look at your pretty face without it being slightly blurry. You even have pores now! "There... much better. Isn't it?" You croon, and he would agree if it wasn't for his pride. Sitting over his lap, your arms wrap around his neck as his own hands hold you by the waist.

"No. They make me look—" Smooooooch. You press a kiss to his slightly pouty lips, and you can feel Toji Jr. starting to wake up under his trousers. Fucking dog. "—Make me look old." You giggle at that sentence, and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, flustered. You smell like home, which is always comforting for the troubled man.

"They make you look handsome, in my opinion." You reassure him, and he perks up almost immediately at the praise. "It's the truth. They make you look... mature. Like a silver fox, specially with those grey hairs you've been getting lately." He grins, now flattered. You take pride on seducing him so easily.

"I'll have to wear them more often, then," How easily does he change his mind when it comes to you. "This silver fox can't let you become a cougar." He purrs, and you burst out in laughter, hitting him in the chest. Finally he lets you go, not without giving a good squeeze to your ass. Staring at you fondly as you walk back to the kitchen. At least he can see you, not just a blurry figure that moves around his home.

And has that stain always been under your fridge?

EXTRA

"How do I look, Megs?" Toji asks his son as he looks at himself in the mirror. The boy doesn't even look up at him.

"Ridiculous." Megumi deadpans, and Toji feels like he's been shot.

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[tobeholyistobeempty]

G’mornin, bonnie. | john soap mactavish

You wake up from a one night stand — ready to gather your shit and run just like you always do after a night of bad decisions — but turns out, Johnny has other plans for you.

cw: 18+ mdni. smut. slight dark themes ie. stalking. john price has a kid and is a great wingman apparently. reader afab. teacher!reader. morning after a hookup. domestically menacing johnny with a permanent shit-eating grin. first time attempting to write his accent so i’m sorry in advance. piv. voyuerism!kink. rip to johnny’s neighbours. creampie.

for the absolutely lovely @spurbleu. thank you for offering me this challenge. i hope i did him justice 🤍 i’m so sorry i’m so late ilysm

You wake to something warm.

It washes over you slowly — spring streams pouring into fragmented consciousness, urging you from the depths of slumber with a gentle lull. Coaxing. Warm like summer sun internalized, flowing through your hair — hazing the room in a golden film as your eyes peel open with rapid blinks, and confusion hastily nullifies it.

You shift, becoming aware of what your body is subconsciously telling you. Warmth. All of it adding to the growing discombobulation. The lingering heat between your thighs. The cocooning comfort of sheets that aren’t yours. The odd familiarity of a room that’s too bare to be recognized. The grace of a bed that’s glaringly empty save for dark sheets wrapped around bare, aching legs.

It takes you a minute, but your memory eventually resurfaces — gasping for air at the smell of coffee and the hum of movement from the other room.

Johnny.

Hard to forget that name after you’d spent the night screaming it. Your body knows before your mind does, muscles humming with the memory of hands that held too tight, a mouth that took its time. You inhale. Coffee again. A lure. A leash. It tugs at something instinctual, something inside you domesticated — until you glance at the clock sitting on an empty nightstand and realize it’s almost 9 am.

Shit. You should have been long, long gone by now.

You exhale, cursing your constant stupidity as you drag yourself out of his bed and up to your feet — fogged vision scanning the floor, brows creasing as you realize you’re wearing nothing save for a long white shirt that surely isn’t yours — and your clothes are no where to be found.

Oh. Right.

Your clothes barely made it past the front fucking door.

Another exhale, forced from shaking lungs. You’ll have to go out there. You’ll have to face him, grab your clothes and change. It’ll be awkward, but it’s not like you haven’t been here before. Not like you haven’t been through this with past vices. It’ll be fine. It’ll be easy — you all but convince yourself. And within seconds, you’re halfway down the hall, practising your fake smile and empty thank you’s when the smell grows stronger.

Your stomach grumbles with the force of it as you step into the kitchen and —

Fuck.

Johnny stands at the stove, shirtless in grey sweats, bathed golden by the early morning light. It clings to his skin, drapes over the planes of his back, the ridges of his spine. His hair is a mess, wrecked and mussed — a souvenir from your hands as he fiddles with something in a pan, humming hypnotic under his breath.

And it’s then that you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

Because this? This is wrong. This is not how this goes. You don’t wake up like this, wrapped in the scent of coffee and breakfast, staring at a man who should’ve already been nothing more than a memory.

Your breath sticks in your throat, limbs made of cement as he turns. Catches you standing there.

And grins. “G’mornin’, bonnie.”

You blink, the exertion of it painful. You should leave.

Instead, you exhale. “You’re making breakfast.”

His lips twitch, amusement and archaism synchronized swimming in his ocean eyes. “Aye. Tha’s usually what it’s called.”

He is so at ease here, it’s unnerving. You can feel it, see it in the way he moves. Unfettered. Relaxed. It makes a knot of tension bindle between your shoulder blades — because this is familiar to him, but not to you.

Two plates. Two cups of coffee. You should leave.

“You—you don’t have to do that.”

Johnny just shrugs, turning that canvas of a back to you — red parallel lines catching under karat coated rays. Your own painting on display — you find yourself admiring it as if it wasn’t created by last nights drunken fingers.

“Ye thought I’d jus’ kick ye out?” He flips eggs in the pan. Your chest aches. “Ye were tryen t’sneak off first then?”

Your lips press into a thin line — indignant as you force your eyes to the floor. “Admittedly, that was the plan, yes.”

He tsks, shaking his head like that’s the most disappointing sentence he’s heard all week before he glances over his shoulder at you again — all beaming blue eyes and grins.

“Shame. Poor things nae used te bein taken care of, is she?”

That indignation spreads, grows a vine around your throat. Twists your tongue. “Well, I mean—I don’t—“

Johnny cuts you off with a hum. Or, more like you cut yourself off, because you have absolutely nothing to say to that and what you did offer seems to be more than enough of an answer for him.

“Ye think too much, bonnie.” Something sizzles in the pan — you watch the veins in his arms shift against whiskey skin as he lifts it off the element. “All tha’ time plotting yer escape, ye coulda’ been enjoying breakfast.”

Christ. You really should leave. You should slip back into the skin of someone who doesn’t stick around for things like this. But it’s like your feet have grown roots, burrowed beneath his floorboards. You blame it on the smell of coffee, the warmth of the kitchen. The way his fucking muscles flex as he moves.

It’s all nurture to something long rotted in your soul.

“It’s not like I was expecting breakfast.” You mutter, tugging his shirt down your thighs before crossing your arms across your chest. “Wasn’t expecting any of this, really.”

Could you be anymore fucking awkward about this?

“Tha’ right?”

You can’t see it, but you can hear the grin on his mouth. It should scare you that you are beginning to predict him — expecting something smart to come out of him next.

“Didnae expect the shag either, but ye still took it real well.”

Perhaps it should scare you more that you were right.

You clear your throat, but the heat is already rushing down your spine. Settling somewhere inconvenient. He just gives you a quick glance, lopsided leisure tilting his lips as he turns with a plate and coffee cup in hand, gesturing with his head toward the table.

“Come o’nae, I won’t bite ye.”

————————-

Turns out, Johnny MacTavish is real easy to talk to. Too easy.

Mostly because he doesn’t stop talking, but nonetheless, it whiplashes you. You came here expecting the usual routine — get in, get out, leave nothing behind but the scent of mingled sweat on strange sheets — but the one-night stand has somehow stretched into morning and now you’re sitting at his kitchen table, fork scraping against porcelain, coffee steaming — actually talking like this isn’t just borrowed time.

He tells you about Scotland. About real pubs, the kind where the floors stick to your boots and old men sing ballads in voices ruined by smoke. He talks with his hands. His shoulders. His fucking eyes — restless and full of movement, always wandering. Blue. Though that hardly cuts it — the colour of a storm sky split by lightening. Cool in the shallows and rich in the depths.

They hold contradiction well. Like they’ve seen enough of the world to be cynical but still manage to burn bright enough to keep that warmth kindling under your skin.

Perplexing.

That’s the word that sits on the tip of your tongue as you stare at him. Wondering if he was truly just another notch on your bedpost, would you still be here, trying to make sense of what you missed in the dark last night.

“So,” he says, ripping a piece of butter soaked toast in half. “Ye always bolt after?”

You pause mid-bite. Then your mouth moves dumbly. “After what?”

Johnny smirks. “After ye ride a bloke like yer life depends on it, scream his name loud enough tae wake the dead, and wake up wearen’ his shirt.”

“Jesus—“ you choke, grateful you at least swallowed your food prior to him starting that sentence, otherwise he’d be halfway to giving you the heimlich right about now. “You don’t do subtle, do you?”

“Aye.” That grin grows over the rim of his mug. “Subtlety’s a waste on a woman like ye.”

Before you can’t think better of it, you find yourself grinning back.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes flick away to catch the sunlight.

“Ye dinnae’ strike me as the half-measures type, bonnie.” Then they wander back to yours. “Means ye like a man tha’ says what he’s really thinken, tha’s all.”

That makes you pause, and you try to tell yourself you’re not blushing. It’s the warm sun at your back, or the coffee sitting thick in your belly. It’s certainly not those eyes — still on you, unashamedly, taking in whatever it is they see behind your own.

“You think you know me?” You try to make it sound as casual as possible. You know you don’t accomplish it.

“Aye.” A lazy nod. “I do.”

And that — that makes you squirm. Makes you drop your eyes to his hands as they sit against the sides of his coffee mug. Capable fingers calloused with strength, a few bruised knuckles. Your gaze drifts up to the veins on his forearm, and you stop yourself before you stare too long.

“Why?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d asked it out loud until his lips quirk like he was waiting for it.

“Wha happened te all yer self-preservation?”

You blink. Your tongue is heavy, but you make yourself use it.

“...self-preservation?”

He leans forward, arms on the table between you.

“All it took te keep ye here was a little forward hospitality. Ye got no blasted clue who I even am — yet yer still here, asken questions ye shouldnae be asken in a voice tha doesnae belong te someone looken te run.”

And you don’t know what to say to that, because admittedly it knocks everything off kilter. Leaves you wrong-footed. Lands a little too close to being right. There is safety in one-night stands and running before the sun breaks. There is safety in not learning anything about the man you share a bed with for a night if you don’t have to. You’ve been good at it. Practiced it like a bad habit.

You didn’t realize, until now, just how easy it’d been for Johnny to make you break it.

“I said I know ye,” he whispers. “Because I do m’research on who I share m’bed with.”

He leans back in his chair after that — and your eyes follow. Milliseconds stretch to seconds which stretch thin to what feels like minutes before you find some sort of wherewithal to move. You don’t want to know what he means by that, and you don’t want to look too deep to find the answers — the incrimination dunked just beneath the ocean tides in his irises.

“You are so bloody full of it.” You surprise yourself by not stuttering, staying steady as you stand. “I—I have to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Aye, I am.”

His eyes find yours again before you head for your clothes still scattered all over his living room floor. You swear to all kinds of unholy things that you feel the heat against the back of your skull as the flashes of last night flood your memory — his tongue on your cunt, your nails in his skin, his name on your lips—

“Ye’ll be back though, aye?”

You pause somewhere by the window, turning to note the morning light painting his hair a hundred different shades of gold. There’s an easy smile on his mouth, no trace of last night’s drunken humour in his expression.

“What?”

His smile stretches to something devilish, and you are so not used to the feeling it elicits. Not used to being charmed. Being disarmed.

“Y’like a man who says what he’s thinken.” He wets his lips. You can’t look away. “And what I’m thinken, bonnie, is tha this willnae be just a one time thing.”

He rises, then, and you get the unsettling, stomach-punching feeling that he knows. That he can see the words spinning up and dying on your tongue, can see the flush rising up your neck knowing it’s something he put there.

“Ye want te leave, go right ahead.” Your pulse thrums as he draws closer. “Just know tha when ye come back. I’ll be starven.”

Asinine, you tell yourself, but your heart is in your throat — that suffocating something licking up your spine and curling beneath your sternum. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Time. Work. Reality. The real world standing just beyond the exit of whatever the hell this currently is.

You decide, then, that you actually do want answers.

“You—you researched me,” you find your voice, though it doesn’t come easily. Drags itself up from the pit of your throat, scraped raw by the claws of confusion . “I don’t—”

Glass touches your back through the thin veil of his t-shirt as you take a step back, snow white fabric still lazily draping the curves you let this man get well acquainted with last night. A stranger who wasn’t all that estranged, you realize.

“Relax, lass,” his voice drops to a soothing pitch. Something suiting for the cornered animal you currently feel like you are, as he steps closer again. “I didnae run a background check on yer whole bloodline, if tha’s what’s got ye hackles up.”

You clear your throat, sun beating at your back through the glass. Suffocating.

“Then tell me. What you meant.”

Tongue over teeth, he nods, palms going up. Playful as a puppy, if the puppy was rabid.

“I jus’ know who ye are. What ye do.” A pause, glimpsing down at the way your chest is rapid firing, before flicking back up. “Know someone whose kid ye teach. Speaks real highly of ye, actually.”

There’s no amount of blinks that can make those words make sense, yet you hope 10 might do it.

A parent of one of your students is talking about you. To Johnny MacTavish.

“I’m s-sorry?” You’re stuttering, now. Goddamnit. “Who? What’d they say?”

He exhales, props an arm on the glass beside your head and crosses his ankles as his body brackets yours — watching the silence drag. Watching you ruminate in it.

“S’nothin bad, bonnie. Quite the opposite.”

You’re staring at his mouth. “Johnny, who was it?”

He makes you wait, the bastard. And then—

“Price.”

The name punches the air from your lungs. “What?”

Johnny’s smile turns smug. “Captain’s kid. Ye teach ’em, aye?”

It hits you somewhere between the grin and the way he leans in. Captain.

“Price,” you repeat softly, the name tilting sideways in your mouth. “John Price?”

He stills. Just slightly.

“Aye, Captain John Price.”

You blink once, twice, brain whirring. He’s referring to him like an official superior. Routine. That means he’s either a cop. Or detective. Or FBI. or Military—

“You work with him,” you murmur.

“Work, kill, drink. Depends on the day,” he says, that thick Glaswegian accent wrapping around the truth like it’s not heavy. Military. “Didnae put it together, did ye? All tha time I was sittin’ across from ye. Ye never asked what I did. No idea I had credentials.”

You huff, stunned. Unsure what to say. Less unsure what to feel. “Christ.”

“Oh, now yer sayin’ His name,” that smile is back. Rankles you in a way you never knew until him. “Where was tha earlier when I had ye on yer knees—“

“Johnny,” you warn. “Keep talking or I’m leaving.”

He laughs, easy, leaning in until all the air feels like it’s his.

“Didnae have te dig deep, bonnie. Prefer te do all the dirty work m’self.” Eyes narrow, at that. He just keeps going. “Capn’s kid. Jamie. Talks bout ye like yer some kinda’ fairytale. Real sweet. Price said he’s never seen the kid so bright-eyed about school.”

The name finds your ears with a soft ache chained to it. Jamie Price — broad-shouldered for a ten-year-old, barely spoke unless coaxed, drew galaxies on the backs of worksheets when he thought no one was watching.

Gentle kid. Brilliant, too.

Johnny shrugs, that easy, terrible shrug like it’s all nothing. “Price asked me if I knew ye. Ranted on about how ye treat ‘em. Said he overheard ye talken to someone about the bar ye frequent. Said ye had a backbone, a kind heart, and the sort of stare tha makes grown men straighten up like schoolboys.” Blue eyes glimpse your lips, again. “But ye ain’t ever been treated right.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’re still pressed against the glass, still unsure if you’re more flattered or frightened.

“He said that?”

The amusement falls off his face, something stern replacing it, and nods.

“There’s some things tha just stay with a man.” He shifts closer. Doesn’t touch you, though. Doesn’t need to. “He said it. Like he was tellen me not te fuck it up.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a weak exhale, like your body doesn’t trust relief just yet. He swallows, continues.

“I just cannae figure it out. Pretty thing like yerself. Real good with kids.” He breathes the last part thick, like it curls in his throat and tugs. Like it does things to him. “Bit of a wild ride, clearly. And somehow — yer alone. Settlen’ for quick fucks instead.”

You don’t answer immediately. You can’t. You just peer up at him, breathing made heavy by everything you’ve learned and everything he is.

“Choice, Johnny.” You whisper. “It’s by choice.”

“Aye. Choice.” He whispers back, other hand finding the glass beside your head, knees knocking as he leans in impossibly closer. “But all those men who let ye walk. Who didnae fight for ye, they’re fools.” He’s close enough your lips almost brush. No grin on them, now. Just gravity. “I’m no fool, love.”

It’s all hitting you at once, in the same place you’re pressed — against the cool pane of the balcony door. It was all set up. Johnny pulled the entire night from the ether thanks to a man you hardly know. Captain John Price. You’d only ever thought of him as John — the friendly, albeit quiet man who showed up to parent-teacher meetings with stories in his eyes. Said little. Watched everything. A ghost in your mind until now — until Johnny pieced it all together with soldiers determination and an easy tongue.

Sat beside you at the bar. Didn’t come on too strong. Didn’t press or sound too rehearsed. Made it real easy to believe it was all a coincidence.

How foolish you had been to not see through the performance.

But now, the shows over — there’s no final act. No audience to entertain. The masks have come off, and you hear it. The sincerity in the way he says I’m no fool. Like it’s not just about last night but about tomorrow and the one after that. Like he’s telling you he’ll fight for you and he’ll mean it. That this isn’t just a night. That he doesn’t want it to be.

And you’re still reeling from it when your hands find the heat of his chest. Curling around his neck without ceremony, pulling him in the final inch.

He’s kissing you.

Not like he earned it, but like he means it — and you’re kissing him back, hard, moaning as his teeth find your bottom lip and tug. He pulls back before you’re ready for him to, and your head slumps back against the glass. Breathing. Trying to will the ground back into place beneath you as he traces your jawline with his thumb.

“What else,” you croak out as he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and exhales. “Do you know about me?”

He hums, pressing closer, hips pinning your ass to the glass as you drag your digits down his chest, tracing scars like braille.

“Enough,” he answers, fervent fingers dragging the fabric of his shirt up your hips, torso. “Enough te drive me insane.”

You feel the moment your heart stutters — mouth parted with nothing to fill it but a gasp as your bare ass is exposed against his glass balcony door — giving neighbours and street dwellers a goddamn good view should they be glimpsing up—

“Wait. J-johnny.” He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink as you catch his wrists, pleading for reason. “Your neighbours—“

“Donnae care.” He mutters, tugging the fabric up over your head. “Let the bloody bastards watch.”

You don’t want to know what sound slips from your throat at that, but you’re sure it’s some ugly, gorgeous thing. Torn somewhere between lust and indignity as he moves — one hand bracing against the glass beside your head while the other wrestles with the waistband of his sweats, shifting until you can feel him — hot, heavy, throbbing — pressing low against your stomach.

And maybe there’s a moment where you think you should tell him you can’t do this. Something because of the neighbours or the noise or the glass sticking to your back. But his hand finds your face, eyes flooding you like atlantic as he leans in to kiss you before lifting you up, legs curling around him— teasing with false thrusts, dragging his tip slow and sinful over your clit just to swallow the noises pulled from your throat. He doesn’t need words to silence your protest but manages all the same as you’re rocking against his shaft in tandem — one hand holding his lips to yours and the other gripping his back until you’re slick and half out of your goddamn mind with need.

And if you thought he’d be gentle — well.

He doesn’t ease you down. Doesn’t waste time. Just slides into you in one heavy thrust until you’re stretched to your edges and his name is caught on a sound you don’t recognize.

“Johnny! Ohf-fuck!”

He curses, teeth grazing your jaw, hips driving forward like he’s punishing you. Or maybe himself. Probably a little of both. Regardless, there’s nothing easy or soft about this — the kind of frenzied effort that takes you apart and leaves you hoping he’ll stitch you back together. Makes you realize you needed this — the pressure, the friction, the drive deeper into your belly with every excruciating inch as you choke on the sounds he’s drawing out.

