#i like it when the batter is closing his eyes

[multific]

Close Quarters

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: An injury leads you to a safe house with Simon. In there, you are forced to face your feelings for the Lieutenant. 

The cabin wasn’t much.

A single room, a battered couch, a fireplace. It was a temporary refuge, a hiding place in the middle of nowhere, and it was just the two of you.

Simon Riley wasn’t much for company.

He had been silent for most of the night, except for the occasional grunt of acknowledgement.

His mask was still on, his broad frame looming in the dim light as he paced near the window, keeping watch like the soldier he was.

You were injured, nothing too severe, but enough that travelling through the storm outside wasn’t an option.

“I don’t bite,” you said, breaking the silence, and shifting on the couch. “You can sit down.”

His shoulders tensed. He was always like this, always cautious, even when it was just you. You had fought side by side before and had saved each other more times than you could count, but being this close and alone felt different.

After a long moment, he finally sighed and sat in the chair across from you, the wood creaking under his weight.

“How’s the leg?” His voice was rough and low, the concern buried beneath layers of detachment.

You flexed your ankle slightly, wincing at the dull pain. “Better. You did a good job patching me up.”

He grunted again, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something softer, unreadable.

Silence settled between you, the only sound of the wind howling outside.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, suppressing a shiver.

Simon noticed. He always noticed. With a sigh, he stood, grabbed another blanket from the small cot in the corner, and walked over. Instead of handing it to you, he draped it over you himself, his hands brushing against you briefly.

“Can’t have you freezing to death on my watch,” he muttered, stepping back.

You looked up at him, heart skipping. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

Something flickered in his eyes again, something hesitant. He didn’t answer immediately, just stood there, watching you. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Course I care.”

Your breath caught.

He never said things like that, never admitted to anything, and yet, here he was, standing close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’re always looking after me,” you murmured.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Someone has to.”

Your fingers twitched against the blanket, resisting the urge to reach for him.

But then, as if sensing your hesitation, he surprised you. He sat down beside you, shifting awkwardly like he wasn’t sure how to be this close. The couch dipped under his weight, his thigh brushing yours.

“Get some rest,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ll keep watch.”

For once, you didn’t argue.

Instead, you leaned your head against his shoulder, testing the boundary between you. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.

After a moment, you felt him shift slightly, adjusting so you were more comfortable.

It was a small thing, barely anything at all.

But to you, it was everything.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[aspenmissing]

I don't know if you've done this already, but would you be able to write what the arcane characters would be like as parents? With Sevika and the usual characters?

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 7131 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴏɴᴇꜱ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ! ɪᴅᴋ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your shared bedroom, casting a golden glow over the peaceful form of Jayce. His arm was draped over your waist, his breathing steady and deep. For all the chaos that Hextech and politics brought into his life, these moments—the quiet ones at home—were what grounded him.

A soft rustling from the adjoining room had you both stirring. You smiled as Jayce groaned, burying his face into your neck with a muffled, "Five more minutes."

"Tell that to your daughter," you teased, pressing a kiss to his temple before slipping out of bed. Jayce grumbled, but the sound of tiny feet pattering against the wooden floor had him moving.

Your daughter, whom you named Aline, was a bundle of energy with bright eyes and wild hair that matched her father’s. She peeked around the corner with an eager grin. "Mama! Daddy! Wake up!"

Jayce chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair before lifting her effortlessly into his arms. "Alright, little one, what’s the emergency?"

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Breakfast! I'm hungry!"

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as you watched the two loves of your life. Jayce’s expression softened, his love for his daughter evident in the way he held her close. "Alright, sweetheart, pancakes sound good?"

The enthusiastic nod she gave him was answer enough. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before setting her down. "Go set the table with Mama, and I’ll whip up the best pancakes Piltover has ever seen."

=

Breakfast became a ritual in your home. Jayce took pride in making the fluffiest pancakes, ensuring that mornings started with laughter and warmth. Your daughter often insisted on helping. She would sit on the counter, stirring batter while giggling at Jayce’s exaggerated expressions. "You see, Alina, the secret to the best pancakes isn’t just the ingredients, but the love you put into them," he would say, making her eyes widen with wonder.

Raising Alina with Jayce had been an adventure in itself. He was fiercely protective, always ensuring she was safe and cared for. He shielded her from the darker parts of his work, never wanting her to feel the weight of the expectations he bore. But he was also her biggest supporter—whether she wanted to build something in his workshop, learn about the constellations, or even practice fencing, Jayce encouraged her every step of the way.

"Daddy, look! I made something!" Alina exclaimed one afternoon, proudly showing him a small wooden figure she had carved.

Jayce knelt beside her, examining the details with exaggerated seriousness. "This is incredible, sweetheart! Your craftsmanship is already better than mine when I was your age."

Alina beamed with pride, and you watched the moment unfold with a full heart. There was no doubt in your mind that she had inherited her father’s brilliance.

=

One evening, as the three of you sat on the balcony, watching the city lights, Alina curled up between you both, sleepily murmuring about how she wanted to invent things like her father. Jayce’s grip on her tightened just a little as he whispered, "You can do anything you set your mind to, my little spark. And I’ll always be here to help."

You smiled, reaching for his hand. Parenthood wasn’t easy, but with Jayce by your side, it was the greatest adventure of all.

=

As the days passed, the bond between father and daughter only grew stronger. Jayce would take Alina to his workshop, where she would watch him tinker, fascinated by the glowing blue crystals of Hextech. "What makes them shine, Daddy?" she had asked one day.

Jayce chuckled, lifting her onto his worktable. "Well, sweetheart, Hextech is a combination of science and magic. It’s about understanding the laws of the world while daring to push beyond them. Kind of like how you build towers with your blocks—sometimes you have to try different ways to make them stand taller."