You can’t control the pleasure that pours out of you, dripping like honey over his lips as you grip the back of his neck—

“Oh—f-fu—ohgod—“ you can’t find the right words, though you’re not even trying to anymore. It’s better than a dream. Better than last night when it was all alcohol and adrenaline. This is raw. Real. And you realize, through the fog, just how easy it was to get lost in him. To let yourself. Even with nothing but the sound of his voice and the skin on his back to hold onto. “J-johnny—fuckingdeep—yes—“

He sets a frantic pace, teeth sinking into his lip like he can taste the curses you’re whispering against it.

“S’good. S’tight, mmfuck.”

Feral. Best word to describe this. Gnawing you from the inside out, leaving your thighs quivering as you fight to hold onto him, back slicking against the glass as he buries himself so deep you can barely choke out an inhale.

“M’gonna—ohmygod—“

You’re going to cum. You can feel it in the way your belly knots and your thighs tense. His smile gets lost in the crook of your neck as he grunts — not daring to slow down or give you a moment to breathe. Instead, he just slips a hand around your throat, pinning your head back to glass that’s just as humid as you.

And when his eyes finally find yours, they’re a million shades darker than they were five minutes ago. All the blue eclipsed by dark, midnight hunger as he devours like you were served to him on a silver platter.

In some metaphorical way, you know you were.

“G’on. Make a mess of me, bonnie. Know ye need it.”

You want to look away. You can’t. Not when he squeezes your throat like you’re his. Not when he rocks deep and hard and your blood is singing for more. Your pulse thumps wildly and you wonder if he’s trying to slow it with his fingers as he tightens his hold.

And so you moan, because it’s all you can do — while the words you whimper as he thrusts hard enough to make you keen don’t sound like you. They sound like someone he owns.

“Ohfuck, Johnny—yesfuckyesyes—“

It hits you like the shatter of stained glass.

Your mouth falls open, soundless at first, a broken gasp caught somewhere between your throat and tongue. Your whole body tightens, back arching off the glass as you tremble, drowning in it, orgasm dragging you under like a rip current — teeth clenched, thighs shaking, fingernails digging so hard into Johnny’s shoulders you’ll leave marks. You want to leave marks.

“Christ, lass. Tha’s it. Tha’s fucken it, baby.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. He fucks you through it, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing your high to the end of the world — like your pleasure is the only map he’s following. You’re crying out now, helpless and shaking and soaked, clenching around him so tight it borders on painful — more for him, you think — as he grunts, one hand bruised into your hip and the other braced against the glass, eyes locked to yours as you fall apart for him.

“Tha’s it, bonnie—” his voice is wrecked, sweat dripping from his brow. “Jesus Christ, s’tight—fucken’ look at ye.”

And you do.

Your head falls forward, forehead against his, eyes burning with the kind of emotion you don’t dare name as you watch him drive in and out, slick coating everything flesh. You sob a noise against his mouth, some choked half-curse, and he swallows it with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and possession as his thrusts grow sloppy — rougher, more desperate, chasing his own breaking point.

“Can I—fuck—can I cum inside ye pretty cunt?” He pants, voice hoarse against your jaw. “Tell me no. Christ, I’ll pull out, jus’ say it—”

You don’t say it.

You just grab his face, kiss him hard, and whisper; “don’t you dare.”

That’s all it takes.

He groans — a guttural, broken sound — and slams into you once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you. Hips twitching, mouth open against your neck. And for a moment, the world goes still. Nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing. The steam on the glass. The thrum of blood in your ears.

You close your eyes. Let yourself float. You don’t know what this is — but you know it wasn’t just a fuck. Not with the way he’s still holding you. Not with the way you’re already aching to let him do it all over again.

It’s a few moments before he pulls out. Another few before you find your head.

“Christ,” you breathe, rubbing your face as he fixes himself back to modesty. “I can’t believe I—”

You cut yourself off, because what’s the point. Johnny doesn’t move, just watches you with that maddening calm — sweat still cooling along his temple, chest rising and falling slow like he’s got nowhere better to be than right here. Looking down at you the same way he did when he sat beside you at the bar.

Like he’s well acquainted with the taste of your name.

“I told myself,” you try again, “that this was a one-night thing. Just a fuck. Then breakfast. Then I leave.”

His gaze never wavers. “So why didn’ye?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Because you don’t have an answer that doesn’t make you sound like a fool. Until you give up caring.

“Maybe part of me still thinks you’re bluffing.”

“Bluffen,” he echos, leaning closer — eyes soft like snow. “Ye think I sat down beside ye at tha bar for just a fuck? You think I made ye breakfast just to be polite? Nah. I did it cause’ I already knew I wasnae’ about te let this be just once.”

You exhale — stepping back like you’re reclaiming ground, but the glass is at your back and his voice is in your blood now.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “This is mad.”

“Aye,” he agrees, extinguishing the space. “But I’m no’ lettin’ you bolt just ‘cause it scares ye.”

You blink at him. “And if I try?”

Lips at your temple, he grins.

“Go ahead. But ye best put all tha practice te good use, bonnie. Cause’ I’ll find ye.” His fingers trail up your side, electricity coursing. “And each time I’ll fuck ye harder than the last. Leave ye walkin’ funny and thinken’ of me every hour after.”

Those fingers pause, and you jolt, a shockwave behind the ribs as his words drive through you. It’s maddening and it’s sick — how fast reason betrays you. How fast you clench around nothing, aching like he’s made good on that promise. Like part of you wants to be hunted, dragged back by your hair and wrecked until all your rules blur into white noise.

It’s nonsensical. But all men before him were dull — a realization that makes your mouth dry. And all you can think about is the way his voice dragged over that sentence.

The way each time implies he’s already counted them.

“Quite the promise.” You reply.

He smiles all teeth and truce — and you know you’re already too far gone. He knows it too. Judging by the way he hums, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone.

And adds. “This wasnae’ chance. Wasnae’ luck. I came for ye because I meant te. And m’stayen’ for tha same reason.”

[rosenclaws]

More headcanons for all the Logans please? Your previous ones were so perfect. 1. How does he apologize/make it up to your after an argument when he was in the wrong and knows it but is too stubborn to admit it and ends up hurting your heart. 2. How does he handle (you're totally oblivious and innocent when this other man comes on to you, Logan's your one and only) other men flirting with you and his jealousy? 3. How does he approach you or ask you for comfort when he's upset, in pain - physical or emotional?

OO YES more prompts lfggg. Once again I'm gonna split this into three posts! I got pretty carried away ngl...but thats okay lmao

How does he apologize/make it up to your after an argument

Origins Logan -

Okay so, here's the thing all the Logan's are very stubborn and aren't really the best at apologies but they all go at it in slightly different ways. For origins Logan I could see you two arguing about his nightmares and how he refuses to let you in. Maybe he hurts you and he's refusing to forgive himself and it spirals into a big argument. You still drive him to work the next day and give him lunch but the two of you don't speak to each other. The other guys even rib him asking if there's trouble in paradise which makes Logan really angry. As he's eating lunch he sees that despite your argument you still write him a note and he knows he's fucked up. I think he comes home that day with flowers he's picked and mumbles of an apology. It's hard for him to when he sees the bandage on your arm but he's trying and you'll take that for now. But he will be making dinner from now until the foreseeable future.

Trilogy Logan -

Getting an apology out of Logan is like taking food from a hungry bear. It's just not happening. Logan can be reckless and his the whole not really know his past can really get to him so i think if you guys do get into a fight he def lashes out and says things he doesn't mean just to hurt you. He feels awful but he won't apologize. It's just pure silent treatment between the two of you. Tension builds and everyone can feel it. You refuse to break and Logan is fighting with himself to figure out how to fix things. A part of him wonders if he even should because it could be better for both of you this way. He can't hurt you anymore. But he misses you. He hates waking up to a cold bed, hates seeing you leave the room when he enters. Hates hates hates it.

I think he goes to 'Ro and asks how to fix it and she says, Logan you gotta apologize but he doesn't know how to do that. She def slaps him on the back of his head and just says. Stop being stupid and save your damn relationship. He gets flowers he plucked right out of the yard and steals one of Scotts cars to take you on a nice date. It's a little awkward at first but he's trying. He tells you he was stupid and you agree with that. That he didn't mean what he said and he only said it because he was angry. You don't forgive him right away but on the ride home you hold his hand and Logan takes that as a good sign.

DOFP Logan -

See arguing with this Logan is interesting because I think of all the Logan's he's the best at apologizing. Which isn't saying much but hey he's trying. This argument stems from Logan throwing himself into his work and forgetting your anniversary. Oh you were pissed and Logan was mad at himself but ended up taking it out on you saying it wasn't that big of a deal to him. You gave him the silent treatment and it killsss him. He knows he's an idiot and he didn't mean to imply that you didn't mean anything to him but he really hurt you. He knows he can't just say he's sorry and it all goes away so he plans a whole anniversary date, dresses up in a suit and you know he hates suites, and even takes you to that show you wanted to see. He sits through the whole thing and doesn't complain once. It's sweet seeing him try and make it up to you so you do break the silent treatment with a kiss on his cheek.

Old Man Logan -

He is the hardest to get an apology out of. Honestly...Its hard to be in love with him because he just hates himself so much it makes loving him harder. You don't want to give up on him but he's already given up on himself. Logan knows you are without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to him. You are the shining light in his dark life. He's constantly in this battle of wanting to push you away because he thinks he's protecting you and keeping you in his life because he's selfish and loves you. The argument is born from this dynamic and you're this close to walking out on him again and he tells you to go.

When he comes back later that night and sees your things gone he goes into a rage. He's angry at himself and he knows this is all his fault. He doesn't see you for a little bit. Drowning himself in alcohol and guilt. He's accepted that he's a mess and that you left and it's his fault. Somehow you find each other again. He stumbles into a bar and you happen to be working there. After you left you needed money and this was the only job you could find. It hurt to see him like this. Typical Logan gets himself into a fight after someone tries to touch you. He's not as strong as he used to be though and it ends with you cleaning him up again. Its quiet and he just watches you fix him up. In the quiet whispers he asks you to come home. That he knows he's a mess but he needs you. The words I'm sorry never leave his lips, it's only unspoken which makes it hard for you to accept it. He practically gets on his knees and you can see the pain in his eyes and fuck...you love him more than you should. So you forgive him and he thanks you over and over again.

Worst Logan -

I know this can get kind of repetitive but Logan isn't great at apologies no matter what universe he's from. Same this worst Logan. But he's a lot sadder than he is angrier. This argument is stupid and he knows it is but he can't stop the words that come out of his mouth. You storm out of the apartment and Logan knows the moment the door slams that he's fucked up. I think he tries to basically drown himself in alcohol but Wade won't let him because liver failure is so not cool. He's too afraid to go and apologize so he puts up his walls and pretends he's fine. He's more reckless in his fights and it doesn't matter bc he heals but somehow it helps him.

Eventually Wade gets sick of his ass and just goes off on him. Telling him to get his head out of his ass and that emotionally constipated assholes like him don't get people like you in their lives so he better put his big boy pants on and apologize. So he does. Its cute really he gets flowers and even finds a nice shirt at the goodwill and he's got these big eyes as he apologizes. It's choppy and he fucks up his words a little bit but he does say im sorry and does his best.

[futbolfatale]

Wanna Watch a Scary Movie: Stab

Paige Buckers/Reader, Azzi Fudd/Read, Paige Bueckers/Azzi Fudd

Tags: Throuple, Gore, Murder, Underage Drinking, Makeout sesh in the back of Azzi's car,

Masterlist, Series Masterlist(Coming Soon)

Summary: You and your girlfriends are viciously attacked and attempt to find the killers. But maybe you knew who attacked you from the very beginning.

Author's Note: This will be a series of oneshots featuring each of the WBB players I write for. To be added to the taglist, comment any emoji.

Playlist

Your parents were out of town, and your girlfriends were coming over. It isn't exactly out of the ordinary that your parents both traveled for work, which often left you home alone for long periods of time. Over the years, you had a revolving door of babysitters before you turned thirteen, and they decided you were old enough to watch after yourself. It was around this point that you started dating Paige and Azzi as much as a thirteen-year-old could date. This mostly involved going on “Dates” around town and inviting them over to watch scary movies when your parents were out of town. This evolved into three or four-day-long sleepovers, which led you to now. You are setting up your bedroom for the Stab movie marathon you had planned. Paige and Azzi were supposed to be picking up a pizza before coming over, though, knowing them, they were probably fooling around with some of their basketball teammates.

The ringing of your mother’s ancient landline pulls you from your doom scrolling. You have no idea why your mother insists on keeping the thing connected. The only calls you ever get are scams or wrong numbers. You pick up the phone rather aggressively, bringing it to your ear. “What do you want?” The words are almost a growl. “I just wanna know… What's your favorite scary movie?” The voice asked whoever it was to use the Ghostface voice modulator. “Nice try Page, you're really fucknig funny. Trying to give me nightmares so I cling to you in my sleep. Real Mature” You can’t help but feel frustrated. Paige does this at least once a year, and she thinks it is the funniest thing ever. “This isn’t Paige. Now answer the question.” The voice hosts more hostility now. “Azzi, you know my favorite movie. Did Paige put you up to this? C’mon, you know how much I hate it.”. “This isn’t Azzi. I am only going to ask you one for time know answer the fucking question”. You hang up the landline. You turn to walk away when it rings again. You let it go to voicemail and listen to the sound of your mother's voice asking the caller to leave a message.

“I know youre there pick up the fucking Phone before I gut your pretty little girlfriends” They have to be lying Paige and Azzi are on their way here now. You pick up the phone, bringing it to your ear. “You're lying.” You spit the words out.”I’m not. I can see them right now, and if you don’t answer the question. I can have them gutted in the next ten seconds. I’ll even leave you a little surprise on your bed. Now answer the fucking question.”. “My favorite scary movie is Stab the original with Billy Loomis and Stu Mocker. Everybody knows this asshole. I talk about it all the time”. “Your girlfriends will live another day. The next time I call, you better pick up the phone.” With that, they hang up. You drop the phone and turn to find Paige right behind you. “Oh, you scared me, Paige.” You throw your arms around her, and she follows through, slightly delayed. “Who was that?” She asks curiously, resting her cheek on the top of your head. “Some stupid prank call from a dumb kid. Where is Azzi? “She is bringing the pizza in. Why don't you go get in bed, and I will grab us a drink.” Paige offers, and you nod, heading upstairs to your room.

It takes all of five minutes for Paige and Azzi to join you in bed. Neither of them says anything, only cuddling up while you start the movie. With each of them beside you, safety should be felt, but you can only feel fearful. What if it wasn’t a prank call? What if someone is really going to kill you in your girlfriend's? “Stop thinking so hard and enjoy the movie, babe,” Azzi whispers, running her hand down your exposed chest. “Don’t be sorry, just relax. Paige made you a drink. I am sure that will help.” At that, Paige hands you your drink. It looks just like a Shirley Temple, but when you take a sip, the acrid taste of acholahe overtakes your senses. You take one sip after another until you're sure you will be able to feel the effects. “Just lie back, Azzi and I will keep you safe. You know that, baby,” Paige takes your glass and sets it on the nightstand. “Everything is going to be alright.” You lay your head down on Azzi’s chest and watch as the movie progresses. The situation is all too similar to your own.

When you wake up, it is also an empty bed, and the TV is still on. You creep down the stairs and into the kitchen to see Paige and Azzi making breakfast. “Did you sleep okay?” Azzi asks as you sit at the kitchen table and turn on the TV. “Seventeen-year-old Ayanna Patterson was attacked and murdered in their home last night.”The image shown is blurred, but it’s clear her whole stomach has been cut open. “Holy shit” You mutter. “They’ve been showing it all morning. It’s really unfortunate.” Paige speaks up. “Wasn’t she on your team?” you ask, turning to face the two of them. “Ya but we didn’t know her that well,” Paige explains, rolling up your guy's breakfast burritos. “She kind of kept to herself,” Azzi adds, pouring herself a cup of juice. “Cmon, we gotta go.” Paige slings her backpack over her shoulder. The three of you head outside and load into Azzi’s car.

When you get to school, there are police cars on every corner. News reports attempt to interview several students to no avail. “Oh god, why do they have to be here?” You complain, finishing your burrito. “They need to latch onto the most relevant story, babe, you know that.”Azzi opens your door, and you trail after her. “ Did you three know Ayanna Patterson? “An interviewer questions as the three of you attempt to go inside. “ No Comment.” Paige pushes the woman out of the way so you can continue on to class. “ We heard that she was on the basketball team with the two of you.” Paige ignores her and ushers you inside. “I need to tell you something.” You stop in the middle of the hall, waiting for them to give you their attention. “Not here.” Azzi grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom. The three of you crowd into a stall. “Couldn’t we have had this conversation in the car?” Paige asks, slightly annoyed. “I was flustered. Stop being a jerk,” You whisper, shout. “Someone called the house last night, they were using that stupid ghost face voice.” “Why didn’t you tell us last night?” Paige looks terrified. “They said they were going to kill you. I thought it was a prank until the news this morning. I think we’re next.”. You're silenced when someone enters the bathroom. “Well, they better pray 'cause I have a gun.” Azzi Whispers. “We’ll be fine,” Paige adds, opening the stall door and slipping out. “You guys are too calm they is a fucking killer on the loose.” You whisper following the two of them out into the hall. “We are the best prepared. We’ve watched every scary movie.” Paige holds your shoulders as she speaks. “ When you finish class, come to the gym, we have practice, then we can go to your house.”. You nod, as scared as you are, they are pretty good at calming you down. “Okay, but we have to go home right after practice.”

“Did you hear that the killer wore one of those Ghostface masks?” A girl in your chemistry class whispers not so quietly to her friends. This is getting out of hand. Sure, there are copycat killers every decade, that’s why there are six stab movies, but you didn’t want to end up smack dab in the center of Stab Seven. Sure, some of these girls would die to get famous, but not you. “Do you think they’ll kill again?”. “They always do, just like they always work in pairs,” Another girl answers. “They kill until they get caught or they die,” Someone else adds, and you try to space out. The last thing you need is to induce a panic attack right now.

As soon as you get out of class, you make your way to the gym. The lights are on, and the whole team is inside. You sit on the bleachers and watch as they take a moment of silence for their teammate. You look over the girls for anyone not taking it seriously. That might help you locate any suspects, but everyone seems to be genuinely upset. You’re back at square one. You watch as the girls start their warmups. After a while, it gets boring, and you start on your homework.

Once Paige and Azzi have showered, the three of you head out to Azzi’s car. Your nerves seem to be getting the best of you. You jump at every little sound and move away from anyone walking too closely to the three of you. “You need to relax. Everything is going to be fine. We are going to go home, watch a movie, make some dinner, and go to bed. No killer is going to get you with us around.”Azzi slings her arm around you, pulling you close. “Paige will get you all relaxed by the time we get home.” Azzi opens the door, pushing you onto your back in the backseat of her car. Paige crawls onto you, and Azzi slams the door shut. The car rolls out of the parking lot, as Paige leans down to connect your lips. She pulled back slightly, out of breath. “Paige, I’m scared,” you whisper as she moves to kiss your neck. “Don’t be scared, baby.” Paige’s voice can barely be heard as she whispers against your skin.

“You can’t tell me not to be scared when there is a masked killer in our town.” You roll your hips against her. Paige pulls your shirt up so she can press soft kisses against your breast. “I can when I know the killer won’t kill you.” Paige mumbles. “You can’t know that.”You groan as she bites hard enough to indent your skin. “Can you wanna know why?” Paige asks, moving up to kiss your lips again. “Why?” You roll your eyes as she kisses you again. “Because I killed her, and I would never kill you.”She whispers, her hand holding your body in place. “You’re not serious.” You are asking more than telling her. “I was not, I was joking, ”She laughs, letting her head hit your breast. “That was not funny,” you say, smacking her lightly. “Inside you two,” Azzi’s shouts, apparently not hearing Paige’s cruel joke.

Once you eat dinner, the three of you settle on the couch. “So if not Stab, what should we watch?” Paige asks, laying her head down in your lap. “We could watch the new Hunger Games. It is supposed to be good,” you offer, running your fingers through Paige's hair. “ Sounds good, babe,” Azzi answers, tucking herself into your side. “Are you guys okay? You’re being weirdly clingy?” You ask, turning the movie on. “We just missed you. With everything going on we just wanna enjoy our time together.” Azzi grabs your hand, intertwining your guy's fingers. “You say that someone is going to die.” You try to keep your panic down, but it's hard with them acting like this. “I didn’t mean it like that, just watch the movie.”Azzi quits after that, forcing you to actually watch the movie.

You’re half asleep by the time the movie finishes. Paige carries you upstairs and lays you in bed. You try to get her to stay, but she walks to the door. “I’ll only be a minute. I’ve gotta help Azzi clean up,” Paige promises, blowing you a kiss before shutting your bedroom door. You must have fallen asleep because when you wake up, the bed is still empty,y but you can hear the two of them talking. You exit your bedroom and walk across the wall to the bathroom. Paige sits in the shower in a blood-soaked top and boxers while Azzi sits on the counter cleaning a set of blood-covered knives. “What are you doing?”

You seemed to have scared them because both their heads twist at an odd angle, and their eyes seem wild as they take you in. Azzi is the first to react, trying to pull you close, but you push away and stumble slightly on the doorframe. “Babe did have a nightmare, let's get you back to bed.” Azzi steps into the hall, and you dart downstairs. “Babe, come back. It’s not what it looks like. Please come back.” Azzi corners you into the kitchen, the knife still in her hand. “ You know what you are so afraid of?”Azzi smiles, but it seems more threatening than sweet. “I am scared because my girlfriends are the fucking ghostface killers” You shout throwing a Vase at her. It makes contact with the ground and shatters just short of her feet. “Now, that wasn’t very nice, babe.” Azzi steps over the glass, trapping you between her body and the sink.

“You’ve known us forever, you know we wouldn’t kill someone unless they deserved it.”Azzi uses her free hand to wipe your face. “You killed a girl on your team, not to mention whoever you killed tonight. “You try to pull away but can’t due to the lack of space. “She deserved it, you didn’t have to listen to the way she talked about you.”Azzi, let her head fall into the crook of your neck. “She talked about me.” You questioned, looking down at her, panicked. “She talked about you alot about how much she wanted to fuck you. About how since you already had the two of us you wouldn’t mind letting her fuck you too.” Azzi growls, lifting her head to hold eye contact with you. You lean forward, capturing her lips with your own. While kissing, you slip your hand into the sink behind you, searching for anything. Your hand closes around a frying pan. You bring the pan around, smacking it into the side of Azzi’s head. She stumbles back, leaving you with room to run for the back door.

You sprint through the hall and throw yourself against the door, pushing it open from sheer force alone. You run barefoot through the backyard trying to get as far as you can. What you may have forgotten is that your girlfriends, or were they your killers, were now great athletes. You're surprised when Paige snatches you around the waist, picking you up and throwing you over her shoulder. She carries you inside while you kick and scream, trying to get away. She drops you on your bed upstairs, and you sit up quickly. Azzi stands at the door, keeping you trapped. Paige sits at the edge of your bed.

“You have to understand, baby,” Paige starts, her voice soft. “Understand that you killed people.”You shout. “We killed them for you. To protect you, Paige sets her hand on your thigh, and you fight the urge to pull away. “Then why call me, why say those nasty things?” Paige sighs, rubbing her free hand over her face. “To keep you from being a suspect. You are the only thing connecting all the victims.” Paige states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I still don’t get why you had to kill her. “If we just beat her up, she would talk, that's why. There can’t be any witnesses,”Azzi explains.

The three of you startle as the garage door opens. “They must be back early. Probably watched the new” Paige explains. “We need to know if you're in or out. If you're out, just know we will have to kill you and them. We don’t want to, but we will if you force us to.” Azzi leaves the door open to sit at your side. You take a breath, considering your options. “I'm in, but the killing stops tonight.”

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Aw that makes me so happy, friend! Thank you!! 🥹💓💓

I love hunter!readers, but the soft!readers really have my heart. Not that a hunter!reader couldn't be soft per say, but I just love how cutesy she is.

Oh yeah, totally love the hunters to lovers dynamic, but I love writing women that can be strong and have moments of vulnerability. And thank you!! This reader has a special place in my heart now lol 💕

You're so right. Benny should have asked more questions!! Benny should have had the talk with Dean and if he is Dean's best friend he should have known. It kinda makes it sadder though. But I'll bet the epilogue kinda explains that a bit too 🥰 But at the same time yes, Benny was a good guy for stepping up and stepping in.

Oh you're right, it does make it sadder because everyone had a choice here and an opportunity to talk it out. 😭 But yes, doesn't change the fact that Benny was a good man to the reader and Robbie. ❤️❤️ (Oh yeah, the epilogue will def get into that part of the Benny storyline. ❤️)

It really is. I bet that Ben/Soldier Boy would let his kid watch something too soon and then live with the consequences when he can't have sex with the reader for a month because the kid sleeps in the bed with them 🤣

Omfgggg HE SO WOULD. 🤣🤣 He'd be all "What's the big fucking deal?" Until his evening "plans" are ruined by his poor traumatized child getting in between. And reader going, "See??" as she holds the baby instead of him. 🤣

Don't be sorry, near-death experiences that make people realize they love one another is the kind of angst I live for LOL

Ahahaha same though 😈

It really was wonderfully realistic- all the emotions all the drama, it was beautiful! I also think that it resonates more that way- making it about the internal and external struggle with relationships rather than some big-bad to fight. Because sometimes the big-bad is the little voice inside that makes you push everything down or sometimes the big-bad is you? If that makes sense lol.

Oh thank you, my lovely. I really appreciate that, and that you think it resonates more that way. 🥹❤️ And yes that very much is the crux of this story -- that sometimes you're your own worst enemy, and sometimes you stumble and fall on your face and hurt the people around you, however unintentionally. It takes a lot of growing and maturing to figure out this thing called life. 💜

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that happened when I was in my two weeks off period 😅 But I don't think it's so much as you not having 'thick skin' or being 'defensive'- I see it more as you being open to the criticism, but them not giving you anything constructive. If someone says 'oh that's stupid' but then don't tell you why, it becomes more about the writer than what they wrote.

Oh sorry! I can't remember if we talked about it or not. Really it wasn't even worth getting into anyway. However that's how I felt about it. There's a big difference between constructive criticism and criticism.

But oh yeah no. The fact that they felt the need to also send in an ask criticizing you even more is just uncalled for. I don't blame you for answering it, it would have annoyed me too- especially because lately I feel like the meaner anons think they're helping writers by being super rude?

Oh yeah, some anons get spicy with it lmao. I tend hit them back with, if you really believe you're right and want me to take you seriously, say it with your chest and talk to me non-anonymously. It's a kind of entitled behavior. We write what we want to write.

Yes exactly! The AU is "different!" It's more about the relationships and drama and miscommunication! (slightly mad at you for that last one jkjk 🤣) AU's are supposed to be different, that's literally it- alternate universe. Which is why they didn't like it, because they didn't understand it. 😬

Exaaactly! (ahaha I wouldn't blame you for being mad! Dean and reader both are super frustrating in this. 🤣🤣) Yeah, you're probably right about that. At the end of the day, we can't please everybody, nor should we try to. 🤷🏽‍♀️

But you're welcome! I really did enjoy it and I'll bet the epilogue is going to be amazing! 💗

Aww thank you, my lovely! You're always so supportive and I appreciate you so much. 💕💕

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 13.1K

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

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Or something like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

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

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

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

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What’re you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just that what? he wonders.

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

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

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

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

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

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Months Ago...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I caught a minnow!”

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

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

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

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

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

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

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

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

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

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

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

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

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

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

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

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

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

Now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nice and safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She just gives him a long look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only one he can see is you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lisa, I loved you.”

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

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

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

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

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

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

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

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

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

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

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[dantes-jacket]

Breaking down the walls

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #12!! Your rich ceo dad doesn’t approve of Dante and doesn’t consider him your boyfriend. That doesn’t stop you or Dante though from trying to be together. Fluff, some angst

You feel a warm hand nudge your shoulder and a deep voice whisper in your ear, “Baby you gotta wake up.”

You snuggle deeper into the warm body you’ve grown to love. You mumble against his neck, “No I don’t want to. Don’t wanna leave.”

You feel his heavy sigh and his hands running through your hair, “I don’t want you to leave either. But you’re going to be late to meet with your father”

“I don’t want to see that asshole.”

“Ugh baby you’re making this hard. I know you don’t but I don’t want him to yell at you. Or fucking touch you again.”

You frown at what he says. You know it’s true but you don’t want to leave Dante. He is the only thing that brings you happiness in this world. You hate the stupid world you were born into and wish everything was different. You want to happily be with Dante not sneaking around like teenagers.

You wordlessly get out of his hold and get out of bed. You grab the extra pair of clothes you’ve brought and head into the bathroom. You peel off Dante’s hoodie you slept in and set it on the counter. You put on your ridiculously expensive clothes your parents bought you. The fabric is tight, itchy, and uncomfortable. You can’t help but look at the hoodie with sadness.

You reach your hand over to run your hand up and down the fabric. It’s worn and not as smooth as it once was. You couldn’t care less about that. It was homey. If you can even describe a hoodie like that. Dante is not the richest and you’re completely okay with that. If anything that’s what you want. Someone that lives within their means and doesn’t feel the need to buy expensive stuff and show it off. Like your father.

Dante walked into the bathroom and sees you playing with his hoodie. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, “You can take it if you want.”

“I can’t. If my father finds it he’ll burn it.” Your voice cracks, “And that’s the last thing I want.”

Dante is quick to spin you around and wipe your tears, “Hey come on don’t cry on me now.”

“I’m sorry it’s just I hate this so much.” You sniffle and try to hold back the tears so you don’t upset him.

“I know but if this is how I can get you I’ll take it. I’d rather have this than not have you at all.”

You shove your face into his chest, getting all your tears and snot onto his shirt. “I wish things were different Dante.”

He holds the back of your head to keep you close to him, “I know. I promise one day I’ll change all of this.”

You bitterly think to yourself that it’s not going to happen. That you’re going to have to keep this a secret for the rest of your life because your family won’t accept the man you love. Just because he isn’t like your father. A successful ceo, big house, wears expensive things, and flaunts his money off any chance he gets. That’s not the kind of man you want. The kind of man you want is Dante. Someone that works hard, helps others, cares deeply about the ones around him, and does everything in his power to make you happy.

You pull yourself out of his chest and give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, “I can’t wait to see.” He knows you’re upset and thinking negatively but he doesn’t know what to say. There is really no words to make his thoughts known. He feels you wipe his chest a bit, “Sorry I got your shirt all messy.”

“It’s what a washer and dryer is for. I don’t mind though, cry to me any time and I’ll hold you.”

Your heart warms at his words. If it was your father he’d buy a whole new shirt and claim that one was ruined. That’s what he did when you were a kid. The first time you scrapped your knee you ran to him and cried and he was utterly disgusted and threw you off of him. He scolded you for ruining his clothes and left you alone in a time out for hours. Dante is truly a good man with a pure heart. You’re so happy you’ve found him and not a man like your father.

You finished getting ready while Dante hung out in the bathroom telling you about how Morrison called him before you woke up about a mission tonight. He doesn’t know many details so he can’t answer most of the questions you ask him. He knows it’s frustrating you because you want to know he’ll be safe. He feels bad when he can’t promise you.

As you’re slipping on your expensive and uncomfortable heels you can’t help but feel like today is going to be a long day. Before you leave Dante gives you a kiss and a promise he’ll call you after his mission. You hold out your pinky and he can’t help but laugh and link your pinkies. He gives you one more kiss and sends you off. He hates doing this but as he said earlier, he’d rather have you a little than not at all.

•

You met your father in is his stupidly big office in his equally as stupidly big building. You also had to wait two hours before you even saw him. This was the man that yelled at you not to be late, yet he kept you waiting? Yeah ironic. If you did that he’d lock you in your room for days to prove a point about “wasting his time.”

When you finally get in his office he’s sitting behind his desk drinking. Great it’s 10 a.m. and this idiot is already drinking. You try and contain your disgust when you question him, “You wanted to me with me father?”

“Yes. Long story short you’re going on a date tonight with a potential client. If this goes well you’re going to marry him.”

Your eyes widen how he can just sip on his drink and say something so crazy so casually. Marry a man just so he can improve his business? Hell no. Today you’re putting your foot down. “No. You know I’m in a relationship so I’m not doing it.”

“News to me you’re in a relationship. Who is it? How much does he make? What does he do?”

“I’m dating Dante remember?” You grit your teeth.

“The filthy demon hunter? No you’re not. You are going on this date and that’s final. If you disobey I’ll make sure you never leave the house again.”

“But-“

“Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking off to see that back water disgrace.”

You start to panic, “Father-“

“Enough and listen to me. As of now you two are done. You are doing to this event tonight with this man and that’s final.”

In this moment you wish you had Dante’s strength. He would be able to put his foot down and not budge. He’d fight for what he wants. He’d fight for you. You hang your head at the realization. You can’t do the same. You can’t fight for the man you want. You hate yourself more and more for that. Wanting to get out of here to call Dante and hear his reassuring words you meekly respond, “I understand.”

“Good. Now go home and get ready. He’ll pick you up at 4.”

With that done you dash out of his office and across the street where you know a pay phone is. You quickly slide in some coins and call Dante. Your anxiety only grows when the ringing lasts longer and longer. The call cuts indicating he isn’t picking up. You slam the phone back and scream. He must be on his mission now. How are you going to make this work?

The entire time you walk home you cry uncontrollably. You can’t stop the flow of tears. This is so unfair. Why did you have to be born into this life? You don’t care for fancy name brands and always want the newest expensive thing that comes out. All you want it to be loved and be happy. You only feel that when you are with Dante. Now the one thing you want is being ripped out of your hands.

When you make it back home none of the maids make a comment about how you look. You’re thankful but you know at the end of the day they don’t care how you feel. They’re just doing their job so they don’t get fired.

They get you ready with makeup and doing your hair. They are actually kind enough to let you pick out a dress. You pick your red dress that has a long train and a slit up your right leg. It reminds you of Dante and that’s the only reason you’re going to make it through the night.

•

Your father was right that your date was going to pick you up at four. The man came in a slicked out black car with the windows tinted. You rolled your eyes, one of those guys great.

The man doesn’t even help you into the car. He just watches you get settled in then starts yapping about how “awesome” he is. How he makes so much money, how he’s fit, and how “handsome” he is. He looks like a toad had a kid with a fish. He smells like shit too. You toon him out until you get to the event. It’s a formal event where rich people just talk both how great they are on stage. Your date leads you to your table but you are quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

When you walk to the bathroom you swear you see Dante walk into a random hallway. Rushing to see if it’s really him or you were seeing things you end up at the hallway. You see his trademark sword on his back. It is him!

“Dante!” You yell out and run to him.

Dante spins around and sees you running towards him, “Baby? What are you doing-“

He’s cut off by you pulling him into a kiss. He is quick to reciprocate and deepen the kiss. The kiss doesn’t last long because he’s nervous on why you’re here. This is where is mission is and he doesn’t want you anywhere near here.

“What are you doing here?” He questions immediately after breaking the kiss.

You catch your breath, “I- I,”

“Don’t worry you can tell me.”

You look away not wanting to see his reaction to what you’re about to tell him. “My father forced me to come here and go on a date with a potential clients son. He said that you and I aren’t together anymore. If I disobey him tonight I’m getting locked in my house and can’t leave.”

Dante clenches his fists. What say does he have in this? This isn’t over and he’ll make sure to change all of this as soon as this mission is over. But he has to get you out of here first. “I’m sorry you have to go through all of this baby but I need you to leave right now.”

You turn back to him confused, did he just not hear what you said? You can’t leave. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“Dante no I can’t. My dad will know and I’ll get in trouble.”

“Goddamnit just leave!” He frustratedly shouts. He sees you step back a bit after seeing his mood change. His heart drops to his stomach, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just need you to leave. This is where my mission is and I won’t be able to focus if I know you’re here.”

You freeze, “Wait you mean there’s a demon here? Right now?”

“Yes so I need you to leave. I promise I’ll deal with the fallout with your dad just-“

“There you are.” A nasally voice interrupts Dante. You turn and see it’s your date. Dante is quick to stand in front of you.

“Leave us alone.”

“Ah sorry no can do. I’m here for my date. Or should I tell your daddy you’re disobeying him again like a toddler.”

“Don’t talk to her like she’s a child.” Dante threatens.

His gaze locks with Dante’s, “Let’s get one thing straight demon spawn. She’s here with me and going to obey me. We will tell her dad the night went great and get married soon. Now get out of our way before I get all these influential people to kick you out.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” You step out from behind Dante. “I won’t let someone else look down on him. You never know when someone like him could save your life.”

The man walks over and grabs your wrist and starts tugging you down the hallway. Dante goes to grab the man but you give him a look. You can see the hesitation flash across his face but is quickly replaced by frustration as he stops his actions.

You mouth out to him, “Stay safe.”

Dante mouths back, “I’ll find you soon, promise.”

Your date drags you back to the table and just in time for the first speech. You two don’t say anything to each other and don’t make eye contact. As the speakers come and go all you can think about is what Dante said. There’s a demon here. That thought scares you. You’re afraid of them ever since the first time they attacked you.

You were walking home from a treat yourself lunch date. When suddenly you were backed into an alley by six different demons. They had different weapons, forms, heights, and noises. They were terrifying and you couldn’t even do anything. couldn’t scream or move.

The first one lunged towards you and you looked away bracing yourself for an impact. The impact never came. You look back to see a man in a leather jacket bouncing around and killing all the demons. He has a big smile on his face and can’t stop laughing. Especially after he insults how one looks or smells. He’s having fun doing this scary thing. How is that even possible?

The mysterious man finishes and walks over to you. “You alright? They didn’t get you did they?”

“Uh no they didn’t… you came right on time.”

“Phew! That’s great to hear. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Well it’s all thanks to you sir.” You brush some hair behind your ear.

“Dante, my names Dante.” He holds out his hand. You introduce yourself then reach to shake his hand and the warmth of his hand lights a fire in you that you didn’t know you had.

You clear your throat while pulling your hand away, “So Dante, can I treat you to a meal? As a thanks for saving my life.”

“Oh you don’t have to-“ you then hear a loud grumbling noise that definitely did not come from your stomach. You watch him cover his stomach and chuckle.

You grab his hand and drag him out of the alley, “Sounds like you’re hungry. Let’s go, it’s my treat!”

The memory fills you with mostly happiness now because that’s when you met your amazing boyfriend but it still scares you. Demons are scary and no joke. You’ve come to realize that more with being in a relationship with him. He’s got the most important job in the world in your opinion. If the world didn’t have people like him then you all would have been dead years ago. He keeps this world safe and you couldn’t be more proud of him.

There’s suddenly a big crash and roar coming from the corner of the room. Everyone turns and sees a massive demon standing there. He’s tall and chunky. He swipes tables and people aside. You hear glass shattering, bones snapping and screams.

You quickly stand but once you see him get closer you push your date and try to run. As it gets closer your date pushes you towards the demon and takes off running again. You tumble to the ground not expecting his strong push.

You hear the insanely heavy footsteps of the demon getting closer. You can’t help but freeze in place. There’s no way now you can out run the demon. You hang your head and think about how the last time you got to see Dante you didn’t even get to tell him you love him. Now you’ll never get to see him again and tell him. Like that day long ago, you wait for the impact that’ll settle your fate.

You hear the roar of the demon basically right behind you. You steel yourself a bit and just count down until you know your untimely death is going to happen. Your suddenly hit with and impact but it didn’t hurt. Wait you’re moving really fast?

You open your eyes and see Dante holding you close and moving you out of the way. But he’s not in his human form. He’s in his devil trigger. You’ve only seen it once but not in action. One night you two were hanging out he opened up to you about it and showed you what it looked like. He told you the whole story from his dad, to his mom dying and how he thought his brother died but he actually lived.