Alina nodded seriously, absorbing his words. You couldn’t help but laugh, seeing the determination in her expression. She had so much of her father in her.

Jayce’s protectiveness showed in different ways. When Alina scraped her knee, he was there in an instant, lifting her into his lap and gently tending to her wound. "It’s okay to fall, sweetheart. What matters is that you get back up."

And when the time came for her to attend her first school event, he was the proudest father in the crowd, cheering her on as she recited a poem on stage. The love he had for her—and for you—shone in every glance, every reassuring touch, every bedtime story whispered under the glow of her nightlight.

=

One night, after Alina had fallen asleep, Jayce pulled you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Thank you," he murmured. "For giving me this. For giving me her."

You cupped his face, smiling against his lips. "We built this together, Jayce. And there’s no one else I’d want by my side."

As the city of Piltover bustled beyond your home, the three of you remained in your own little world—one built on love, laughter, and the endless possibilities of tomorrow.

VIKTOR

The soft hum of Piltover’s ever-present machinery filled the warmly lit apartment, blending with the rhythmic creaks of Viktor’s cane against the polished wooden floor. The scent of oil and parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of tea that Y/N had left unfinished on the bedside table. He moved carefully, balancing his weight as he stepped closer to the cradle—no, cradles. Two identical wooden frames side by side, each occupied by two tiny, peaceful bundles—Mira and Alric. His golden eyes filled with an emotion so raw and deep it nearly overwhelmed him.

“Shhh, Moje malé hvězdičky,” he murmured, his accent thick with exhaustion and love. “Let your mother rest a while.” (My Little Stars)

Viktor had never imagined himself as a father. His life had always been an uphill battle, dictated by the sharp mind he was gifted with and the frailty of his body. But now, as he cradled one of his children in his arms, while the other stirred gently in their bed, he knew he had never loved anything more fiercely.

A small, furry creature stirred at the foot of the bed—Bramble, their ever-curious poro, blinked sleepily before rolling onto his side, his tiny paws twitching in his dreams. The poro had been a gift from Heimerdinger, a small companion Viktor had grown impossibly fond of, and now, he was just another part of their little family.

Y/N stirred from the bed, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with warmth as she watched him. “You should rest too,” she whispered, her voice soft yet knowing. “Your leg—”

Viktor waved off her concern with a tired chuckle. “I have spent many nights awake for far lesser reasons than our children.” He settled onto the nearby chair with careful precision, adjusting his cane against the armrest before shifting Mira in his arms. Alric stirred slightly, and Bramble let out a soft, content snuffle before curling closer to the cradles. “Besides, I enjoy this.”

He did. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain that often gnawed at his joints, there was a peace in these quiet moments. The way Mira’s tiny fingers curled around his own, the warmth of Alric’s small body tucked into the quilt—it was grounding, in a way nothing else had ever been.

He had spent years seeking progress, chasing knowledge and innovation with a single-minded desperation. Piltover was a city of advancements, a beacon of brilliance and invention. He had once believed that was all he needed. But here, in the soft glow of lamplight, with his children nestled safely in their cradles, he found something he had never sought but now realized he needed: a future not built on science alone, but on love.

Y/N smiled at the sight of him, knowing all too well that Viktor would deny any talk of his exhaustion, but that he would never deny their children a moment of his attention.

“You are so patient with them,” she mused, shifting to sit beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. “I think they adore you more than me.”

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh. “That is impossible.” He kissed the top of her head before gazing back down at Mira and Alric. “But if true… then I can hardly blame them. I am quite fond of them myself.”

Alric let out a small noise, shifting slightly before settling back into sleep. Mira followed suit, her tiny hand grasping at Viktor’s sleeve as if she knew exactly where she wanted to be. Viktor ran a gentle hand over the soft wisps of their hair, his expression softening even further.

“I do wonder what they will grow to be,” he murmured, his mind always lost in the possibilities. “What they will dream of. What they will create.”

Y/N sighed, content. “Whatever they choose, they’ll have us to guide them.”

Viktor nodded, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his daughter. A silent vow, unspoken but deeply felt. No matter what came their way, no matter how difficult the road ahead, he would be there. For Y/N, for Mira, for Alric.

Because love—this love—was the greatest thing he had ever created.

=

As the night deepened, the city of Piltover carried on outside, the hum of its mechanized heart never ceasing. But here, in the quiet of their home, time felt still. Viktor sat there for hours, his mind drifting between the future and the present, between science and family. Every so often, one of the twins would stir, a tiny yawn escaping them, and Viktor would press a kiss to their forehead, murmuring soft reassurances in his native tongue.

Bramble let out a soft purring sound as he stretched and curled up closer to the base of the cradles, his warm, fluffy presence adding another layer of comfort to their little family.

Viktor thought of the future, of the knowledge he could pass on, of the things he and Y/N would teach their children. Of the wonders Mira and Alric would one day discover, the brilliance they might inherit. Would they take after their father’s ceaseless curiosity, their mother’s boundless warmth? Would they build, explore, create?

=

As the years passed, Viktor imagined them toddling after him in his workshop, their small hands eager to tinker with the devices and tools scattered across his desk. He pictured Mira’s determined frown as she studied a schematic with the same intensity he did, Alric’s laughter echoing through their home as he chased after Bramble in the morning light.

He imagined them growing older, standing by his side, listening to his stories of his past—his triumphs, his failures, the lessons he had learned along the way. He thought of their hands, once so small in his, growing stronger, capable of shaping the future as they saw fit.