You could tell he was scared to show you, thinking you’d run when you saw it. Since he is part of something you are scared of. Instead of walking away you walked right to him and reached your hand out. You touched along his devil form to feel him. It still gave off the same warmth that his human form does. It’s still Dante. How could you ever walk away from him?

“Dante?”

He sets you down and gives you a quick smile, or what you think is a smile considering the form. “You’re alright, I promise I’ll keep you safe. Just stay right here and don’t move until I come back. Understood?”

“Understood.” You hold out your pinkie to him and he laugh. He uses his long and sharp pinkie to link with yours. He tries his hardest not to cut or hurt you. After the pinkie promise has been sealed he quickly rushes off.

You see he doesn’t go right for the demon but instead he grabs your date by the back of the shirt. He drags the man over to the demon and holds him out as an offering. The demon happily takes the offering and swallows your date easily.

Dante knew after he saved you he was going to get that fucker that tried to have you die. He is quick to grab him and hold him to the demon.

“Demon spawn what are you doing!?! You’re suppose to be saving me!!”

“No way in hell am I saving someone who is exactly like a demon and tries to sacrifice my girl.” A loud scream falls the man’s mouth as soon as the demon takes him. Dante watches happily as the scene in front of him unfolds. Now it’s time to finish this thing.

Dante quickly pushes the demon back so it can be as far away from you as possible. Once he’s in an area he knows he can focus and go all out he launches his attacks. He slices through the demon in multiple areas to weaken it and have it fall down. Once it’s down on the ground he is quick to cut the head off and dismember the body. When the demon doesn’t move or make a sound anymore he rushes to you.

He reaches out to you but remembers he’s still in his devil trigger. Dante switches back to his human form and reaches out to you again. He places his hand on your cheek and rubs his thumb back and forth. “You’re not hurt right?” He looks you over and doesn’t see any injuries.

You lean into his touch and place your hand on top of his, “Once again I’m okay because of you saving me.”

He chuckles and stands up. He holds out his hand to you and helps you up. Once you’re standing he leads you out of the now destroyed building. Across the street you see your father fuming. He marches right over to you and starts to yell at you.

“Why would you bring your demonic spawn toy here! He ruined everything!!”

“Don’t you dare call him that. He just saved your fucking useless life and this is what you want to say!?! You’re an absolute joke.”

“What did you just say you me you brat!?” He raises is hand but Dante is quick to grab it and squeeze it.

“You won’t lay a hand on her.”

“Let me go demon spawn!” Dante doesn’t listen but tightens his grip.

“Don’t think I will.”

Your father turns to you, “How can you want to be with this useless and vile man!?”

“STOP IT!!” You screech. Now everyone around you is looking at you due to your outburst but that doesn’t stop you.

“Stop saying awful things about him, I won’t allow it! As I said earlier this man saved your life so how can you think he’s useless? Yes he may be part demon but he cares more than anyone in this world! Especially compared to the man you had me with tonight. He tried to sacrifice me to save his own ass. Dante made it his mission to save me before fighting the demon. I don’t care what you think anymore but I don’t want any of this. I just want Dante because I love him! I’m happy with him like I never have been before. I’m not going to let you take this from me.”

Dante’s gaze snaps over to you. You love him? You two have never said those words to each other before but you stood here and admitted it basically to the whole world. That takes bravery and strength. He’s so proud of you for getting your voice. He’s also happy to know when you did get that, it was for defending him. Dante loves you more than you’ll ever know.

Your dad gapes at you. “What!? How dare you say all that to me especially after everything I’ve given you?”

You quickly throw off all the jewelry, hair pieces, and kick off your heels. You didn’t need them. You’re going to show your father right here and now you don’t need him. That you have a much better man in your life now and he’ll properly take care of you. Your father watches you in astonishment as you throw off all these expensive things.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“I’m done. I don’t need your money or this expensive stuff. From now on I make my own decisions. Starting now I’ll never talk to you again and I’ll be with Dante till the day I die. He is the man I want in my life and no one else.”

Dante pushes your dad back and picks you up bridal style. He starts to walk off when your dad calls out, “I bought that damn dress too.”

Dante snaps his head over his shoulder to look at your father. The look Dante must be giving him scared him so bad that he doesn’t comment again.

The walk is silent until you call out to Dante, “I can walk so you don’t have to carry me.”

“Not without shoes on your feet. I don’t mind carrying you, it keeps you close to me.”

You cuddle into his hold, “You’re warm.”

“And you’re beautiful. You looked great tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier.”

“Thank you but I’m burning this dress.”

Dante’s quickly looks at you and questions, “What?!? Why!?”

“It reminds me of my old life and I want to be unshackled.”

“Well let’s not jump to conclusions. Why don’t we sell it and then with that money we can go pick you out a dress or two that you like and I can enjoy too.” He wiggles his eyebrows at the end of his sentence.

You giggle and lightly slap his chest. He laughs at your reaction then suddenly goes serious, “Thank you for standing up for me. I don’t care about what people say or think about me. But seeing someone defend me is nice.”

You place your hand over his heart and let the beat calm you. “I’ll always defend you. It’s the least I can do for you always being there for me.”

“I’ll always be there for the woman I love.”

You take your gaze off of your hand on his chest and meet his loving gaze. You have the biggest smile on your face, this time it reaches your eyes unlike it did this morning.

“I love you Dante.”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know baby.”

@overwach127 hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!! Also thank you for all of your kind words 🩵🩵

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝙎𝙋𝙀𝙀𝘿. [ch 1: the stupid red mustang]

   ➴ wc + a/n: 4.4k. didn't mean to make the first chapter this long but y'all know how i get <3 hope you enjoy the lil prologue moment!

   ➴ taglist: @urmom2314 @iisayfa @s-p-e-c-t-r-e-s @mei2yok @xochitlisbest

   ➴ prev. masterlist. next.

you can pinpoint, with expert precision, when it was that your entire life began to fall apart. to figure out how it might end, you have to start from the beginning, and a part of you wonders if it was always going to be daniela avanzini that ruined everything for you.

your last few weeks before high school, and you’re stuck in detention. it had all started with a morning full of inconveniences. 

to begin, you usually carpooled with your neighbor, who happens to be your best friend, but she’s been hauled off to some stupid detention center after getting caught with weed, again, leaving you alone for the second half of senior year. friendless, aimless, and useless behind the wheel of a car as you drive yourself every morning, lucky to make it out of that chaotic parking lot alive.

the morning you got detention, you’re already running late, made all the more inconvenient when you’re cut off in the middle of the parking lot by a cherry red mustang. you lay on the horn to let her know she’s cut you off, but the boom of insanely loud rap music blaring out from the windows makes you think the driver isn’t listening.

“fucking idiot,” you snarl, your grip tightening around the steering wheel. the red mustang swings around recklessly to steal the parking spot you were eyeing. perfect. 

the new girl, who had transferred into your grade just after winter break, swings out of the car and heads into the building, unbothered by the interaction. you’re stuck seeking out another parking spot, only adding to your stress of being late again.

you try to make it to your homeroom on time, but you hear the disappointed tisk of your principal’s voice as soon as you think you’re in the clear.

“y/ln, this is the third time this week,” he had told you, writing something on a slip and handing it to you. “you know this means detention, and the next one is a truancy call, right?”

you grit your teeth and send a text to your parents that you’ll be home late. definitely not ideal.

you’d rather be anywhere but this empty classroom, embarrassed to be stuck under the hawk-eyed gaze of the dean. it’s you and a few other kids you recognize from fights or from skipping class. you try to keep to yourself, after all, being late doesn’t exactly fit into what the rest of these troublemakers get up to, but your hopes of focusing on your homework are shattered when you feel someone kick your desk.

then again, then again. you realize the person is bouncing their leg, and it’s causing your chair to shake with every movement.

“avanzini, another speeding ticket in the parking lot or what?” one of the guys grins, to which the dean quickly hushes everyone. you realize he’s talking to the girl behind you, the one shaking your desk. the new girl— avanzini, or whatever her name is. you’re perfectly happy with a small friend group, and hadn't made it a point to introduce yourself to her since she transferred, but judging by the fact that she seems to be a regular detention attendee, maybe that’s for the best.

nearly a half hour passes, but she’s relentless. her leg doesn’t stop bouncing, even once, rocking your chair the entire time. the dean steps out to take a phone call. you’re sick of her incessant kicking against the back of your desk, and finally spin around to snap at her.

“can you please cut that out?”

your eyes meet, and you feel a jolt through your entire body. the way she grins at you, her hazel eyes lighting up, is nothing short of absolutely dangerous.

“i gotta be somewhere real quick. vouch for me?”

“why would i do that?” you ask quickly, shocked by audacity.

all she does is lean in, flashing those bright white teeth at you, unafraid of being in your personal bubble, as if she has no boundaries. “i’ll owe you.”

“i’ll get in trouble,” you state the obvious.

“i’ll owe you a massive favor,” she presses on, and it’s painfully obvious she’s not the type who is used to being told no. 

“just go,” you shake your head. she doesn’t seem like the type you can reason with, this avanzini girl. 

you expect her to leave through the front door, so to your surprise, she bolts towards the window and messes with the hinges for a few moments before she manages to get it open. way too quickly, she slips out of the window without a second look back. you’re almost annoyed, that she sneaks out without so much as a thank you, but maybe she’s not worth the effort to stress over being annoyed with. 

a few minutes pass by, and the dean steps back in. he takes count quickly of the bodies in the room, and notices the spot behind you obviously empty. 

“where’s avanzini?”

“bathroom,” you lie quickly. the other students shoot you approving looks, but you’d rather disappear than to have them acknowledging you. the fact that you’re in this position because of this girl has you even more frustrated than the whole chair-kicking thing. 

the dean steps out once more to search the hallways, and within moments, the girl is tumbling back into the classroom, chest heaving. she’s breathing heavily as if she’s been running, or maybe something had scared her, or even both. she slips back into her chair, dropping her head onto the desk for a quick moment before lifting up to meet your eyes with her own. there’s something so intense in her eyes, something so mischievous and alluring at once, that you feel your pulse quicken.

“i owe you,” she says simply, flashing you a smile, before dropping her head back onto the desk for the rest of the hour. 

after that day, you see the red mustang in your school parking lot, but never cross paths with the girl again.

your best friend misses graduation, and you feel suffocated by the weight of another summer in your city alone, wasting your days trying to keep busy. you disappear once the summer ends, college taking over your life, the city forgotten for the next year until you’re back a summer later. same house, same routine, now a year older and a year wiser, hoping you can make it through the boredom of the summer before you head back to school.

your parents had kept your room exactly how you left it in high school, but there’s something very lame about being stuck a whole summer again in your parents house after a taste of freedom your first year in college. you know it’s only 3 months, and you’re lucky to have a place to come back to, but it’s still fair to be annoyed by, isn’t it?

you had just finished unpacking the last of your suitcases when you hear the thud of something against your window, a few taps in a specific pattern against the glass. living on the first floor, you there’s only one person who would be in your backyard, tapping against your window like that. you gasp and swing the window open, just like how you had done almost every day for the past 13 years.

and slipping into your bedroom is your best friend since you were 6 years old, smiling at you in a way that makes everything feel like it’ll be okay.

“heard you’re back in town,” she says nonchalantly, but you’re already scooping her up in a hug before she can ruin the moment. 

“megan,” your heart thuds at the sight of her. pink bangs covering her tired eyes, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, she’s exactly like you last remembered her. ”i thought i’d be stuck all summer without you.”

“you know, i was almost scared they wouldn’t let me out. good thing the judge was feeling super chill about bail,” megan grins, giving you a squeeze back, pointing down to the ankle monitor around her leg. “did you miss me, nerd?”

“you’re a whole ass adult now, idiot. this isn’t just juvie upgraded,” you laugh. “how’ve you been?”

“oh you know,” she shrugs. she digs around your nightstand and finds the secret book the two of you had hollowed out to hide your weed from your nosy family, a few pre-rolled joints hiding. she pulls a lighter out from the fold of her beanie, lighting the joint for the both of you. “remember how i told you i moved out after graduation? i have a spot in front of the shop that my boss rents out to me. it’s not too bad. you should come check it out. we can throw a party or something while you’re here.”

“ugh, i’m not gonna know how to act without you as my neighbor,” you groan and throw your head back, reaching for the joint as she takes a few hits and passes it to you. “you’re finally back and you won’t even be next door any more. i might actually miss you, loser.”

“i’ll miss you too. you kept me out of trouble,” she laughs. “my mom was so mad when you moved away for school. knew i was gonna end up doing stupid shit.”

“well, you’ve got me for 3 months, stay out of trouble until then?” you plead. “can’t go losing you. maybe i’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

you and megan had always joked about the curse that had followed her around— this beacon of bad luck, if something can go wrong for her, it usually would. you’ve tried to argue that she’d have better luck if she stopped making all these dumb decisions, but megan’s pretty set in her ways, and even if you worry about her, you know she’s scrappy enough to figure her way out of anything.

“you can come hang out with me at work. it’s slow,” she offers, taking the joint back from you. you watch as she inhales and holds it, doing silly little tricks with the smoke. “the other guys bring their friends all the time when the shop isn’t busy.”

“i won’t annoy you?” you ask. you know the job she’s talking about— megan, who had always been too hyper for any job that didn’t keep her constantly moving, got hired to work at some shady mechanic shop downtown through some burnout friends of hers. this was perfect for your best friend, who was always fidgeting with things, breaking them down, putting them back together, and the owner had even taken her under his wing and looked the other way with her track record. between the shop job and selling weed, megan kept herself decently afloat. 

you wonder if she’d ever be able to channel that energy into something more, but you know that’s a conversation she won’t want to hear.

“hell, you might even make some money. my boss is hiring— he wants a front desk person,” she tells you, nudging your shoulder. “i’ll put in a good word for you.”

“you want to be coworkers?” you question. “what, like we’re friends or something?”

megan pretends to gag, and the two of you laugh and pass the joint between yourselves for the rest of the night, chatting about her night in jail, comparing it to her months spent in juvie as a teenager. you tell her about college, about the friends you’ve made, and you take comfort in knowing that if you’re stuck back home for a summer, at least you get to be stuck with megan too. 

the next day, you’re at velocity automotives, painfully overdressed, talking to the owner and wondering how the hell this place hasn’t gotten shut down yet. it’s messy, tools strewn everywhere, and there’s no clear organization to how anything is set up. without a doubt in your mind, the messiness suits megan, who you see underneath a car in her navy blue coveralls as you talk to her boss about this job she’s setting you up with.

“all you have to do is take phone calls and book the appointments. i’ll handle the rest,” the guy says. he had introduced himself as viper, and at first, you thought he was joking— that is, until literally everyone there keeps calling him “viper,” and you realize he’s dead serious.

“you won’t be here?” you ask.

“i have other businesses in the city. i own apartments, laundromats, storage units.” he squints at you. “can’t be on desk duty the whole time.”

you nod, and hear a clanging noise somewhere behind you that makes you flinch. viper seems completely unbothered and keeps talking.

“it’s an easy job, so don’t expect to be a millionaire.” he goes on. “and the guys will probably hit on you. just ignore them.”

you grimace, but the pay is decent, and the job is easy enough, plus anything that keeps you busy while letting you spend time with your best friend sounds like a huge win. 

“there’s one more thing,” he says. “i need you to stay in the apartment, above the shop.”

the request catches you insanely off guard. “why?”

“some bullshit from the city,” he gripes. “i have to prove it’s a residence or else they’ll make me pay taxes on it as part of the business.”

“you’re offering me a job and a place to stay?” you question. “what’s the catch?”

“didn’t think you’d sound so eager. you’ve got grit, kid. maybe you are skeindiel’s friend after all,” he grins, before issuing another warning. “it’s not luxurious, and those motorheads get loud at night.”

“um, i grew up on sleepovers with megan. that girl snores like she’s dying,” you reassure him. the arrangement is almost too good to be true.

“how soon can you start?” he asks.

“how soon can i move in?” you counter.

viper smiles once more, a gold tooth shining in his grin. “welcome to velocity. i think you’ll fit right in.”

“why the hell are you dodging all my calls?” megan asks you after you finally pick up after her 6th call of the night. she sounds exasperated, and sure, you could have used her help lugging the few suitcases of your belongings up the stairs, but the surprise you’re about to give her is worth the evasion.

“look outside,” you tell her simply, pulling back the blinds on your window.

“what exactly am i looking for?” she asks, and you can see her nose wrinkle confusedly over the facetime call. this is one of the things you love about megan, her simplicity, her occasional cluelessness— hell, she was so focused on working on that damn car from today, she didn’t notice you slipping in and out of the door as she worked, moving all your stuff into the building literally right over her head as she tinkered away.

“hi neighbor,” you grin out your window.

“no way.” megan flashes a bright smile at you from her window as she spins around, her eyes meeting yours. your places are just a block away from each other, and you’re able to see her through the window, clear as day.

“this is so cool,” you say, admiring the place. sure, it’s just as dingy as viper had warned you, but for a studio, it beat a dorm room, and it way beat living with your parents for another summer. “we should go thrift furniture together. my place is empty as hell.”

“did you get a mattress up the stairs by yourself?” she asks.

“uh, no. there was one in there,” you answer awkwardly.

“y/n, fuck no, sleep on the couch or something,” megan’s eyes nearly bug out of her head on screen, making you laugh. “who knows what’s been done on that mattress.”

“okay, like the couch is gonna be any cleaner,” you roll your eyes, but you make a mental note to prioritize a new bed. “hey, what’s viper’s real name?

megan shrugs. “i dunno. never asked. just assumed his mom loved him enough to name him something badass like that.”

“you’re so dumb,” you laugh.

“wanna come over?” she offers, and you hear the flick of a lighter. it’s the megan you know, constantly smoking, to the point that the sound brings you comfort. “you can spend the night, we can get you a blow up mattress or something tomorrow.”

“and watch you play grand theft auto while you hotbox me out?” you laugh, gathering a few of your things into a backpack. “fine, i guess. see you in a sec, neighbor.”

your first week on the job goes mostly without a hitch.

part of that is mostly thanks to megan, who’s made it her personal mission to make sure you don’t quit within a week, and that starts with making sure all her coworkers leave you the fuck alone. 

“how long til you let the first one of us hit?” one of the younger guys asked, tapping his fingers against your desk, knocking the cup of pens off the table with the vibrations. 

“aw bro, if she already let viper hit to get this job, i don’t wanna get in on his sloppy seconds.” the other one eggs on, and you grit your teeth trying to ignore them both as you clean up the spilled pens. you’re hoping the silent treatment will be enough of a hint to leave you alone, but thankfully, you don’t have to wait around and find out. 

megan is slinking through in front of your desk, shoulder checking the first guy out of her way and reaching to grab the second one by his collar. her grease-smeared fingers grip tightly onto his shirt as she yanks him towards her, and you can see the surprise in everyone’s faces at how fast she’s turned this into something bigger.

“talk to her like that again and i’ll crush you under the fucking car jack,” megan threatens, her voice cold and even, her head lazily rolling back and forth to stare between the two of them. 

“damn bro, relax,” the guy holds his hands up, trying to prove he’s no threat. “didn’t know you were sober enough to be listening, skiendiel.”

“wish i could be high enough to tune your annoying ass out,” she grits irritatedly. she drops her grip on his shirt, and by that point, half the shop is busy staring at you, but she clearly isn’t bothered. “if anyone else pisses off y/n again, we’re going to have a fucking problem.” 

“i can fend for myself,” you tell her, mildly frustrated. if she’d just let you ignore them—

“i know,” she says simply, scooping your pens all back into the cup and handing them back to you. “but i made a promise.”