No matter what, Viktor vowed, he would be there to witness it all. To celebrate their victories, to comfort them in their struggles, to remind them that no matter how much the world changed, they would always have a place in it—together.

JAYVIK

The workshop smelled of warm metal and ink, the scent a permanent part of their lives. The hum of Hextech crystals and the soft scratching of Viktor’s pen against blueprints blended with the laughter of their children—chaotic, beautiful, and ever-present.

Lucian, their eight-year-old, sat cross-legged on Viktor’s worktable, a small contraption in his hands. His dark brown curls bounced as he turned the device over, careful, yet brimming with excitement.

“Tatínek, do you think if I adjust the pressure valve here, it’ll make it faster?” Lucian asked, tilting his head toward Viktor. (Papa)

Viktor, cane resting against the table, gave a small, proud smile. “That depends on what you want it to do. More pressure might increase speed, but stability is just as important, můj malý vynálezce.” He tapped the blueprints beside him, adjusting his glasses. (My Little Inventor)

Across the room, Jayce sat on the floor, holding a giggling Liana upside down while Felix clambered onto his back. “Alright, alright, I surrender!” he laughed, his broad frame barely wobbling under their combined weight.

Liana shrieked in delight, her tiny fists grasping at Jayce’s arms. “No surrender, Daddy!”

Felix, the quieter of the two, pressed his cheek against Jayce’s shoulder and sighed happily. “We win,” he murmured, victorious.

Jayce grinned and reached up to ruffle Felix’s golden hair. “You’re getting heavy, kiddo.”

Y/N watched from the doorway, arms crossed, amused at the contrast between their two partners. Lucian, the child she and Jayce shared, was quiet, thoughtful, and deliberate in all things—so much like Viktor that it was almost eerie. Meanwhile, Nova and Felix, their wild, boundless children with Viktor, were a force of nature, as if chaos had been bottled up and released into two tiny bodies.

=

Viktor’s parenting was meticulous, full of gentle instruction and quiet pride. He wasn’t one for running around, but he made up for it with bedtime stories, soft reassurances, and a keen awareness of their children’s needs. He saw them, truly saw them, whether it was Lucian’s fascination with mechanics, Felix’s curiosity or Liana’s boundless energy. He had a way of making each of them feel special,

Jayce, on the other hand, was all action. He built pillow forts that took up entire rooms, carried the twins on his shoulders like a living jungle gym, and never turned down a game of tag—even when it meant knocking over a carefully placed stack of Viktor’s notes. He encouraged their energy, their boldness, and met their every demand for attention with laughter and open arms. And though Lucian wasn’t as prone to chaotic bursts of energy like his younger siblings, Jayce made sure to include him too—whether it was by playfully challenging him to engineering contests or scooping him up into a bear hug when he was too deep in thought. Jayce never let Lucian retreat too far into his own head, keeping their son grounded with warmth and enthusiasm, knowing how important it was to balance intellect with play.

“I hope you know you’re teaching them to be absolute terrors,” Viktor mused, watching Jayce let Liana climb onto his head.

Jayce chuckled, catching her before she could tumble. “Terrors? No way. They’re gonna be strong, brave, and maybe a little reckless.” He gave Y/N a wink. “Just like their parents.”

Lucian adjusted the tiny gears in his hands, looking up. “Tatínek's not reckless.”

Jayce smirked. “Not now, but back in the day? Let’s just say he—”

“Jayce,” Viktor warned, a light flush dusting his cheeks.

Y/N laughed, stepping forward to press a kiss to Viktor’s temple. “I think we all know you’re the mastermind behind half of Jayce’s past chaos.”

Viktor huffed, but the way his hand brushed against Y/N’s waist betrayed his fondness.

Liana and Felix, meanwhile, had abandoned Jayce and were now engaged in their favourite activity: climbing whatever structure was closest. At the moment, it was Viktor’s bookshelf.

“Felix, Liana—off,” Viktor said firmly, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Aw, but tatínek, we were gonna touch the top!” Liana whined, pouting. Felix nodded, as if that argument was fool proof.

Y/N sighed and shook her head. “If you two want to climb something, go outside with Jayce. The bookshelf isn’t a jungle gym.”

The twins groaned but obeyed, darting out of the workshop, pulling Jayce along with them. “Come on, Daddy, let’s race!” Liana shouted, and Jayce barely had time to react before she and Felix took off.

Viktor exhaled, rubbing his temple. “How do they have so much energy?”

Lucian smirked. “They don’t sit still long enough to lose any.”

Y/N chuckled and leaned against Viktor. “At least they make life interesting.”

Viktor huffed but didn’t disagree.

Their home was loud. It was messy. It was filled with Hextech parts, scattered toys, and the occasional faint scent of something burning (thanks to one of Lucian’s early experiments). But it was theirs. And as Viktor leaned into Y/N’s touch, and Jayce was pulled into another game outside, one thing was certain—

Their little family was perfect.

VANDER

The bustling sounds of The Last Drop hummed softly in the background, a familiar lullaby of clinking glasses and murmured conversations. Vander leaned against the counter, his broad arms crossed as he watched Y/N cradling their daughter, Reina, in her arms. The toddler had just begun speaking in full sentences, and tonight, she was babbling excitedly about the stories Vi had told her before bed.

"Papa, Vi says she punched a guy bigger than you!" Reina's big eyes shone with wonder as she looked up at her father.

Vander let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "That so?" He glanced over at Vi, who stood near Powder and Mylo, grinning with pride.

"You should've seen it, Vander! He was talking trash, and I—" Vi mimicked a punch, making Mylo wince and Claggor smirk.