“we were like, 12, meg,” you remind her.

she shrugs, reaching behind you to grab another key off the keyring, starting on her next car. “promise is a promise.”

you shake your head, but leave it at that. you’ll unpack that night another time, your promise with megan to always look out for each other, but for now, you’ll be secretly grateful— the other guys in the shop leave you alone from that day on.

you haven’t figured out the mattress situation, but it isn’t the worst thing in the world. between naps on your couch and crashing at megan’s, you’ve gotten into a cozy enough routine that makes you think your time back home might not be all that bad. sure, viper was unfortunately right about the noise, but you’ve learned to predict the patterns of when the cars will pull up and disrupt your night.

megan’s usually too high to care, or she’ll be too busy playing video games to be bothered, but she’s never really batted an eye at the revving, claiming the noise calms her. you’ll peek out the window just to keep an eye on things, and you’re starting to pick up on a pattern. in the parking lot of the autobody shop, usually around 9pm, you’ll see a bunch of cars pull in and circle around each other.

among them, a bright red mustang.

“hi, thanks for visiting velocity automotives.” your line is too easy at this point, after nearly two weeks of the job being steady and predictable. “what services are you looking for?”

usually, it’s tune ups and oil changes, maybe a tire rotation or a trouble shoot, but about a week after you started, you start to hear the phrase: “i’m here to see megan.”

and that’s it. viper told you that for any appointment where they ask for megan, take down their info, and open the “special schedule.” it’s weird that he’s having you start this, and he changes megan’s schedule while he’s at it, but she doesn’t seem to bothered. it almost starts to feel like it’s code for something, i’m here to see megan, but the girl herself isn’t raising any flags for you.

“what exactly is it that you do?” you ask, hanging back one day to join her for one of those evening sessions. “and how come you only take appointments after 6pm? isn’t it kinda random that you’re the only person that has to work a night shift?”

“i like motorcycles better, honestly,” she tells you, her tongue poking out from her lips in focus as she leans over the hood of her current project, tinkering with the engine.  “i’m just good at mods. viper thinks it makes more sense for me to work nights and do only mods instead of waste time doing oil changes. leave the easy stuff to the idiots.”

“‘cause you’re just that good or what?” you tease.

“i’m just that good,” she grins back. “and he’s paying me good shit too. not a bad deal, honestly.”

“all to make people’s cars look cooler?” you question, watching as she gets into the driver’s seat and cranks the key. the engine rumbles, and then revs like a creature coming to life. megan’s eyes light up like a kid at christmas at the sound.

“make them look cooler, sound louder, drive faster. you’d get it if you cared about cars, y/n, but i guess you’ve always been a loser,” she teases, giving the engine another rev. 

“i’ll leave the car shit to you,” you laugh.

you hear the ring of the door opening, and the response comes out like you’re on autopilot. you’re too busy trying to decipher viper’s weird ass text about ordering more parts (since when was that part of your job?) to bother looking up.

“hi, thanks for visiting velocity automotives,” you say quickly. 

“you.”

the voice is familiar, strangely so. you finally look up, and piercing into you is none other than that intense, sharp hazel stare. she’s grinning, wider and wider the longer the two of you lock eyes. her tongue peeks out quickly to swipe along her bottom teeth, the gesture cocky and eager all at once. 

“and here i was heartbroken thinking i’d never see your face again,” she smirks, leaning over the countertop to tilt her head down and meet your gaze. her keychain dangles from the tip of her finger, inches away from your face. you feel paralyzed, and that stare, confident and unbreaking, makes it even harder to form a coherent thought. 

“service?” you finally breathe.

you remember her clear as day, even with it being over a year now since your detention together. avanzini, with the red mustang and that dangerous crooked smile. 

“i’m here for megan,” she says easily, pointing behind you at the mechanics hard at work within the shop. 

“she’ll only take mods after 6 pm,” you inform her. 

avanzini raises her eyebrow, a perfect arched brow. she gives you a quick once-over, and you feel exposed under her gaze. “will you be there?”

“no,” you say quickly. 

“damn shame,” she clicks her teeth, tapping her fingers on the counter. “set me up for her next opening. please.”

“she can fit you in tomorrow,” you offer, checking the off-hours schedule.

“what’s your name?” she pivots quickly, as if she didn’t even hear your question. her eyes are so, so intense scanning over you, like some sort of predator sizing you up. “you never told me, that day, you know.”

“y/n,” you yield quickly, almost hoping the conversation can end now. “do you want that appointment or not?”

“why won’t you be there?” she presses on, leaning in further again. it reminds you of your first meeting, the way she invades your bubble as if she has no concept of personal space.

“uh, i don’t spend all my time at work,” you state, as if it’s obvious.

“so then what are you doing tonight?” she asks quickly, arching a brow.

“um-” you’re not fast enough to come up with a response before she’s jumping in, cutting you off again, tapping her fingertips inches away from yours to get your attention. 

“come to a car show. by the amusement park next to the pier,” she tells you quickly, one more glance up and down. “dress up. they’ll have drinks and music, and a shit ton of cool cars.”

you don’t know what possesses you to even consider it, but your brain goes foggy with how close she is to you, the pure magnetic pull she exudes. the words leave your mouth before you can even think to catch up with your mouth.

“will you be there?” 

she grins, tongue poking out from behind those perfect white teeth. “of course i’ll be there.”

“i’ll think about it,” you say simply.

“don’t break my heart, okay?” she puts a hand to her chest, pouting exaggeratedly at you. “i’m counting on you. don’t think i forgot about what i owe you. i’m good on my word, alright?”

realizing you only know her by her last name, your next words slip out just as quickly as your first one had.

“what’s your name?” 

“you know my name,” she responds too easily, and your chest pounds in response. 

there’s a beat of silence between the two of you, as she keeps eyeing you, and you wonder what could possibly left of you that she’s looking for. she grins one last time, pushing off the countertop to finally get out of your bubble. 

“daniela. you can put me down for tomorrow, 7pm,” she adds. she swings the keychain one last time on the first knuckle of her index finger, before catching it in her hand and slinking out the door, like a shadow slipping back into the night. “but i’ll see you, tonight, y/n.”

you feel your heart race. if that smile is enough to go off of, trouble might just have found you.

[killerplink]

HOMECOMING

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: Roy's finally home after three long weeks, and you're not wasting a second apart. You missed his touch, his voice, the way he f*cks you like he means it, and tonight, you're making up for every minute.

Words: 9,3k

A/N: so uhm... 🥹 at some point some of you asked if I'd ever write for anyone other than Jason and Dick and I was like "nah I'm too obsessed" and then *cough cough* and THEN, Pinterest decided to show me some Roy Harper panels and my brain short circuited and went "this redheaded menace is so fucking hot and you WILL write for him" and uhm... I did. I spiraled. I wrote. I have zero regrets. hope y'all enjoy this horny little detour, besties 🏃🏻‍♀️

You're pacing around the apartment, practically vibrating with need.

It's been three weeks—twenty one fucking days too long without Roy. No lazy mornings tangled in the sheets, no filthy little whispers in your ear before bed, no warm weight of him sprawled half on top of you like you're his favorite pillow. Just the cold, empty space in your bed and the stupid ache between your legs that not even your own fingers can chase away right. Not the way he does.

Sure, he made sure to talk every night. Sweet little check ins, low raspy voice through the phone saying, "Miss you, baby. You doin' okay?"

There were even some breathless video calls, camera tilted just right while you touched yourselves together, whispering each other's names and pretending it was enough. But it's not.

You're so fucking pent up you can barely think straight, and it's all hitting you at once now that you know he's almost home. Your phone buzzed earlier, just a casual, "On my way, sweet girl", like he didn't just break you with five fucking words.

And now you're here, fresh from an everything shower and after digging through your whole lingerie drawer only to end up in one of his old t-shirts—because let's be real, he'd just rip anything else off anyway—pacing the living room, heart racing, thighs pressed tight every time you think about how desperate you are to feel his mouth, his hands, his dick.

You pause by the couch, biting your lip. You hadn't realized how much not sleeping next to him had fucked with you. You couldn't even rest properly these past few weeks, just rolled around at night in a nest of pillows, trying to trick your body into thinking it was him, but it didn't really work. Nothing works except Roy.

He's gonna be just as bad, you know that. That man clings like a damn koala when he's home, always got some part of him wrapped around you. Arm over your waist, leg slung over yours, face nuzzled into your neck while he murmurs half asleep all kinds of sweet nothings.

God, it's already been an hour since he texted, and you've been watching the clock like your life depends on it. Every little sound outside has your heart leaping into your throat, and you're this close to calling him, not even for an update, just to hear his voice, to make sure he's real and on his way and not just something you've been imagining for the last three weeks with your fingers stuffed between your thighs and your heart cracked wide open.

You're heading toward your phone when you hear the jingle of keys at the door.

Then comes a soft curse from the other side, metal fumbling against metal like he's trying to get the damn thing in the lock and not having the best luck. He's always been a little shit with keys when he's tired, and that sound—that exact sound—sends something wild rushing through your chest.

You don't even think, you fucking bolt. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood as you rush to the door, yanking it open just as Roy finally manages to get the key turned, and then he's there. In the flesh. Broad shoulders, wind tousled red hair, bag slung over his shoulder, that worn leather jacket, and a tired, hungry look in his eyes that softens the second he sees you.

You don't give him time to speak, instantly launching yourself at him, and he drops his bag, catching you effortlessly, arms locking around you as your legs wrap tight around his waist, hands tangling into his hair like you need to touch him just to believe it.

"Fuck, baby," he huffs out with a low chuckle, stumbling inside as the door swings shut behind you both. "Knew you were gonna hit me like a damn freight train."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as you breathe him in—leather, smoke, that stupid cologne he knows you like. Your heart is going a mile a minute and your grip on him is borderline bruising, but Roy doesn't even dare to complain.

One arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you flush against his body, while the other snakes up your back to cradle your head, his palm splayed wide as if he's trying to cover every inch of you.

"I missed you, Roy," you whisper, breath hitching against his skin. "Missed you so fucking much."

He exhales hard through his nose, lips brushing your hair. "Yeah? Missed you too, sweet girl. So much it fuckin' hurt."

And God, he sounds wrecked. Not just tired, but starved. For you. For your skin, your scent, your warmth. His arms tighten around you again—gentle, like he doesn't quite trust himself not to crush you—and he just stands there, right in the doorway, breathing you in like he's been drowning for weeks and finally got to come up for air.

You don't even realize how long you've been clinging to him until your heart starts to calm just enough to breathe again. Your hands slide through his hair, fingers tugging gently, and you finally lean back, just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, eyes heavy lidded and fixed on you like you're the only thing on the damn planet.

And then you kiss him, crashing your lips into his with all the weight of the last three weeks behind it. It's messy and eager and needy, and he doesn't even hesitate—his lips part instantly, like he was just waiting for you to give him the green light to fall apart. His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, swallowing the sound of his own as you suck on it just to make him feel how badly you missed the taste of him.

You can feel the shiver that runs through him, feel the way his hands shift under your thighs and then move up, gripping your ass in both hands like he's been fantasizing about it every goddamn night. Which, he has.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters against your lips, voice low and frayed at the edges. His fingers dig in harder, palms rough and warm on your bare skin. "You tryin' to kill me, baby?"

You just hum against his mouth, hips giving a little roll against him, just enough to feel it. That perfect dick, already straining against his jeans, rubbing against your bare, needy pussy like it belongs there. And it does.

The heat of his cock makes you gasp into his mouth, eyes fluttering as you tighten your hold around his shoulders. You weren't ready for how fucking good it would feel, even through his clothes. You weren't ready for how your body would light up the second he touched you like this.

And Roy? He's just trying to breathe. He's been going crazy these past few weeks. He missed you so fucking much. He missed your lips, missed the way you kiss him like you're starving, like you're trying to swallow him whole. Missed your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands when he kisses you. Missed the weight of you in his arms.

And now you're here. Warm and slick and so fucking wet for him already, the heat of your pussy grinding down on his cock like you're trying to mark him through the fabric. Like you're gonna burst if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Fuck, trouble," he pants, forehead pressed to yours, hips bucking up into you once, rough and needy. "Gonna fuckin' cum in my pants at this rate."

"Roy..."

His name leaves your lips in a moan that's all breath and heat and broken need, and fuck if that doesn't go straight to his dick. He's got both hands on your ass, kneading it, gripping it like he's not sure whether to hold you tighter or just tear the damn shirt off you already. You can feel every slow drag of his cock beneath you as he grinds up into you—hard and hot and perfect, even through the denim.

He groans again, jaw tight as he kicks off his boots, barely managing to toe them off without stumbling. But he doesn't stop moving. Doesn't stop kissing you, doesn't stop rutting up against you.

His brain is absolute fucking mush, straight up short circuiting. Bedroom? Bed? Couch? Fuck that. He can't think that far right now. The only thing in his line of sight that can support your weight is the living room table, and that's exactly where he goes.

He steps in, crowding you up against it, and your ass meets the cold surface with a little gasp that makes his cock twitch hard in his jeans.

"Oh shit, sorry, baby," he breathes, but you're already tugging him in, not caring in the slightest.

One of his hands flies to the back of your neck, guiding you into another kiss—hot, open mouthed, messy. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's dying and you're the only thing that'll keep him alive. Lips plush, tongue greedy, teeth catching your bottom lip before he sucks on it. Your fingers tangle in the collar of his jacket, dragging it off his shoulders as you writhe beneath him, the kiss all tongue and spit and helpless little whines.

The second his arms slip out of the sleeves, the jacket hits the floor with a heavy thud, but his hands are back on you in an instant. Gripping your thighs, your waist, anything he can get his hands on, really.

Your legs lock around his hips again as he pushes in close, grinding against you harder, faster. The thick ridge of his cock drags right through your soaked folds and your slick is everywhere, soaking through the front of his jeans with every filthy, desperate little rut.

"Fuck," he mutters, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "Y'gonna ruin my fuckin' jeans, baby. Feel that? You're so wet, Jesus Christ."

But even as he teases you, he loves it. Loves how wet you get for him, loves how needy your little pussy is when he's been gone too long. His cock is so hard it hurts, boxers clinging to him from how much precum he's leaked already, but he doesn't give a shit. Nah, he can't even think about getting his dick out yet.

Because all he can fucking think about is how long it's been since he had his tongue buried in your pussy.

Three goddamn weeks. That's twenty one nights of jerking off in some shitty safehouse, fingers wrapped around his dick while he groaned into his pillow, thinking about the way you sound when you cum on his face.

Twenty one fucking nights without feeling your thighs trembling around his head, without tasting how sweet you get for him, without you grinding on his mouth, whimpering like you're losing your mind. He needs it. Desperately.

"Lay back for me, baby," he murmurs against your lips, all needy and hungry. "Let me taste you. Shit—I need it. Missed this sweet little pussy so bad..."

And God, you're already melting for him. You whimper the second he pulls back, even though it's only a little, even though you know what's coming because the absence of his body feels unbearable after feeling him again. But he's not gone for long. Just enough to grab the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing and drag it up and over your head in one smooth pull.

Your nipples are already hard, your chest rising and falling with shallow, desperate little pants, and Roy's brain just... shorts out. His hands come up like he's on autopilot, big palms cupping your tits with reverence, with possession, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, teasing circles that make your thighs twitch.

"Fuckin' hell, baby..." he mutters as he leans in, eyes locked on your tits like he's about to devour them. "You're so goddamn pretty. Missed these tits so much."

And then his mouth is on you. He licks one of your nipples first, slow and deliberate, flat of his tongue swiping over the sensitive bud before his lips close around it with a wet pop. The heat of his mouth makes you moan, your back arching, pressing more of your tits into his face like you need him to bury himself there—and he fucking does.

He groans, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his thumb keeps teasing the other, tongue swirling, flicking, mouthing every inch of your breast.

"Fuck, baby, you're so sweet," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. "Love these tits. My perfect girl."

Your fingers bury themselves in his hair again as you shiver under the attention, head tipped back, thighs trembling around his waist. But he doesn't stop. His mouth moves to your other nipple, giving it the same greedy treatment—licking, sucking, moaning into your skin like he's getting drunk off it before he starts kissing his way down.

Down your sternum, over your stomach, his lips soft and hot and slow. He licks along the curve of your waist, his hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs like he can't wait to spread them open. He sinks to his knees in front of you like it's instinct, like it's the only thing his body knows to do.

And the moment he gets a look at your pussy—already glistening, so fucking wet you're dripping onto the table beneath you—he groans.

"Jesus, baby," he breathes, voice full of reverence and pure lust, his thumbs spreading your lips open so he can get a full view. "You're fuckin' soaked. Look at that pussy. Missed me that bad, huh?"

You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice, already trembling with need, and he sees it. Watches your pussy flutter like it's begging for his mouth, and that's it. That's all it takes. He's fucking gone.

Roy dives in without a second of hesitation, tongue darting out to give you one long, slow lick from your slick little hole all the way up to your clit, the flat of it dragging through your folds, and he moans right against your pussy.

"Fuckin' knew you'd still taste this sweet," he pants, mouth already back on you, licking and lapping and sucking like he's been in the desert for three weeks and your pussy is the only goddamn water source. "Missed this. Missed you."

And you're already shaking because Roy eats pussy like he's on a fucking mission.

His mouth is everywhere—lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks, wet and messy, tongue flicking over the swollen bud in fast little strokes that make your back arch and your fingers yank hard on his hair.

And fuck, when you do that? He moans—a deep, desperate sound that vibrates through your whole body—and it makes your pussy throb, makes your hips jerk up into his face.

"Ohh fuck, Roy—" your voice is ragged, gasping, wrecked already. You're panting, writhing, barely able to hold yourself up on your elbows while his mouth works you over. "Right there, baby, holy shit—"

You're so fucking close you can feel it. Your clit is swollen, pulsing with every flick of his tongue, and it's almost too much, too sharp, too intense, too fucking good. You're leaking all over his mouth, slick dripping down to his chin, your slit wet and aching, and he's making such a mess of you.

Then his tongue slides lower. You let out a shaky little moan when he licks down through your folds and fucks his tongue into your pussy—deep and slow at first, and then harder, faster, like he's trying to tongue fuck the orgasm out of you.

And it's so wet. His spit and your slick mixing, drool running down his chin as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your hole, groaning every time your walls clench around it.

Every moan you let out, every whimper and curse and breathless gasp, he feels it in his dick. Feels it pulse through his jeans, soaked with precum, the ache unbearable, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't even think about stopping.

Because Roy Harper's got a problem, aaand it's between your thighs. He's obsessed. Fully, helplessly addicted to making you cum on his tongue. Doesn't care how hard he is, doesn't care if he's leaking through his fucking jeans, his only priority is you falling apart under his tongue.

He lives for it. For the taste of you, the feel of your pussy clenching around his tongue, the sounds you make when he does it just right. And the way you look at him—eyes half lidded, mouth parted, sweat on your brow—it drives him fucking wild.

He keeps flicking his eyes up, checking your face like he always does. Making sure you're still coming undone for him, that your thighs are shaking, that you're using his mouth just how he loves.

"That's it, baby," he pants, pulling back just enough to breathe before he dives in again, sloppier this time. "Tastes so fuckin' good… c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fuckin' tongue—lemme have it."

His tongue slips out of your pussy with one last languid lick, your walls clenching around the empty space he leaves behind, and then he's back on your clit.

Sucking hard, lips sealing around it, the tip of his tongue flicking fast, hot little taps that make your thighs twitch. And then you feel his fingers. Two of them, thick and calloused, slick with your arousal as he sinks them inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And he does.

"Roy," your voice breaks into a moan as your head drops back onto the table with a dull thud, legs falling open wider to take him deeper.

He's curling his fingers with each pump, stroking that spongy spot inside you like he's trying to milk your orgasm out of you, all while his mouth stays locked to your clit—licking, sucking, moaning.

And oh God, the sounds. The wet, filthy squelch of his fingers fucking into your soaked pussy, the slurp of his mouth on your clit. Your moans, high and gasping, getting louder with every second. You can barely breathe, barely think.

Your hips start moving without you even realizing it, grinding against his face, desperate for more, for everything. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, slick gushing around them, and he groans into you like it's his favorite fucking song.

"Fuck—Roy, fuck, I'm gonna—" you sob, eyes fluttering shut, nails clawing at the table as your whole body coils tight.

And then it hits. Your orgasm crashes through you, sharp and overwhelming and so fucking deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. You cry out—loud and shameless—as you grind your clit against his mouth and your pussy clenches wildly around his fingers.

You're shaking. Full body trembles, thighs twitching around his head, hands flying to his hair like you don't know whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

But Roy doesn't stop. No, he's obsessed, completely fucking gone. He keeps sucking on your clit, keeps fucking his fingers into your spasming cunt like he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure out of you. Moaning into your pussy, licking you through it, soaking his face, smaller aftershocks tearing through your nerves, your slick dripping down his wrist, making a mess on the table under your ass.

"Roy—baby—I can't—"

You're gasping, voice wrecked, chest heaving as overstimulation starts to hit.

Your clit throbs under his mouth, every flick of his tongue sending sharp little shocks through your spine. And usually? You love it. Usually you'd let him keep going, let him tease another orgasm out of you while you cry through it. But right now? You need his dick.

You squirm, moaning again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. "Roy—baby, I need you—fuck—I can't—I need it, please—"

He groans against your pussy, nose pressed to your mound, but you're twitching, panting, too sensitive to take any more, and finally you yank him away from your clit with shaking hands.

He pulls back, lips wet, chin slick, his pupils blown wide as he pants against your thigh, fingers still slowly fucking into you.

He presses hot, open mouthed kisses to your skin, your inner thighs damp with arousal, your body limp and needy on the table.

"Please, baby," you whimper, voice all soft and wrecked, thighs trembling as your hands cling to his hair, "fuck me... please..."

Roy lets out a low, broken groan like he's trying to stay calm, but then he dips his head and sinks his teeth into your thigh, sucking a bruise right into the soft skin just inches from your swollen, wet pussy. You twitch and gasp, hips rolling up toward him, and he groans again, his mouth still hot against your skin.

He pulls back, breath ragged, and his fingers slide out of your still clenching cunt with a wet, obscene schlick. He doesn't even think, just lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean, tongue dragging over each finger.

And then his mouth is on yours. You moan into it immediately, hands threading into his hair, dragging him down as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, messy, tongue and teeth and desperation, and you whimper when you taste yourself on him—salty and sweet and so fucking much. His tongue licks into your mouth like he owns it, groaning when you suck on it, both of you grinding against each other.

His hands are already on his jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper, like he can't get them down fast enough. You hear the rough clink of metal, the drag of denim, and then he shoves them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

And God, you feel it. The heat of his dick, heavy and hard, dragging across your soaked folds, and you moan into his mouth, your whole body arching off the table as the head of his dick catches on your clit.

"Oh my God—" you gasp, breaking the kiss as your eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide.

Roy groans like he's in pain, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling slow and filthy between your thighs. His cock drags through your slick, the head sliding back and forth, smearing precum over your already soaked pussy.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, voice dark and fucked out, one hand gripping your thigh as he rolls his hips again, "how wet you are? That's all for me, huh?"

You nod frantically, gasping, "Y-yeah, all for you—fuck, Roy, you're so hard—please, just—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, all tongue and groans, grinding his cock harder between your folds, the head nudging your clit again and again, until your whole body is shaking from the pressure.

"God, I missed this pussy," he growls against your mouth, "missed how she fuckin' melts for me..."

You pant into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back at this point, lips trembling against his as you whisper, "Please, Roy... I need you inside me—please, baby, I need it."

He lets out a breathless, choked off curse, his hips jerking forward instinctively like your words pulled the movement out of him. "Fuckin'shit..."

He reaches down, his cock thick and throbbing as he fists it, lining up with your soaked, fluttering entrance. You can feel the heat of his dick, that heavy weight just resting against you, and your hips roll up in pure desperation as he groans like he's about to lose it already.

"God damn, look at you, pretty thing," he breathes, one hand sliding into your hair, cupping the top of your head, holding you close, "you're fuckin' perfect, baby—so soft, so ready for me... always are."

The thick head of his cock stretches you open slow, dragging against your slick walls, and both of you shudder—your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your moans spilling into each other's mouths.

"F-fuck, Roy—" your voice breaks into a gasp, and he swears under his breath, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut as he sinks deeper.

"Jesus—tight," he pants, voice all fucked out and shaking, "this pussy's still so fuckin' tight, even after all that—shit, I missed this, baby."

You whimper, arms tightening around his neck as his hips roll forward again, slow and deep until he bottoms out—all the way, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

The stretch is unreal, perfect and overwhelming, and your pussy clings to him like it's been starved for this. You're both trembling, breath mingling in hot little gasps, your walls fluttering around him as he stills for a second, groaning low against your neck when he feels you squeeze around him, tight and pulsing like you're trying to milk him already.

"Fuck," he murmurs, voice thick with need, "You feel—shit—baby, you feel so fuckin' good. This pussy's got a fuckin' chokehold on me."

You moan at that, hips twitching against his as you grip him tighter. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him there, keeping him deep. Every inch of him buried inside, stretching you open so perfectly you could cry.

He doesn't move yet—he can't—just grinds in tiny, slow circles that make your head spin, the base of his cock nudging all the right places while your pussy clenches down around him.

He kisses you again, slow and lazy, tongue sweeping into your mouth, groaning into every little gasp you give him as he finally starts to move.

Long, deep thrusts, like he's trying to feel every inch of your tight little cunt, his cock dragging against your slick walls, making you cry out every time he pulls back just to slide in deeper.

His hand stays in your hair, keeping your forehead against his as he fucks you, the other sliding down to grip your thigh, holding you wide open for him.

"Taking me so good, baby," he rasps, eyes locked on yours, "fuck, this sweet pussy's made for me, huh?"

You pant against his mouth, noses brushing, lips barely parted between gasps as you breathe out, "Yes—"

He groans, low and shaky, like your voice pours straight into his cock. His lips brush yours, tender and breathless. "God, I've missed you so much," he says, barely more than a whisper, hips pressing forward in another slow, deep thrust.

You cry out, head tipping back just a little as your back arches off the table, and he chases your lips, his hand tightening in your hair to keep you close.

"I missed you too, baby," you moan, breath hitching with each grind of his hips, "so fucking much."

You feel everything—his lips brushing yours, his hands gripping you like you're the only thing keeping him upright, the hot weight of his cock grinding into your soaked, fluttering pussy. He bottoms out again, slow and deep, and your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut.

"God, you feel so good—"

That earns you a sharp inhale through his nose, his mouth ghosting over yours as he rocks into you again, slow but deep, each thrust forcing needy little sounds out of your throat.

"Yeah, baby?" he murmurs, voice wrecked. "You missed this dick, huh?"

"Y-yeah, fuck—"

"My sweet, good, hot fucking girl," he groans, hips slamming forward just a little harder, like he can't help himself anymore. "You got no clue what you do to me."

You swear your pussy clenches around him even tighter just from the way he says that.

His dick is drenched—slick, obscene, wet sounds filling the room every time his hips slap into yours. You can feel how soaked he is, how your pussy just keeps milking him, precum spilling and mixing with everything dripping down your ass. Every slow drag of his cock makes you twitch, and he's so thick, so hot, pulsing with every stroke like he's losing it inch by inch.

Your thoughts are a messy tangle because yeah, you missed his dick. The stretch of it, the way it fills every part of you, hits every sweet spot like it knows your body better than you do.

But it's him—his lips on yours, the way he holds you like you're something precious, the soft, desperate moans he makes into your mouth. His eyes locked on yours like he needs to watch your face. The way he fucks you slow like he's trying to memorize you from the inside out.

Every single part of him. His weight pressing into you, the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the feel of his calloused fingers brushing your skin as he whispers praise into your mouth.

You swear you could cry from how good it feels, how badly you needed this. Roy's hips rock into you again, slow and deep, dragging a broken moan out of your throat as he grinds against your clit. You're so wet, the slick squelch of your pussy echoing every time he sinks into you—it's filthy, raw, like the sounds alone could make him lose it.

He watches your face like he's starved for it, like the sight of you all flushed and desperate beneath him is the only thing that's kept him breathing the past three weeks. Your lips are parted, glossy from kissing him, moaning so pretty for him, all soft and whiny. You're fucking glowing, flushed and damp and trembling and perfect.

God, he missed this. Missed you.

He never stops thinking about it—about you. Not when he's out there, not when he's trying to sleep in some shitty cot somewhere, not even when he's jerking off to your voice in his ear while you moan his name through the phone.

Yeah, he's gotten himself off—fuck, he had to—but it's not the same. It never fucking is. His hand doesn't feel like you. Doesn't squeeze and flutter and pull him back in like your pussy does. Doesn't make him feel like he's home.

You moan again, soft and needy, and his whole body jerks, a growl rising from his chest as he grinds deep into you, just a little firmer, like he can't help it. Your pussy is so wet, soaking his cock, slick gushing out of you with every slow thrust.

He can feel the way your walls clench every time he drags over that spot inside you, the way your breath hitches when he grinds down right against your swollen clit.

His balls are tight, his dick twitching inside you, but he bites back the groan because he's not fucking stopping. Not until he makes you cum again. He needs it. Needs to watch you fall apart on his cock. Again. Slowly. Properly.

His voice is low, rough, nearly trembling when he murmurs, "That's it, baby... taking me so good..."

Your thighs twitch around his hips, and he moans as your pussy flutters around him, that delicious squeeze making his hips stutter.

“Fuck, you're perfect. Feel so good, baby. So warm, so wet," he pants, his forehead pressed against yours. "Could stay buried in this pussy all night."

And he means it. God, he means every word. He's obsessed—utterly, shamelessly obsessed—with every part of you. How you sound, how you smell, how you feel wrapped him, around his dick. He'll give you whatever you want, over and over again, but right now?

Right now, he just wants to keep fucking you like this.

"Look at you," he whispers, hips rocking into you again, dragging out another desperate moan. "My pretty fuckin' girl. So needy for me, huh?"

You brush your lips over his, a breathless little whimper caught between your panting as you gasp out, "Roy, baby... I need your cum... please—"

And that's it. That's all it takes. He fucking snaps.

His cock twitches deep inside you, and suddenly he's fucking you a little harder, a little faster, just like your needy little voice told him to. Every wet slap of skin against skin is filthy, your slick leaking down to the table with each stroke of his thick cock.

"Fuck, baby—fuck, you want it that bad?" he moans, voice cracking as he buries himself deep again, your pussy sucking him right back in like it owns him.

And it does. It fucking does. His thrusts grow desperate, hips jerking as his dick throbs deep inside you, the head swelling just before he spills, moaning into your open mouth like he's losing his mind.

"Take it, baby," he pants, eyes squeezed shut, forehead against yours, "fuckin' take all my cum—"

His cock pulses, and you feel every hot, thick spurt of cum filling your clenching pussy, each throb making you cry out as it hits deep inside you. You're already so close, your clit aching, your walls fluttering, and the second you feel him fill you, feel that warm gush deep inside? You snap too.

Your orgasm crashes into you all at once, a full body tremble that has your back arching, your pussy squeezing down on him, milking every last drop. Your thighs shake around his hips, breath catching as you gasp his name again and again, almost sobbing as the pleasure takes over.

He feels the way your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, still trying to suck him in, and it drives him insane. He moans into your mouth again, hips jerking once, twice, before he stills, buried to the base, your soaked pussy choking his dick with how fucking tight you are.

His lips brush yours, hot and wet and messy before he leans in and licks into your mouth, hungry and desperate. You whimper into it, clinging to him, your tongues slick against each other as he keeps kissing you like he's trying to breathe you in, like he can't get enough even as he throbs inside you, his cum leaking around his cock.

You're both panting into each other's mouths, bodies still shaking, the table creaking beneath you as you cling together—his hand in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt, both of you completely fucking lost in it.

You break the kiss, panting, lips slick and swollen as you lick them slowly, eyes half lidded, fucked out and begging. "Roy?"

His forehead stays against yours, hand still in your hair, the tip of his nose brushing yours. "Yeah, baby?"

You gasp softly, hips shifting under his, your voice a breathless little whimper, sweet and so, so dangerous. "Fuck me."

And he knows exactly what you mean. Knows this slow, sweet, deep thrust shit you've been doing? That's not how you two usually fuck unless one of you is half asleep or coming off a long night. This? This was the appetizer. You want the real thing. You want him rough, messy, fast, you want your brains fucked out and your body wrecked.

He doesn't even blink. He pulls back and slides out just far enough for the head of his cock to catch at your dripping entrance, the tip slick and soaked in your juices and his cum. And then he slams back in.

The wet, obscene slap of it punches a gasp out of your throat, and his cum spills out around his cock, leaking down your ass and pooling beneath you on the table. He swears under his breath when he sees it—feels it—and God, it just makes him go harder.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in bruisingly tight as he starts pounding into your pussy, dick drenched, driving in and out of your soaked hole like he's got a fucking death grip on your orgasm.

"Fuck—that's it, baby, that's what you wanted, huh?" he groans, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward so fast the table under you starts to creak dangerously. "Wanted me to fuck this needy little pussy just like this, yeah? Jesus Christ—"

And you're babbling, moaning so loud you're not even sure what you're saying, head thrown back, hair a mess, eyes rolling as he wrecks you. Every thrust hits deep, hard enough to jolt you against the table, the angle perfect every time he slams back in. You can feel him everywhere—his hips slapping yours, his nails biting into your skin, the wet drag of his cock, stretching you out, making your cunt flutter all over again.

You swear you're gonna cum again already just from how filthy it is. Just from the sound of him, the feel of his body driving into yours like he owns you. And he does.

"Look at you," Roy groans, breath coming out rough as he fucks into you, watching the way you whimper every time he slams his hips into yours. "So fuckin' perfect—"

Your tits bounce every time he drives in, fat and soft and flushed, and his gaze keeps dragging up to your face—that face, all scrunched up in pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes glassy and wild. You're a mess. His favorite kind. His perfect fucking mess.

"Fuck, you're tight—shit, baby, you missed this dick that bad?" he pants, eyes locked on your face, the way your lips fall open, the way your lashes flutter every time he bottoms out.

You whimper so sweet and broken he almost folds. Every word, every praise from him sends another pulse of heat through you, your pussy fluttering around his cock like it's starving. You're so wet you can hear it—slick squelches and obscene little pops every time he thrusts in and out, your walls clenching down like your body is trying to milk him dry. And Roy's losing it.

His jaw is tight, brow furrowed, face flushed and chest heaving as he looks at you—really looks at you. Fucked stupid on his dick, hair messy, tits bouncing, lips swollen from his kisses. You're beautiful like this. You're his like this.

"God, baby, you've got no fuckin' clue how much I missed you," he grits, voice ragged, hips stuttering for just a second before he slams back in. "Three weeks without this pussy? Without you? Nearly lost my goddamn mind."

You cry out when he grinds into you just right, clit catching the base of his cock, your pussy clenching around him like you're gonna cum again, wrecked and desperate and so fucking needy.

"Roy, fuck—" you choke on it, back arching off the table when his thumb finds your clit mid thrust, rubbing quick little circles over the swollen nub, and it's over.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a fucking wave—hot, overwhelming, dizzying. Your clit throbs under his touch, cunt spasming around his cock like it's trying to milk him, to keep him right there. You're moaning, twitching, shaking, your whole body slick with sweat, and all you can do is cling to him as he fucks you through it.

"That's it, baby," he pants, voice dripping with praise as he watches you come undone for him. "God, you cum so pretty for me. Look at you, fuckin' perfect."

Your thoughts spiral, scrambled and filthy and sweet all at once. You love the way he fucks you, love it. But every time he's been away for a while, every time he's had to go without, he always fucks you like he's starving, like he's never gonna get another taste of you again. And it drives you insane in the best, nastiest way. Like he's trying to crawl inside you, like he needs you.

And God, you love being needed like this.

He leans over you again, growling low in his throat as he grabs your thighs, lifting them higher, folding you nearly in half so he can stuff his cock deeper into your soaking wet pussy. He's buried to the hilt when he crashes his mouth against yours, desperate and messy, all tongue and teeth and spit. He licks into you like he's still tasting your cunt on your tongue, like he wants to drown in everything you are.

Your lips are slick, swollen, parted just enough to let him fuck his tongue into your mouth, and you're both groaning, panting, needy—his hips still grinding down, cock thick and heavy and pulsing inside you as your walls flutter around him from the aftershocks.

And when he pulls back just a little, he doesn't go far, just enough to mutter, "Fuck, baby, you're squeezin' me so tight," before he slams his cock in again, hips snapping forward, filthy, deep, obsessed.

Your arms wrap around his neck like instinct, your body already knowing what's coming, your thighs twitching from the last orgasm, your pussy still clenching around his cock when he groans, low and hungry, and slips his hands under your ass.

"Hold on, baby," he grits out, voice wrecked, sweat glistening on his forehead before he fucking lifts you.

Your pussy slides up on his cock and your head falls back with a gasped, "Roy—fuck—"

He doesn't even hesitate. He plants his feet, tightens his grip on your ass, and slams you down on his dick like a man possessed.

"Oh my God," you sob, clinging to him like your life depends on it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body bouncing as he starts fucking you, panting, sweat slicked skin smacking loud against yours with each brutal drop. "Baby—f-fuck—it's so—so fucking good—"

Your words break, stutter, melt against the heat of your own tongue because you're already gone. Dick drunk, legs trembling, head spinning from how deep he hits like this. Every thrust is dizzying. Every time he drops you onto his cock, it feels like he's rearranging something inside you—stretching you wide, fucking you open from the inside out.

And Roy? He's grunting with every bounce, eyes dark and locked on your face.

"You feel that, baby? Fuck, this pussy—"

He can't even finish that. He's too obsessed, too overwhelmed, every muscle in his arms flexing as he fucks you through midair like you're weightless, like you're his favorite addiction. Because you are.

"Tight little pussy takin' me so good," he hisses through gritted teeth, voice so rough it scrapes through your chest. "Mine. Fuckin' mine."

"Yours," you gasp into his neck, all breath and heat and raw need.

And it does something to him, snaps something in that already obsessed brain of his. Roy moans low in his throat, slamming you down harder, his cock plunging deep into your pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes you wail.

"Fuck, baby—" he huffs, voice punched right out of him, your cunt so wet and tight and slippery that he has to fight not to slip out with every brutal thrust. "You're gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You're both soaked, your thighs sticky where they wrap around his waist, his cock absolutely slicked up with your cum, his own mess still dripping out of you, making every thrust louder, wetter, nastier.

You can barely breathe, let alone think. Your moans stutter out in broken, breathy sobs, your head thrown back one second, then lolling forward against his shoulder the next, your body clinging to him like your bones have melted.

His cock hits so deep, nudging that perfect spot again and again, dragging against your walls on every thrust. You can feel every vein, every twitch, every desperate pulse of him inside you. And your pussy? She's greedy. Clenching around him like she knows he's close, like she wants to milk every drop he has to give.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging hard, dragging his mouth back to yours, and you don't kiss. Not really. You moan into each other's mouths, open mouthed and messy, tongues licking, teeth grazing, panting and gasping as you chase that high together.

"So good," he moans into your mouth, hips slamming up into you. "So fuckin' good, baby—shit—"

There's no rhythm anymore, no pattern. Just desperate, sweaty fucking, bodies pressed together like magnets, like you'll fall apart if you let go. No thoughts. Just you, him, and the filthy sounds of skin slapping and soaked cunt getting split open by the man who loves you more than anything.

"I'm so close, I—" Roy chokes out, voice rough and wrecked, every thrust getting sloppier, harder, needier.

And you cut him off, moaning right in his ear, "Yes, yes, fuck me full, baby, please, please—"

That's all it takes. Roy growls, a raw sound tearing from his throat as his hips jerk, once, twice, then he freezes, cock buried deep, his whole body shuddering against yours as he cums.

Hot, heavy spurts of cum flood your cunt, thick and deep and so fucking much of it you feel it bloom inside you. You sob out a moan, body arching, pussy clenching down hard as your own orgasm hits again, just from the sheer pressure of him filling you.