Y/N sighed, shifting Reina higher on her hip. "And you taught her this?" she asked, her voice laced with mock disapproval as she raised a brow at Vander.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, maybe she picked up a thing or two from watchin'." He crouched down to Reina's level, ruffling her thick curls. "But don’t you go punchin’ people, alright? That’s Vi’s job."

Reina giggled, resting her tiny hands on his scruffy beard. "I wanna be strong like Vi and Papa!"

Vander let out a hearty laugh, pulling her into his arms. "You're already strong, sweetheart. Strongest little one I know."

Powder, who had been quiet up until now, tugged at Y/N’s sleeve. "Mama, can I braid Reina’s hair before bed? I learned a new one!"

Y/N smiled warmly, brushing a strand of Powder’s blue hair back. "Of course, darling. She’d love that."

"Yay!" Powder gently took Reina's tiny hand, leading her toward the worn-out couch where she often played with her dolls.

Vi stretched, cracking her knuckles with a grin before flopping down next to them. "You should let me teach Reina some moves when she’s older, Pops. She’s got potential."

"Oh no, no, no," Y/N interjected, shaking her head. "One brawler in the family is enough."

Vander smirked, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. "Gotta agree with your ma, Vi. Though, I’ll admit, Reina’s got the spirit."

Vi huffed but smiled. "Fine, but at least let me teach her how to dodge. That way, she won’t get hit."

Claggor chuckled. "I dunno, Vi. She might end up better than you."

Vi gasped dramatically. "Betrayal!" She flopped back on the couch as the others laughed.

=

Meanwhile, Powder was diligently braiding Reina’s dark curls, her tongue poking out in concentration. "Almost done! You’re gonna look so pretty, Reina!"

The little girl beamed. "Like a princess?"

"Like a warrior princess!" Powder corrected, tying off the braid with a small ribbon she’d scavenged earlier that week.

Vander watched them, his expression softening. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he tried. He tried for the family he had built from scraps of a broken world. Y/N, the love of his life, had given him another reason to keep fighting. Their daughter was the very proof that good could still be found in the Undercity.

He felt Y/N’s hand slip into his, and he squeezed it gently. "Y’know," he murmured, watching their kids chatter amongst themselves, "I never thought I'd get somethin’ like this. Not in a place like Zaun."

Y/N leaned against his arm, her warmth grounding him. "You built this, Vander. Our family. You kept them safe."

He exhaled deeply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll keep ‘em safe always. No matter what."

As the dim lanterns flickered in the quiet of their home, Vander knew—he'd fight for them till his last breath.

=

Later that night, after the kids had been tucked into their makeshift beds, Vander and Y/N sat on the small worn-out couch in the back of The Last Drop. Reina was curled up on Vander’s lap, breathing softly in her sleep, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Y/N traced absent patterns on Vander’s forearm, their quiet moment of peace feeling almost sacred.

"Think she’ll be a troublemaker when she’s older?" Y/N teased, glancing up at him.

Vander huffed a tired laugh. "With this lot? No doubt about it."

Y/N chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder. "She’s lucky to have you. All of them are."

He sighed, watching the glow of the lanterns flicker against the old wooden walls. "I’m the lucky one, love. They gave me a reason to be better. To do better."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their shared love and the steady rhythm of Reina’s breathing.

For a moment, Vander allowed himself to believe that they’d always have this—that their family would always be whole, safe in the little world they’d built together.

SILCO

Zaun belonged to the restless, to the desperate, to the ones who carved their names into the undercity with blood and ambition. It had no room for weakness, no tolerance for sentiment. The strong survived, and the cunning thrived.

And among them stood Silco—The Eye of Zaun, the man whose voice could break kings and whose hand could build empires. Ruthless, calculating, unshaken.

But behind the steel doors of his sanctuary, he was something else entirely.

He was a father.

Their son, Lior, was still small, still soft in the way all children were, but Silco could already see the sharpness forming behind his storm-gray eyes. There was a quiet weight in them, a knowing look that reminded him of himself. Too perceptive for a child. Too thoughtful.

Perhaps that was why Silco found himself reaching for him more than he should.

=

In public, Silco played his part well. He walked with Lior at his side, his long fingers resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder or curling around his smaller hand with just enough pressure to anchor him. He did not dote, nor did he allow himself the indulgence of affection.

He never called his name too sweetly. Never offered a soft word in the presence of others. Never let the boy out of arm’s reach, but never held on too tight. To the world, Lior was merely a shadow trailing behind him, his existence acknowledged but never openly protected.

Silco knew what weakness in the open could invite. The vultures of Zaun, and worse—Piltover’s wolves.

Lior never complained about the distance, never questioned the way his father’s grip remained firm but never too warm. But sometimes, when the crowd pressed too close, when unfamiliar eyes lingered too long, he would squeeze Silco’s fingers just slightly.

A silent question. A reassurance.

Silco would barely glance down, his expression never shifting, but his thumb would brush over the boy’s knuckles in a rare, fleeting motion.

"I’m here."

It was all Lior ever needed. But behind closed doors? Behind closed doors, he could not put the boy down.

=

The moment the weight of the world was locked outside, Silco would find his son and lift him without hesitation, pressing him against his chest as if he needed to reassure himself that he was real. That he was safe.

Lior never protested. He simply curled into his father’s embrace, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of Silco’s coat. He knew better than to expect affection outside these walls, but here—here, his father was different.

There was no cold detachment, no distant authority. Only quiet whispers and steady hands, the soft rustling of Silco’s coat as he shifted, adjusting his grip to keep Lior close. The boy’s head would rest against his father’s chest, his breathing slowing to match the rhythmic rise and fall beneath his ear.

Y/N would often walk in to find them like that. Silco seated in his chair, legs crossed, one arm bracing Lior against his chest while his free hand absentmindedly stroked the boy’s dark hair. It was an unconscious motion, a habit formed from a love too dangerous to be shown to the outside world.

"You'll spoil him," Y/N would tease, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Lior all but melted into his father’s hold—a sight so rare, so fragile, that she never truly tired of it.

Silco never looked up. The only sign that he’d heard her was the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"Then let him be spoiled," he would murmur, his fingers still threading through Lior’s hair, slow and deliberate. "Let him know his father’s arms will always be strong enough to hold him."

And hold him, he did.

=

On nights when the city was restless, and Y/N woke to the rustle of fabric, she would find Silco sitting at the edge of their bed, Lior cradled in his arms. The boy would be fast asleep, his face buried against Silco’s chest, completely unaware of the world beyond the warmth that surrounded him.

Silco would sit there for hours, unmoving, as though the slightest shift might cause the moment to shatter.

Y/N knew better than to say anything in those moments. She could see it in Silco’s gaze—the unspoken fear that clawed at the back of his mind. The same fear he never voiced but that always lingered.

He had built an empire, made himself untouchable, but power was fragile. A child was fragile.

And he would not lose his son. Not to the city. Not to fate. Not to anyone.

=

Morning always brought a shift in the air.

By daylight, Silco was back to his usual self—composed, detached but never unkind. Lior was expected to be observant, to listen more than he spoke, to learn the undercity not just with his eyes but with his instincts.

The world would not wait for him to grow.

Silco never coddled him in the streets. He did not scoop him up when he fell, did not shield him from the grime of Zaun, did not soften the lessons that needed to be learned. When Lior tripped, he was expected to stand. When he made a mistake, he was made to understand it. Silco never raised his voice, never scolded without purpose. He simply watched—waiting, assessing. And when Lior found his footing, dusted himself off and raised his chin without complaint, his father would nod in quiet approval.

But he was never alone.

Silco’s hand was always there—a firm, steady weight on his shoulder. Not forceful, not indulgent, but present. A silent promise.

=

Lior didn’t understand at first. As a child, he had only known that the streets were different from home. That in public, his father’s voice was sharp and cutting, his movements purposeful and unyielding. He was not a man who lifted him without hesitation, not the same father whose fingers carded through his hair when the city was locked away behind steel doors.

But as he grew, he began to see.

He began to notice the way people looked at him when they realized whose child he was—the weight of their gazes, the calculation in their eyes. He began to hear the way voices shifted when his father entered a room, the way some grew sharp with resentment, others lowered in quiet fear.

He began to understand why.

One day, when he was older, he would remember the times he had reached for his father’s hand in the crowded streets of Zaun. How Silco had let him, but only briefly—only until the moment passed, until the air grew still again. Until it was safe.

“There are people who would see you as a weakness,” he finally said, his voice even. “I cannot allow that.”

One day, he would understand that love, when tied to power, had to be protected.

The world of men like Silco was cruel, unyielding. It did not permit softness, but that did not mean Lior would grow unloved.

No—he would know love in the way only his father could give it. In the security of his grip. In the strength of his arms behind closed doors. In the quiet, whispered reassurances at night.

And one day, Lior would understand why his father had to be both things at once.

SEVIKA

The dim glow of the Last Drop’s neon sign flickered against the rain-slicked streets of Zaun, painting the pavement in a dull red haze as you finally stepped inside your apartment. The weight of the day pressed down on your shoulders, exhaustion creeping into your bones, but the familiar scent of oil, metal, and smoke reminded you that you were home.

Sevika’s presence was unmistakable.

She was seated at the small, battered table in the corner, her usual spot, methodically disassembling and cleaning her mechanical arm with the precision of a well-practiced soldier. The candlelight flickered against her sharp features, casting shadows across the deep scars that marred her skin. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, focused on her task.

A small, warm weight squirmed in your arms.

Your son, Cassian, let out a quiet giggle, his tiny hands clutching at the worn fabric of your coat.

“Mama home,” he murmured sleepily, voice thick with drowsiness as he tucked himself further into your embrace.

Your heart swelled as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “I’m home.”

Sevika’s eyes flickered toward you both.

For a brief moment, something in her expression shifted—so subtle that if you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it. A flicker of something softer, something uncertain, before her face hardened once more. Without a word, she turned back to her arm, running the rag over the metal plating, the only sign of her tension being the slight clench of her jaw.

She never quite knew how to react when Cassian called you that.

You had been together for months now—long enough for her to get used to your presence, your touch, the warmth you offered despite the cold, unrelenting reality of Zaun. But when it came to your son?

Sevika kept her distance.

Not out of hatred. Not out of disinterest. But something else. Something quieter. Something like fear.

=

That night, when you were half-asleep, you felt the bed shift.

The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and a heavy sigh filled the room—one of those deep, wearied exhales she let out only when she thought no one was paying attention.

Through the dim candlelight, you cracked open an eye and found Sevika sitting on the edge of the bed, her broad shoulders hunched forward, her gaze locked onto the small, sleeping form across the room. Her usual hardened mask was gone.

For once, she wasn’t scowling, wasn’t exuding her usual air of indifference. Instead, she just stared at him—watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his little chest, the way his tiny fingers curled around the edge of his blanket.

Something unreadable flickered across her face. Something vulnerable.

Reaching out, you brushed your fingers lightly against her back. “You can hold him, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

She tensed under your touch, her shoulders locking up for a brief second before she shook her head.

“I don’t wanna break ‘im.”

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips. “You’re not going to break him, Sev.”

She scoffed, but it wasn’t her usual rough dismissal—it was hollow, uneasy. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, voice low. “I don’t do… kids. I don’t know how to be—”

She cut herself off with another sigh, running a tired hand down her face. How to be what?