"Fuck," he pants, arms shaking as he holds you up, your body jerking with every throb of his cock, every pulse of cum painting your insides. "Fuck, baby, your pussy—"

You bury your face in his neck, whimpering, gasping, your thighs twitching as your cunt clenches greedily around him, sucking up every drop he gives you. The pressure of his release, the way it spills so deep it pushes against your cervix—it's overwhelming, hot, perfect—and your walls just keep gripping him, milking him for more.

Roy groans again, low and deep, hips twitching as he spills one last spurt of cum into your pulsing pussy. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling you like you're the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

You're both trembling, breathless and sweaty, still fused together, stuffed full and soaked and so fucking in love it aches.

Roy finally kicks off his jeans and boxers—those poor things had been bunched around his ankles this whole time—and carefully shifts onto the couch, bringing you with him, still snug on his cock.

You let out a soft, breathy whimper as he settles down, and he rubs his big hand up your spine immediately, murmuring, "Shhh, I know, pretty thing... I know."

You stay curled into him, face pressed into the crook of his neck, still panting, still sniffling a little as the intensity of everything starts to settle. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, and he just holds you tighter, rubbing slow, calming circles into your back.

"You did so good, baby," he whispers against your hair. "So good for me." Another soft kiss, this time on your temple. "My perfect girl."

It takes a few minutes before you can even move again, before your heartbeat starts slowing down, your breath stops hitching, your body remembers it's not made of jelly. Eventually, you pull back just a little, blinking at him, eyes glossy and dazed but so, so full of love.

Your shaky hands rise to cup his face, thumbs brushing tenderly over his flushed skin. He melts into it, gaze soft as you lean in and kiss him.

It's not hungry like before. It's slow, gentle, deep. Tongues gliding together lazily, little moans slipping from both your lips as you kiss through slow breaths, like you're tasting every second of it. His dick twitches inside your cum filled cunt with each little shift, but neither of you move. You love it like this—full, warm, wrapped up in each other.

When you finally pull back for air, you don't go far. You keep pressing soft little kisses to his mouth—one, two, three, like you can't help it. He chuckles, low and warm, and you giggle, brushing your nose against his like you've got nowhere else to be but here.

"God, trouble," he murmurs as he cups your cheek, "I love you so much."

You grin, cheeks aching from how hard you're smiling, and you kiss him again, light and sweet. "I love you too, baby."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and lingering. "You okay?" he murmurs, voice low and soft against your skin.

You don't even have to think. You just sigh, heart full, and whisper, "I am now."

Roy chuckles quietly, one arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm," you hum, nuzzling back into the crook of his neck like it's the only place you wanna be. And it is.

You're both still wrapped up in each other, still full of warmth and cum and that slow, aching kind of love that settles deep in your bones when someone comes home to you. When he comes home to you.

Eventually, though, he mutters, "C'mon, let's clean up, yeah?" already bracing, because he knows exactly what you're about to say.

And of course, you start to whine immediately. "I don't wanna move," you mumble against his neck, brushing your nose there just like he knew you would.

He laughs, full and fond, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Trouble," he grins, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm all yours, baby. But we're sticky, and messy, and sweaty. And I'm starving."

You pout, just a little, lips brushing his throat as you sigh dramatically before pulling away. "Okay," you huff, and he chuckles again before kissing your forehead.

"Good girl," he teases as he cups your ass, and before you can even protest, he's lifting you up with ease.

You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, laughing softly as he starts walking toward the bathroom.

The second he steps inside, he pauses to set you down gently on the edge of the counter. You're still clinging to him when he finally eases his cock out of your pussy, and the sound you make is somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. His cum trickles out in thick, warm drops, sliding down your thighs, dripping onto the floor, and you both kind of pause to look at the mess before exchanging amused glances.

"Fuck," he mutters as he watches, "that's a mess."

You blink down, dazed, cheeks flushing a little. "That's your fault."

"Proud of it," he grins.

He finally pulls off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket, and you can't help but admire him—tattoos, muscles, that smug little grin that never goes away when he catches you staring.

You cling to him even as he leans forward to turn the shower on, arms wrapped around his waist, face smushed against his bare chest. He doesn't complain—he never does. If anything, he presses a kiss to your temple and runs his hand over your lower back like it soothes him as much as it does you.

He turns on the water, testing the temperature before guiding you under the spray, arms still around you. And the shower? It's not even about getting clean, it's about being close. You wash his hair slowly, fingers gentle as he leans into every touch, and then you press soft kisses to each of his tattoos as you rinse him off.

He does the same to you, taking his time, rubbing your back, cupping your ass, smiling when you squeak or shiver under his hands. You giggle into his chest as he kisses your wet hair and groans like a man tortured.

You're both clingy and silly and tender, laughing when the soap gets in your eyes, moaning dramatically when he kneads your sore ass in apology. You help rinse the sweat and sex off him, and he makes sure to wash you thoroughly, though his hands do linger in a few places, not that you're complaining.

Eventually, you towel off, still dripping a little as he grabs one of his shirts—soft and worn and way too big—and slips it over your head. You giggle again when he helps you into a pair of panties, tugging them gently over your hips with a kiss to your tummy.

"You're so cute like this," he mumbles, sliding his arms around your waist. "Drives me fuckin' nuts."

You help him pull on his boxers and shorts—because if left to his own devices, this man would just walk around naked—and the two of you head back into the living room to deal with the... aftermath.

He grabs some wipes and a cloth, scrubbing the table down with a shake of his head and a smile tugging at his lips. "Jesus, baby. We really did a number on this thing."

You snort as you gather your scattered clothes—his too—and toss them all into the laundry basket. "You mean you did."

He just smirks, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, you weren't complaining."

You pass by him with a little smirk, and he swats at your ass playfully, catching the soft giggle you try to hide behind your hand.

You wander over to him, quiet footsteps across the floor, and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. His skin is still warm from the shower, bare under your cheek as you nuzzle into his back.

"Pizza?" you murmur softly.

Roy lets out a little laugh, all fond and low. "You read my mind, pretty thing."

You smile against his back and press a kiss between his shoulder blades before he turns around in your arms, hands sliding to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. He leans down, those warm green eyes locked on yours like you're the only thing he ever wants to see again, and then he kisses you.

It's soft—so, so soft. The kind of kiss that tastes like home, like love, like everything being exactly where it's supposed to be. His lips linger against yours, slow and gentle, his nose brushing yours before he finally pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the tip of it.

"On it," he whispers.

Neither of you moves at first. You just stand there, clinging to each other in the soft quiet of your shared space. But then he grins, and with no warning at all, he scoops you up into his arms, making you yelp as you grab onto him with a laugh.

"Roy!" you squeal through a giggle, and he laughs, walking you to the couch like it's nothing.

He plops you down gently and kisses your forehead. "Stay here. I'll order it."

You hum, pleased, and smack his ass as he turns to walk away. He throws a look over his shoulder, biting back a grin, and grabs his phone from the pocket of his jacket hanging on the hook.

You watch him as he orders, his voice calm and casual as he rattles off your go to order, the one you've both settled on after many lazy nights and far too many toppings.

Then he heads to the fridge and calls over, "Want some Coke, baby?"

"Yes pleaaase," you say, already curling up on the couch, voice all sweet and eager.

He chuckles under his breath. "Comin' right up."

As he pops the caps off two bottles, he catches himself smiling again. God, he missed this. Missed you. Missed being home, being around the little things that make it all feel worth it—your voice echoing down the hall, the smell of your shampoo in the bathroom, the way your laughter feels like sunlight.

He turns around, and his heart just fucking squeezes. You're already tucked into the couch, buried in that absolutely ridiculous fluffy blanket with his face printed all over it, the one he gave you as a joke a year ago, thinking you'd laugh and never use it. But you have, every damn time. It's far too big on you, swallowing you up completely, but it just makes you look that much smaller and softer as you flick through the TV with the remote, lips pursed in concentration.

His pretty little trouble, cozy and warm and waiting for him, and fuck if this isn't the best thing in the whole world.

[juuuulez]

Now I usually don't send writing asks but I've got an idea that's rotted into my brain ever since I watched the finale: sometime during the winter, drunk Travis stumbling over to your hut late at night and things get freaky, maybe with some possessive undertones...? I need him to take his anger out on me [the crowd starts jeering and throwing tomatoes]

No pressure at all to write anything like this!! I just really like your work and it would save me the time of writing it myself 😭

okay but after the last hunt, when mari comes back with holes in her. travis is still half drunk and refuses to help prep, just like he refused to hunt, though it definitely breaks him a little to realise it was his trap that did this.

he wasn’t in on the plan, and he knows you wouldn’t have been, either. you also didn’t hunt, staying behind in a futile attempt to preserve the animal bodies that had all passed. there was no point in letting it all go to waste.

still, you thank shauna for the food, as she offers up mari’s corpse. travis knows you aren’t naive, just purposefully passive, quiet enough to not piss anyone off. and with shauna as the antler queen, you knew better than to ruffle feathers now.

travis is pissed off that you respect her; that you respect everyone, really. him, included. that you entertain misty’s stupid ideas, that you joke with tai van, that you help akilah with the animals.

how you used to look after javi, with this motherly type innocence. you were nice to a fault, and travis hated it.

so, he’s here now, standing in the doorway of your little hut. you have the audacity to smile at him, even though he’s drunk, even though it’s the middle of the night.

“your clothes,” he says, only having one thing in mind. “take them off.”

and you pout, despite how rude he was being, coming in here to order you around. “it’s cold out.”

of course it was cold. there was a small stick fire on the floor of your hut, but nothing more. the walls were made of bark and mud. they could hardly keep the canadian winter chill away.

travis came further into the space, standing in front of your kneeling form. somehow you look even sweeter like this, staring up at him. he wonders faintly if you’d be a better queen: probably not, you’re not firm enough.

but just for tonight, he would rather worship you than shauna.

“i’ll keep you warm.” travis ends up saying, after a long stretch of silence. he’s drunk but oddly aware, conscious of what he’s asking of you, the weight of it. “do you want to?”

and you’ll nod, because of course you do. you would do anything to help him feel better, and if this is what does it, then you won’t judge.

he’s far rougher than intended, your pants abandoned, his hips filling the space between your legs. travis grips onto your waist, using the leverage to fuck into you slow and deep, moaning into your shoulder.

his teeth worry at your skin, leaving behind marks, not that it matters anymore. you tug at his hair for leverage, breaths coming out in little gasps as his pace becomes punishing the closer he gets.

travis is drunk but smart enough to want to pull out, even when your legs cage against his back, pulling his twitching cock deeper inside. he moans against your lips, eyes hazy in a look of questioning. your expression is too innocent for the filthy things hes doing to you.

“stay.” you whisper into his mouth.

and travis does, he stays. he thrusts his seed deep inside, where it belongs. it’s a mark of what’s his, a physical proof that you’re his, and he’s yours.

[little-diable]

Wrath - Soldier Boy (smut)

Requested by @waynes-multiverse for my Deadly Sins challenge. I missed writing for him, this was so much fun! Please like and reblog it you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Ben thinks the reader betrayed him, all because of some stupid joke Butcher made. But he can’t stay angry at her for long, especially when he sees what his anger does to her needy body

Warnings: 18+, pwp, smut, oral (f), face sitting, fighting, Soldier Boy being himself

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader (1k words)

The slap echoed through her apartment, a sound so loud, she feared it could wake her neighbours. Her hand was aching, pulsing painfully, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it to him, not when he had spoken to her with words so vile, she had wanted to rip his tongue right out of his mouth.

“How fucking dare you!” Anger dripped from her voice while her fiery eyes kept staring at Ben. His tongue kissed his teeth, hair falling into his face while he let go of a humourless laugh. “How dare you accuse me of this, you fucking asshole!”

“Careful, doll.” It was a warning she chose to ignore - especially now when he had just accused her of working against him behind his back, spurred on by some bullshit joke Butcher had made without understanding how easily Ben’s trust issues could resurface. Just as she inhaled some air to throw another string of curses at him, his hand shot out to grasp her face, fingers painfully digging into her cheeks. “You’re not in any position to raise your fucking voice at me.”

“Fuck you! I gave everything for you, you fucking asshole! And now you think I betrayed you? Just because you can’t take a fucking joke?” He moved before she could even blink, thrown to the mattress of their shared bed. Her body bounced as it came in touch with the soft material, wide, angry eyes set on his face. She hated that the heat between her thighs began to rise, hated that the sight of his angry features made her walls clench around nothing.

“It’s time we shut that loud mouth of yours, doll. I’m fucking tired of your bitching ass.” He was on (y/n) moments later, eyes no longer fuelled by the wrath he had felt the second he had picked up on Butcher’s joke, but by the burning desire she was all too used to by now. Ben’s hand was between her thighs, grinning as he felt the heat radiating off of her as if she had been left out in the sun for hours. “I should have known that fighting with me turns you into a horny mess. I bet that pussy of yours is already dripping for me.”

Her trousers were ripped off of her legs, exposing her soaked panties to his twinkling eyes. The groan that left Ben made her thighs tremble, unable to remember the angry words burning on the tip of her tongue. All she was focused on was Ben’s touch, the way he gripped her tight enough to remind her that he’d always have the upper hand when it came to their time behind closed doors, the way he ripped her panties in half only to stare down on her naked lower body.

“Prettiest fucking sight I’ve ever seen.” His murmurs made heat crawl up her thighs. But before (y/n) could get lost in the sensation, Ben had flipped them around, leaving her straddling his chest. “Sit on my face, doll.”

The way Ben rasped out the words made her halt for a second. She looked at him, into the eyes that have seen so much destruction but still looked at her with something she couldn’t help but describe as love. It somehow seemed as if an apology was swimming in his pupils, nothing he’d voice out loud, but give room for in his actions.

Without a word of protest, (y/n) crawled up to sit on his face, feeling his hot breath clash against her needy heat. With her hands placed on the headboard, she held on as strong arms found their way around her thighs to properly pull her down. Ben’s tongue met her warm skin, groaning at the taste of her arousal, which made the vibrations of his sounds roll through her body.

“Fuck, Ben, feels so good.” She hated how easily she gave in, hated to practically feel his smirk against her skin, but at that moment she couldn’t care. All she needed was his touch. All she needed was to feel that orgasm he’d surely push through her system within a few moments. Her body was his hostage, mind and hearts connected even in the moments where they felt the need to kill one another.

His tongue dipped into her tightness, fucking her for a second before he sucked on her bundle of nerves. Ben loved to turn her into a moaning mess, set on pushing her over the edge with his tongue before he’d use her body as an outlet for his anger, fucking her all through the night. The strong muscle moved with a purpose, set on pulling all the strength from her until there was nothing left to fight with.

Moans clawed through her, filling the bedroom over and over again until her orgasm began to flush through her. (Y/n)’s body was shaking, eyes rolling back into her head while tightening her grip on the headrest. Ben kept sucking on her clit, prolonging the sensation as if it was his own kind of torture. Which it undoubtedly was, an outlet for the anger he was only slowly getting rid of.

“You taste so sweet, doll, making a fucking mess on my face huh?” He helped her down and rolled her onto her back for his eyes to find her wide ones. (Y/n)’s heart was still racing, pounding in her chest as if she had just run a marathon.

“Ben,” she panted his name, hand reaching for his to feel the calloused fingertips pressed against hers. “Do you really think I’d ever betray you?”

For a second, he kept quiet. All Ben did was stare down at her, until he pressed a harsh kiss against her lips. Her hands found the back of his neck, holding him as he rolled on top of her to press his bulge against her heat.

“You’re making a whipped pussy out of me, doll. But I’ll fucking smash the head of the cumguzzler and the British fucker in for fucking with me.”

[twilightsumu]

how to create a love story | k. akaashi

chapter three: maybe he smells you through the screen?

synopsis: yn finds akaashi and sends him a follow. atsumu buys a hard hat off SHEIN. kenma (with the help of kuroo) and oikawa unknowingly play against each other in a dti sever.

warning/genre: smau, modern au, kms joke, yn has ibs :/, talks of violence (nothing serious i promise lol), taxes

a/n: #ibswarrior

“and when you find this akaashi person, who i believe is a little bit of a creep if i may add,” atsumu is standing outside your front door with a drill and the new security system that came in. “… you’re going to do what exactly?” 

kiyoomi is sitting next to you on the couch as you stroll through your secret mission on twitter. you could feel omi’s annoyance and when you look up to him and see that his eyebrows are raised and his fist clenched on his thighs, you already knew.

“we’re so not getting our security deposit back,” he mutters as you both watch atsumu assault the front door. “if you’re going to be late with your portion of the rent, why didn’t you just pay the extra to have the company set it up?” he says a little louder. 

“because i am a,” he stops what he is doing and points the drill at you two, “a man.” he adds air quotation marks on the last word. 

“so… are you one or not?” you ask, going back to your phone to look for a certain someone. 

“he’s a fucking moron,” kiyoomi mutters. 

“okay enough of the gender studies lecture,” atsumu yells over the drill, the splintering of the wood from our doorframe is just as loud. “what are you going to do when you find this akaashi?” 

“not bring him here. i don’t need anyone sketching me,” kiyoomi says, you feel him shift on the couch turning away from watching atsumu helping us kiss our security deposit away. 

“well, you know i have been wanting to create a manga..” 

you look up from your search when you hear the drill stop and no snarky comment following the silence. they both just stare at you. atsumu with a drill in his hand and kiyoomi with a raised eyebrow and bored look. 

“anyways, i have been wanting to find someone who’ll do the art and i would do the story, obviously,” you shrug. “i never wanted to be a publisher, it just happened because i couldn’t do this.”

“so the creepy sketch of you fits in where?” atsumu says, turning his attention to the single paper of instruction the security system came with. 

“why not just go to the local college and take drawing classes?” kiyoomi adds. 

“well akaashi’s sketch is great and closer to anything i ever envisioned for the art style i would want for my manga. no amount of classes could help me draw as well as he did in that sketch,” atsumu moves into the house, drill in hand and a look of confusion on his face. 

kiyoomi and you ignore him. 

“so my plan is to find him and ask to work with me to create something.” you finish. 

“and when he says no?” kiyoomi says, rolling his eyes when atsumu barges back into the hallway to take a look at the front door. 

“why would he say no?” 

“also, you saw one sketch,” atsumu tells from outside, the drill starting again. 

“nope, his friend, that bo guy posts all of his drawings,” you shrug. you were searching through bokuto’s twitter media to see if he has any pictures where he tagged this mysterious akaashi. 

“so… you haven’t checked his friend’s following for an akaashi?” atsumu bellows and you almost feel stupid how it slipped your mind to check the literal following list. 

“wow atsumu, what the hell do you think im doing?” you run to bokuto’s following and start swiping through. 

@/kenma

@/kurooh

@/hinatashoyo

@/bigstepperbo

@/taxes4you

@/taxeshelp

@/taxesworkshop

@/axebodyspray

@/levhiba

@/kakaashi

“WAIT I THINK FOUND HIM! K AKAASHI!!” you click on the last user and you’re met with a private account, but with much squinting to your phone… the icon of this so called akaashi made some butterflies erupt in your stomach. he was cute, really cute. totally does not look like a stalker who wears a trench coat and fedora and follows you from your morning gym class to the train. 

“…but he’s private,” you instantly click on the request button. a little excitement running through your body. it felt as if you just sent your college application in again for the first time. 

“mhm so the creep vibe has swapped,” kiyoomi sighs, reaching for his phone on the table in front of us. 

“when he follows you back, tell him he needs to pay for this security system,” atsumu blurted over the drill. you shook your head, a slight headache coming in from the constant drilling. “also kiyoomi order pizza for dinner please please.”

taglist: @nscuit, @porty, @accidentpronedork, @x3nafix, @vivian-555, @sexylexy12, @luvinazaki, @idontevenknow129, @folksmione, @thatmf-jay, @90s-belladonna, @kurooooow, @akaashislovee, @bows4life, @yimmybread, @stwberri, @ningninjas, @v3nusplanetofluv

©twilightsumu all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

[6okuto]

(Subtle) Care for a Depressive Episode

GN!reader x Ais, Vere, Mhin | cw: depression symptoms e.g. isolation, anhedonia, irritation, sleeping problems/insomnia (not too deeply! mostly a mention before saying what the chara would do). food and checking if you're eating (<- vere's)

for the anon who requested on wifeiy!! made sure to talk about your ideas of course 🦔

AIS

If you notice Princess and other Soulless approaching you more, being more affectionate and playful, I'm not saying that was (all) Ais, but I'm also not denying that they might be cooking. His pet spoiling is put on hold for spoiling You! :') Buying things you've needed or wanted recently, doing that "bought extra of your favourite do you want some" trick, etc.