Gentle? Safe? A mother?

You didn’t push her. Not yet. Instead, you curled up closer to her, resting your head against the warm, solid strength of her back.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Sev. He already has me. But he could have you, too.”

She didn’t respond. Just sat there, eyes still locked onto Cassian’s small, sleeping form.

=

The change wasn’t immediate.

Sevika was still Sevika—sharp, rough-edged, and unapproachable in the way only someone who had spent years hardening herself to the world could be. She didn’t know how to be soft, didn’t know how to offer warmth the way you did.

But little by little, the cracks started to show. She stopped avoiding Cassian so much.

At first, it was subtle. When he toddled around the apartment, chattering excitedly to himself about whatever wild, nonsensical things a child’s mind could conjure, she didn’t immediately leave the room anymore.

She lingered.

She would stay seated at the table, pretending to be focused on cleaning her blade, or adjusting the mechanics of her arm, but her eyes would flick toward him every so often, sharp and observant. It wasn’t disinterest—it was caution.

She was watching. Learning.

Trying to understand this tiny, chaotic creature that had somehow become a permanent part of her life.

Then came the moments where her presence became more than just a passive one.

=

When you sat on the floor with Cassian, rolling a little wooden ball back and forth, Sevika would pretend not to pay attention—arms crossed, expression unreadable. But every time the ball tumbled just out of Cassian’s reach, and he scrambled to grab it, she would watch closely.

And then, if he caught it—if his tiny fingers finally wrapped around it without fumbling—you’d hear it.

A low, almost imperceptible, gruff: "Good job, kid."

It was barely anything, really. Just two words, muttered as if she wasn’t sure why she was saying them.

But to Cassian, it was everything.

The first time she said it, he lit up, beaming so brightly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. He turned to her immediately, as if hoping to catch her gaze, to confirm that yes, she was talking to him.

Sevika, realizing her mistake, grunted and looked away, pretending to be more interested in the scratches on her gauntlet. But you caught the way her lips twitched—just a little.

She was cracking. And Cassian noticed it too. Because after that day, he started looking for her.

=

"Sevika, look! Sevika, watch me!"

Every time he figured out how to stack his blocks higher, every time he coloured some messy, indecipherable drawing, he would turn to her. His little hands clutching whatever prize he had just created, his wide, bright eyes searching for her approval.

And for the first few weeks, she didn’t know how to handle it.

At first, she would only grunt, offering vague hums of acknowledgment, trying not to encourage the idea that she was interested. But then came the day when you caught her off-guard.

You had stepped into the other room for barely a second, just long enough to grab a rag to wipe down the counter, and when you returned, you found them.

Cassian was standing by her chair, holding up a crude little drawing in his tiny hands. Sevika, who had spent weeks acting like she wanted nothing to do with him—was holding it. Holding it with her flesh hand, turning it slightly as if actually studying it.

It was a mess of smudged crayon and clumsy shapes, mostly scribbles that barely resembled anything at all, but Cassian was waiting. Waiting for her reaction.

Sevika exhaled heavily through her nose. Paused. Then—softer than you had ever heard her speak before—she muttered:

“Not bad, kid.”

And that was the moment it all changed.

Because Cassian grinned—this wide, toothy, purely delighted grin—and without hesitation, he wrapped his little arms around her leg, hugging her.

Sevika tensed immediately, her entire body going rigid, as if the sudden contact had physically struck her.

For a split second, you thought she would push him away. Not out of cruelty, but out of pure panic, the same way a soldier reacts on instinct when something unexpected happens.

But then— She didn’t. She didn’t push him away. She let him stay.

And for a second—just one second—her flesh hand twitched, hovering awkwardly before finally, carefully, settling against his small back.

It wasn’t much. Just a single, brief pat. But it was enough. More than enough.

And as Cassian pulled away, his tiny voice filled with pride, he beamed up at her and said something that made Sevika’s entire world tilt.

“I like you, Sevika.”

You swore you heard her stop breathing. The words hung in the air for a long, aching moment. And then, after what felt like forever, she swallowed hard and muttered—rough, hesitant, but genuine:

“…Yeah, kid. I know.”

She wouldn’t say it back. Not yet. But the walls were cracking. And she didn’t try to rebuild them.

=

It happened one quiet evening, Cassian had been toddling across the room, his small hands clutching a worn wooden toy, the paint chipped and faded from years of use. He had claimed it as his favorite weeks ago, always keeping it close, dragging it across the floor as he moved with that unsteady, fearless energy that only children possessed. His tiny feet pattered against the old floorboards, his laughter filling the apartment, an innocent sound in a city that had very little innocence left to give.

And then—he tripped.

It happened so fast—too fast.

One small misstep. A tiny foot catching on a loose floorboard. The sharp, startled gasp that left his lips just before his little body pitched forward, too quickly, too suddenly.

Your chest tightened. Instinct kicked in, panic seizing every muscle in your body as you moved, heart lurching toward your throat—

But you didn’t get the chance. Because before you could even react— Sevika was already there.

She moved like a shadow cutting through smoke, reacting before thought, before hesitation could creep in, before the fear of touching him could take hold.

Her flesh hand caught him mid-fall, strong, steady, effortless, while her mechanical arm hovered awkwardly at her side, twitching slightly as if wanting to help but too afraid to touch.

And then—she froze.

Her entire body locked up, muscles tense, shoulders rigid as if she had just caught a live grenade instead of a child. Her breathing grew uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as she held him—not pulling him closer, not letting him go, just holding him.

She was stiff, uncertain, like she had just realized what she had done. Like she didn’t know what came next.

Cassian sniffled, his big, teary eyes blinking up at her, tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of her vest in a quiet plea for comfort. For a brief moment, you expected him to cry—to reach for you, call for you, the way he always did when he needed reassurance.

But instead— He giggled.

Soft. Light. Completely unbothered.

As if being caught by Sevika, of all people, was the most normal thing in the world. Then, before she could even begin to process it— His little arms wrapped around her neck.

His body curled into her chest like he had done it a thousand times before, the kind of trust that was so pure, so absolute, that it felt impossibly heavy in a way Sevika had never known.

And then— One small, earth-shattering sentence.

"You're really warm, Mom."

Sevika went completely still.

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as if the words had physically struck her. Her grip on him faltered for just a second—not enough to drop him, but enough for you to see it. That moment of absolute disbelief.

The way her jaw clenched, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, the way her entire world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t do anything except stand there, frozen, as the weight of those words settled over her like a tidal wave, drowning her in something too big to contain. You could see it breaking her down.

The way her usual sharp, hardened exterior crumbled at the edges, unravelling into something raw and aching.

You had seen Sevika take hits that would have shattered another person. You had seen her face death without flinching, without hesitation, without fear.

But now?

Now she looked like a woman who had just been laid bare—a woman who had spent years building walls around herself, only for a single sleepy, innocent voice to tear them all down in seconds.

Her flesh hand, the one still clutching Cassian, slowly relaxed. Her metal fingers, which had always hesitated, always hovered just out of reach, finally—carefully, cautiously—brushed against his small back.

A light, almost hesitant touch. Like she was testing whether she was allowed to hold him. And then—so softly, so quietly, you almost missed it—

She exhaled.

The tension in her body eased—not completely, but enough. Her flesh hand shifted slightly, adjusting, settling, cradling him with more certainty than before.

Her grip, once stiff and unsure, became something else. Something solid. Something secure. She still looked overwhelmed, still looked like she wasn’t sure what to do with the small child pressed against her, but—

She didn’t let go. She didn’t pull away. And her eyes—her sharp, battle-worn, haunted eyes—shimmered.

She wouldn’t cry.

Not in front of you. Not in front of him. But you knew. You took a quiet step forward, closing the space between you, placing a gentle hand over hers. Sevika startled slightly, like she had forgotten you were even there. Her gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for the first time in a long, long while—

She looked afraid. Not of Cassian. Not of breaking him. But of losing him. Of losing the one person in this world who had just called her ‘Mom.’ Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper, raw and unsteady.

“…Guess I’m a mom now.” You smiled, your fingers squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You are.”

And Sevika— who had spent her life closing herself off, keeping people at a distance, choosing steel and strength over softness— Held Cassian a little closer.Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you noticed. And for the first time in a long, long while—

Sevika didn’t look so afraid.

[lqveharrington]

In Sickness & Health | R.L.

summary: you and remus after a full moon <3

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: fluff, comfort, normal post full moon things

a/n: i’m in love with him :(

“Hey, Moony,” you murmured, settling onto the edge of his hospital wing bed. Your fingers gently threaded through his hair, careful not to press against any fresh bruises or reopen wounds. His hair was soft despite the sweat from the full moon’s toll. “How was tonight? Sirius told me it was… bad.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Remus replied, though his voice was strained, and the attempt at nonchalance didn’t quite mask the pain lacing his words. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the stiff white sheets, but winced as he moved. “Jus’ got a little out of hand, that’s all.”

You frowned, your gaze lingering on the fresh scar just above his eyebrow. Without thinking, you brushed a few strands of hair away and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of the wound. His skin was warm beneath your lips, radiating both the fever of healing and the exhaustion of survival. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s not your fault, dovey,” he murmured back, eyes still closed, breathing shallow.

“But it is,” you sighed, your voice cracking under the weight of guilt. Your fingers found his hand, lacing through his as your thumb sought out the steady beat of his pulse—a quiet reassurance that he was still here. Still breathing. “I shouldn’t have gone with Lily and Dorcas earlier. I should’ve been there when—”

“Stop,” Remus cut in gently, squeezing your hand to pull you out of the spiral. His amber eyes opened, hazy but sincere, locking onto yours. “You know it’s not your fault. These things… they happen. I’ve been dealing with this my whole life, yeah? Tonight was just a rough night, nothing you could’ve prevented.”

But you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest. Couldn’t stop the image of him curled on the hospital bed, covered in fresh scars that would never fully fade. You bit your bottom lip, emotions swirling, and brought his hand to your lips, pressing a tender kiss against his knuckles. “I’m still sorry.”

He chuckled, though it came out more like a breathy exhale. “I’ll get Madam Pomfrey to kick you out if you don’t stop with all this guilt,” he teased, squeezing your hand again. His eyes softened. “Besides… you’ll be here to help me afterwards, yeah?”

“Of course, Rem,” you nodded, voice thick with emotion.

He smiled—small, tired, but genuine—and tilted his head just enough to look at you properly. His gaze narrowed playfully until you finally cracked a smile, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, the weight of worry momentarily lifted by his warmth. Remus shifted again, letting out a slow sigh as he tried to settle his battered body. You reached up to run your fingers through his tousled hair once more, the rhythmic motion calming both of you.

“Think you’ll be able to attend classes by Monday?” you asked softly. “We’ve got those tests in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

He hummed thoughtfully, leaning into your touch like a cat basking in the sun. “We’ll see… Might just have to fake my way through them. Not like Flitwick hasn’t seen me half-asleep in class before.”

You glanced at the old clock hanging above Madam Pomfrey’s office door and sighed. “You should rest,” you murmured, though the last thing you wanted was to leave him.