If you enjoy physical affection, he puts in an effort to give you more. Maybe it's a kiss to your head while he walks past, hugging you from behind while you're distracted, a hand rubbing your thigh while you sit down together. It's subtle things he can brush off as his general casual affection. Neither of you really have to bring it up, both of you knowing what he's doing

^ He teases you less when you initiate (depending on your... vibe... it'll be a light comment). Just lets you wrap his arms around you and approaches whenever you ask. Sometimes you hug him silently, and he doesn't try to ask what's wrong. Just holds you and lets you let go first

Not good at small talk?... Ais is a small talk lover suddenly. Little check-ins to see how your day is going. He has never loved talking more about what he did today so you're still in the loop. <- Guy who noted things he could/would bring up to you later

If you're in an isolation stay-at-home state, at some point, you might realize Ais hasn't been going out to bars as much, instead staying with you or picking quieter spots. He chooses his words carefully so you don't think you're 'keeping him from having fun' or something—maybe he says the crowd's been more annoying than usual, or he needs a break from the smell of cheap drinks and piss, or that he likes spending time with you more. Y'know how it goes.

If you're dealing with anhedonia, not enjoying the things you usually do or feeling pleasure really at all, it's. Shit. Like Fuck my stupid baka life. Ais checks on you and sees how well you're sleeping, asks you to join him on a walk, maybe asks you to talk to him about your hobbies and teach him something. Just seeing if it'll get you up and moving

Always love the thought of him teaching you phrases!! Maybe you're in a bad mood and curse first, and he responds in a different language. You look at him like ...? and he smiles and says it again. Gonna use Korean because I'm familiar HABFHB but he'd be like, "씨발. Fuck," and ask if "You wanna learn some, sparrow?"

^ He'll teach you anything from "bastard" to "your shirt looks like shit and so does your face" if it distracts you for a while. Though I think it would also be cute if he complimented you and taught you sweet things too! Only for usage between you two, of course. (Jokingly complains he can't secretly call you attractive anymore without you understanding. Grins when you laugh.)

VERE

Leniency... He already has more for you than most others, but even the things he jokingly gives you shit for are now okay. Not just that but he like, makes the first step? Gives you the opportunity? If you know he doesn't like his tail being touched and wouldn't try first, he'll rest it against your thigh and won't move (other than a reflexive flick) when you touch it.

^ With the leniency, if you're easily annoyed or angered, he doesn't necessarily let your remarks slide (take a breath or reword what you just said), but he doesn't hold it against you, either.

He mentions different events and performances that are supposed to happen and gauging your reaction. You might be happily surprised when they coincidentally happen to be (related to) things you enjoy, even and especially if Vere doesn't particularly like them himself. If you don't want to go, that's fine, he didn't want to go much either. You can spend the evening together instead

Vere is generally more... blunt or pushy than the others... when it comes to getting you to do things. His subtlety manifests in how he won't explicitly say "Hey this is good for you and your depression" rather than actually Subtly Suggesting or Doing Things. If that makes Any sense. He's putting a meal on your desk and checking to see if you've eaten it—he's brought his own so you can enjoy a meal together.

...Nicer. Still Vere, but maybe he drops genuine compliments more often. You say something self-deprecating or try to deflect and he doesn't let it slide. (already does this but he's a little more firm about it if it happens a lot)

I love the idea of him doing art with you! Even just drawing in the same room because he never lets anyone see the finished product let alone his process, so when he sits down and doesn't mind you watching him, it means a lot I think. If he happens to draw a place or object that you really like, well, it's just practice y'know. He lets you keep it too

If you want to partake, he's.. maybe surprisingly? chill and good about it? If art isn't one of your interests, he gives you tips and likes whatever you draw, even if you don't. Maybe you do something simple together! Or something purposefully ass! You draw him and his ear twitches and his tail swishes a little.

If he knows you're already into art, he teases and say he has expectations considering he's lending some of his best supplies, but y'know. He seems satisfied no matter what you end up doing because at least he's gotten you focused on something

When Vere 'gets sleepy', he finds you to fall asleep next to. When he really wants to nap or sleep, he pulls you into bed and wraps an arm around your waist, tail curling around you both. Sometimes this is a lie and he just wants to stick near you and give you an opportunity to be affectionate if you'd like! Silly guy

You brushing his tail... Vere offering to brush or wash yours... very gentle and careful and thorough(?)... yeah...

MHIN

Of course they'll take you around to see the cats. In case you aren't well-acquainted with the little angels already, for every cat you point at, Mhin will teach you their name and describe how they met or share a fun fact (e.g. He has no survival sense and will show you his stomach immediately, She likes to climb your pants, Those two always sleep in that corner together, etc.)

And if you laugh at them when a cat jumps at them or catches them off-balance or whatever else, Mhin only jokingly huffs but never gets annoyed at any person or cat present.

They ask if you'd like to help cut up the fish and feed them, or even fish when evening comes. If you're nervous or aren't very good at it at first, they quietly help and encourage you, complimenting you when you succeed. It's good to have a schedule and something like a family of cats to look forward to, so Mhin always asks you to accompany them for the meals :]

Sorry for the 3 cat points. Like it's my fault or unexpected

You can try to help each other fall asleep, or at least stay up Together. The demons are always the worst at night... Mhin is good company, and they know what it's like wishing you could just go to bed the Whole night. Maybe you make a couple drinks and talk about nothing and everything!

If they notice you're distant or debating asking for physical affection throughout the day, Mhin silently moves to cuddle you that night, and every night. If you squeeze, they squeeze. If you try to sink further into them, they pull you in as much as they can. They'll tuck your head under their chin and rub circles into your back as long as you need.

Mhin getting you a little gift or trinket... They know it isn't a lot, but since they're doing commissions so much of the day, they figure a little cat figure might keep you company while they're gone

They already take care to clean themselves and their things before coming home, but I think. They take extra care. So that you don't worry about them or have to see something that might otherwise make you feel worse

Incredibly good at figuring out where you've been if you're staying distant. Even if they don't happen to Pop up while you're there, they'll do stuff like leave little things for you to find (something to give the cats? a cool coin?), anonymously send a drink or meal your way, etc.

If there's something you wanted to do with them earlier that Mhin declined, now is the time that they bring it up again. Like yeah, okay, let's go visit those stores, they have to scope out the area. You wanted to know how Mhin was on that rooftop before, right? If you still want to know, they're going again tonight to stargaze

i hope this helps a little and you're doing ok friend.. if u (or anyone!) would like a solo drabble or something less subtle or anything else,, just let me know! we're in this depression shit together fr🦔🪩🤍

[heartz-for-de]

sunshine!reader and grumpy katsuki throughout the academy... i need headcanons or a oneshot pls

Love this sm! I feel like there’s so many different variants of y/n and I love experimenting with them all:))) just a quick little ramble abt these two!!

Requests: open!

Sunshine!reader X grumpy! Katsuki

•Contrary to popular belief, katsuki was not always nice to you. It took months for him to even crack a HALF smile at one of your compliments. I feel like at the beginning he’d find you annoying, like why tf this bitch always smiling… but I think that eventually that annoyance would turn into endearment.

—“hey bakugo!!” You greeted him with a sweet smile. Sickeningly sweet, he thought.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, giving You a quick scoff to truly convey his dismay that he held .

“Well, me and Mina are going out for ice cream with Kiri, and I was wondering if you’d like to join? It’s totally okay if not though!” You reassured. He stared at you with a hard glare. Why were you so nice to him when he treated you with nothing but harsh words. He felt a weird tenseness in his chest as he grumbled out a short ‘fuck off’.

•once the two of you become friends, every body who has eyes can see the difference in the way he treats you compared to his regular friends.

- “Oh my gosh, yall took so many notes while I was gone! I think aizawa has it out for me.” You pouted slightly when the group had described you the work for the day.

“Tch, jus’ borrow my notes and copy ‘em.” Katsuki had mumbled out without a second thought.

“The fuck?!— last time I asked you for notes you blew up my journal.” Sero let out a salty huff, watching as you thanked Katsuki for his kind offer.

•I think he was in denial for awhile, like all he gaf about for the longest time was being the best and bettering himself. So when he gets to know you, and suddenly you’re infiltrating all of his thoughts 24/7? Oh he’s so pissed.

•Kirishima lowk crashed out on him a couple time just because he wanted him to confess so bad.

-“Maybe just tell her how you feel? That would simplify this a shit ton, bro.” Kirishima sighed.

“Simplify? The fuck it would— you give terrible advice, shitty hair.” katsuki responded shorty.

“I’m about to tweak out, what the hell else would you do? Hope she’ll telepathically understand your half asses ‘affection’?”

•you weren’t oblivious to his behavior either, you had the teeniest inkling that he felt a certain type of way about you, but you were too scared to take the leap of faith and ask.

•once he finally does get the balls to admit he is smitten, he’s like a big mean guard dog. Which you thought was hilarious because it’s not like you couldn’t handle yourself, you were training to be a hero aswell. But nonetheless you welcomed his behavior.

•Grumpy! Katsuki was a toucher. His hands always found there way somewhere on you, whether the two of you were alone or not. In a lecture? Hand on you thigh. In the common room? You’re sitting in his lap. Literally fucking anywhere? His hands resting on your waist and lower back. It was comforting for him, sort of like a reminder that you were safe and next to him.

•He doesn’t understand how you never seem to get angry, even when someone had done you wrong. You sat with a smile and reassured them, telling whatever asshole it was that it would all be okay. That pretty smile he loved sitting on your face like someone hadn’t just been a dick in your face. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

•as we know, grumpy!Katsuki has a nasty mouth. Every sentence was littered with a few harsh words here and there. I think it would be hilarious if one time he was cussing out somebody—over something minimal obvi— and you just sit there your eyebrows furrowed while you tell him to please not yell so loud. AND HE LISTENED. the room was stunned.

“Shut the FUCK up, stupid bitch.”

“Katsuki, please don’t yell, that was right in my ear!” You whined slightly.

He looked down at you.

“M’sorry, was jus’ tryna tell this fucker off.” He side eyed denki.

•you praise him all the time and he cannot take it, like wdym you’re fawning over him for doing the bare minimum??? And why does he live for your little compliemnts???

-“Thank you so much for the flowers kats!” You thanked the blonde boy with a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t gotta thank me, jus’ felt like getting you some.”

“You’re like the best boyfriend ever, Katsuki. I might just burst from how sweet you are, baby!”

You didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears heated up at the praise…

•He doesn’t like change but you entering his life changed a lot, and he doesn’t seem to complain much about that.

———

Hope these were okay!!!! Again sorry for grammatical errors I am so ass at proof reading;)

[tacobacoyeet]

More dilf Patrick!! Pls!!!🤭🤭🤭

i am sorry it took me so long to get to this. i have been thinking So Much. there is smut MDNI!!!!! also i did not proof this at all i was quite literally just yapping

-----

hear me out: he’s wearing those old ass shorts. you know the ones. frayed at the bottom, loose at the thigh, hanging low enough to hint at the curve of his hipbone. and they have a hole. somewhere vaguely obscene. and he will not throw them out. “they’ve got history,” he says. yeah. so does the roman empire. let it die.

he also has a mug that says "best dad" in comic sans and he drinks his coffee black out of it like it’s some kind of war ration?? always finishes the last two bites of your food. carries cheez-its and specifically the tangy great value fruit smiles in his hoodie pocket and forgets they’re there until bedtime.

and then there’s the dad stuff that just—does something to you. the way he crouches to tie tiny shoes and mutters “double knot for safety” with his brows furrowed like a surgeon. the way he lifts the kid one-armed onto his hip and groans like he just deadlifted 200 pounds. the way he kisses their head and says “you good, champ?” and then walks around the grocery store like that for twenty minutes. like it’s nothing. like he wasn’t once a world-class athlete. now he’s just a dad with a half-eaten granola bar in his back pocket and spit-up on his collar.

and you shouldn’t want him more now. but you do. so badly it’s stupid.

he gets the mail barefoot in the rain. does bath time with a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. makes grilled cheeses with the baby strapped to his chest and sings off-key lullabies to a beat that doesn’t exist. he reads bedtime stories in a funny voice even when he’s tired. insists on brushing their teeth "together as a team" even though it takes ten fucking years. he's always been a fan of overcomplicating things... LOL.

you catch him folding onesies in the laundry room—folding, not shoving into drawers—and you’re gone. you back into the dryer and he raises an eyebrow like “babe?” and you’re like “babe.” and then the dryer’s on and the baby monitor is quiet and he’s fucking you up against the clean whites because he’s still got it. he never lost it.

and then later he’s limping slightly, rubbing his back, saying “think i pulled something” while putting aquaphor on the baby’s butt and you’re just sitting there stunned. who is this man?????

also: sunday morning sex when the kids are at art and tashi's. slow and lazy and filthy. he lets you ride him for so long it’s almost mean. your bellies touch. your chests touch. everything is touching. and he moans like you’re doing something unspeakable just by loving him like this. just by wanting him now. like this. after all these years. after the weight and the hair and the way his back cracks when he bends to pick up a sock. you still want him. and it undoes him.

he’s yours. he’s always been yours. and now there are tiny humans sleeping in the next room with his eyes and your smile and he still looks at you like he can’t believe it.

this next section about you bring pregnant. i must admit i had to take a Break because my thoughts were a little crazy!!!! but we are up. anyway: he doesn’t just like the changes. he’s obsessed with them. stretch marks? he traces them like constellations. swelling? he kneels between your legs and kisses every inch. softness? he talks about it like it’s a fucking miracle.

you complain about feeling huge and he goes “good.” not teasing—genuinely pleased. “means you’re growing our kid. means your body’s doing its job. means you’re mine.”

sex while pregnant? his favorite. the extra sensitivity. the way your body cradles his. the need. he takes his time. checks in. holds your belly like it’s part of the rhythm. mutters things that make no sense and still make you cry. "so beautiful. fuck. how are you real?"

and after? postpartum?

when you feel like a stranger to yourself—sore and squishy and leaking and tired—he’s there. nosing at your neck while you pump. holding your hips while you cry over clothes that don’t fit. carrying you to bed when you fall asleep mid-feed.

he’s careful, but not scared. when you’re ready, he touches you like he never stopped wanting you. like the body you’re grieving is still his favorite thing in the world. maybe more so now.

he kisses your belly with so much love and admiration. groans about how soft you feel. his hands don’t leave your skin. his voice drops to a whisper. “all mine. all this—mine.”

and when you flinch or get shy? when you mutter “i don’t feel sexy” he freezes. stares at you like you’ve just insulted god. and then he fucks a correction into you because he will Never ever accept you not thinking you aren't beautiful. we already know patrick feels things deeply!!! he's crazy about you!!!

he doesn’t need you to bounce back. he needs you to stay. to let him memorize every version of you. to believe him when he says he’s never wanted anyone more.

and you start to believe it. a little. when he looks at you like that. but then he makes some fuckass comment about how his bones aren't equipped for that kind of strain anymore and you just roll your eyes and move on. small victories

[kaiserboom]

small rant not a req!!

but imagine nagi mastrubating to pornstar fem! reader, and nagi can't help but want the real thing,but he can't :(((

a/n: NONNIE U RLLY A GENIUS!! also i know u said its js a rant- but I had to turn this good rant into a fanfic/drabble!! nagi smut drabble/ fanfic? idek. pairings: nagi x pornstar fem! reader MDNI.

𝗡𝗔𝗚𝗜 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦

no but like, imagine. nagi finally comes home after soccer practice, falling on his bed letting his mess up sheets wrap itself around his burnish body, while he groans underneath his breath, he feels more heavy and stiff then he usually does, and he knows why.

he considering for a while wondering if he should just rest or check your page out, he fastened himself moving himself forward to reach his phone, when he finally gets a direct grip on his unlock his phone, he can't help but go unto chrome, of course he knew to be on incognito, He typed up your porno name, sighing in relief that you managed to post something today.

The video was captioned with some cheesy porno name, "watch me squirt on huge dildo!! *intense*" all he had to do was look at thumbnail, to make him harden even more. his index finger immediately pressed on the video.

after getting about two porno ads about some shit about jerk mate, the clip finally manages to starts with you, pleasuring yourself your sweeten moans, leaving your mouth, the way your lips shaped into a o shape. getting ready to ride the rubber dildo right Infront of you, even though he found this video attractive, he can't help but wishes it was his cock you were about to ride. Not that stupid dildo!, he wishes you could ride him until you both cum undone,

he silently watches how, your three fingers pump in and out of you, the way you look so pretty, in your favorite color lace set, he can't take it anymore, slowly sliding down his boxers, his cock peaks out, before freeing itself.

his cockhead was so red and angry, but so sensitive even when he touched it with the slightest touch; it would cause his body to shudder, he begins to slowly stroke his cock, letting the pleasure consume his head, fuck. he want's this so bad, no-he wants you so bad.

you stand up, finally done with yourself, you smile at the camera before slowly sinking down on the rubber-dildo, the way your pussy slicks glinted upon it, "fuck.." your voice echos, he kept telling himself to stop grunting. but the way His hands; speed up, around his thick cock, closing his eyes imagining its you riding his cock, while even adding sweet praise's while you ride him. there no way he would be able to stop making those grunts.

the video hasn't even fully started yet and he feels so close, he knows his about to cum,-not being able control himself, he strokes feel so impenetrable, his eyes roll back to his skull, his mind feels outdated and fuzzy; one final stroke and that's all that he needs.

before his hot spurts of his cum, jet on his phone, he pauses a bit, letting his high were off.

sighing to himself when he realizes he needs to clean the cum tribute off his phone,

"what an hassle..."

[rantithesis]

What are you even talking about 😭 1) I support universal basic income, I think proper institution would be a fantastic first step toward letting women out of the sex industry. I don’t know why after reading all that you would assume I don’t support UBI 2) I support a system which has no legal penalty for sex workers and instead criminalizes the purchase of prostitution and the production of porn. 3) The rest of this is like actually insane what are you even talking about. You think…. I’m getting paid for this? You (who is advocating for men to continue getting the same access to women they’ve had all this time and in fact expand that access) think I (who is advocating for men to be removed from access to vulnerable women and held criminally responsible for the first time in history) am getting paid money by men? Are you like actually stupid?

Also just truly almost unbelievable how funny it is that you accuse me of being misogynistic but as soon as you run out of arguments you start calling me a dried up broke hag who must be ugly. Like I must be ugly if I don’t agree with you, right? Because that’s so feminist. Does it make you feel better to support systemic rape if I’m ugly? What a fucking laugh

I just wonder why no one campaigns so hard on what workers “want” when it’s not prostitution. Have you ever met a trades man? Unless they have risen high enough it’s in their job description, they hate OSHA and safety compliance and safety restrictions. Every year roofing remains one of the highest if not the highest fatality jobs because men refuse to take the 3 minutes to put on proper safety gear. They would rather fall to their deaths than wear a harness correctly. And yet we don’t have anyone on the left campaigning on their “human rights” to do their job more efficiently, to do their job how they are comfortable, to do it how they want. We don’t have anyone saying OSHA makes it harder for roofers to earn a living or calling OSHA roof worker exclusionary for protecting their safety against their and their clients’ wills.

And yet any time even the most basic of protections for prostituted women is brought up you all fall hook line and sinker for pimp propaganda and start yelling about how required condoms will ruin the porn industry and how lawmakers are to blame for taking income away from vulnerable sex workers. You see it in how everyone always says “legalize and regulate” but no one can ever name what those regulations should be.

Like you guys call yourselves leftists and then side with the bosses who are openly saying they will retaliate against their “workers” if safety regulations pass. And you think you are on the right side of history