“Dovey,” he mumbled, voice low, “you need to get to bed, too.”

You nodded reluctantly, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. His skin was warm, his pulse steady beneath your fingertips. “Do you want me to bring anything tomorrow? A change of clothes, books… chocolate?”

“Just yourself,” he grinned, eyes fluttering shut. “The boys already made grand plans to raid my side of the dorm for me.”

“Figures.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. Squeezing his hand one last time, you whispered, “Goodnight, Rem.”

“Night, love.”

As you slipped out of the hospital wing, the cool corridors of Hogwarts seemed colder than usual, the stone walls echoing with your thoughts. You kept replaying the night in your head—the ache in his voice, the scars on his skin—and you hoped, with everything in you, that he wasn’t downplaying the pain.

Remus spent most of the weekend recovering, pushing through the stiffness and soreness until, by Sunday afternoon, he managed to hobble out of bed with his cane, taking slow, measured steps. You stayed by his side every moment you could, abandoning weekend plans with the girls without a second thought. James and Sirius, of course, had already tried to rope him into plotting pranks, but Remus waved them off with a lazy grin. Next time, he promised. For now, he just wanted quiet.

The two of you ended up by the Black Lake, settling beneath the sprawling branches of a tree that overlooked the shimmering water. The late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon, casting streaks of gold and pink across the sky. Remus lay back with his head in your lap, eyes closed, his breathing even as you idly ran your fingers through his hair.

“Did your dad make this?” you asked softly, tracing the intricate carvings on his wooden cane. The designs were delicate, swirling patterns framing his initials at the top—R.J.L.—surrounded by tiny etched stars.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, opening his eyes halfway. “He started working on it after… after he realized how much I was struggling to walk after full moons. Didn’t say much—just handed it to me one morning.”

Your fingertips brushed over the stars, heart tugging at the thought of the quiet, steadfast love behind each carved detail. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “And it suits you.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against your leg. “I’ll owl him that. He’ll be pleased someone appreciates his handiwork.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of the lake and the distant calls of students on the castle grounds. Remus turned his head slightly, letting the fading sunlight warm his face. For a moment, you saw beyond the scars and fatigue—to the boy who loved books, who smiled despite the weight he carried, who found peace in the little things.

“Help me up?” he asked after a while.

“Of course.” You shifted, careful as you helped him sit up. His muscles tensed under your hands, but he didn’t complain. Steadying him, you passed him his cane. He gripped it firmly, testing his balance.

“Thanks, dovey,” he murmured, his gaze catching yours. There was gratitude in his eyes—deep, unspoken, and profound.

You smiled, falling into step beside him as you wandered back toward the castle, the horizon painted with the colors of the setting sun. Whatever challenges lay ahead—tests, pranks, full moons—you’d face them together. Always.

The following week passed in a blur of classes, missed notes, and whispered conversations between you and Remus when Madam Pomfrey wasn’t hovering over him. By Tuesday morning, he was finally released from the hospital wing—still sore, still leaning on his cane, but stubbornly insistent on returning to classes despite your protests.

“Professor McGonagall’s going to have my head if I miss another Transfiguration lecture,” he grumbled as you walked beside him, his pace slow but determined. “Besides, I’ve already got Sirius taking notes for me. Not that I can read half of his scribbles.”

You snorted. “You’d have better luck asking a Hippogriff to write in cursive.”

Remus chuckled, the sound warming your chest. Even with dark circles still under his eyes and his movements careful, it was good to see him returning to his usual self—sarcastic comments, fond exasperation at his friends, and all.

By Wednesday afternoon, he was exhausted. You could see it in the way he slumped against the library table, one hand lazily turning the pages of Advanced Defensive Spells, the other propping up his head.

“Rem,” you whispered, nudging his leg under the table. “You’re not going to absorb any of that if you’re half-asleep.”

“M’fine,” he mumbled, though his eyelids drooped.

“You’re reading the index,” you pointed out.

He blinked down at the book. “…Shit.”

Smiling fondly, you reached over and closed it for him. “Come on. Fresh air might wake you up.”

Reluctantly, he let you tug him away from the library and out toward the Black Lake. The March wind was crisp, biting at your cheeks, but the sky was clear—a perfect gradient of pale blue bleeding into amber as the sun started its slow descent. You walked in comfortable silence, his arm occasionally brushing against yours.

“Here,” you said, guiding him to a familiar spot near the small cliff overlooking the water—the same place you’d been the weekend before. The grass was still damp, but neither of you cared. Remus sat with a quiet sigh, stretching out his legs as you settled beside him.

“I don’t deserve you, you know,” he murmured after a long pause, voice soft and a little too serious.

You turned your head toward him. “Where’s that coming from?”

He shrugged, gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the lake. “I know how hard this is for you. Worrying. Waiting around for me to pull myself back together after every full moon. Most people wouldn’t bother.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” you replied, nudging his shoulder. “And you don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Stubborn.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” you shot back, and he laughed—really laughed—head tilting back, eyes crinkling. It was a sound you wished you could bottle up and keep forever.

Falling into a companionable quiet again, you watched as the sun dipped lower, casting golden ripples across the lake. Seagulls cried overhead, distant and fleeting.

“You know,” you started, tracing random patterns in the grass, “I don’t stay because I have to. I stay because I want to, Remus. You… you matter to me. Scars and all.”

He went still beside you, the weight of your words settling between you like a warm blanket. Slowly, cautiously, his hand found yours in the grass. Fingers entwined, familiar and safe.

“I’m lucky to have you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, though your cheeks burned.

The sky bled into a soft lavender as the first stars began to peek through. Remus leaned against you, his head resting on your shoulder. “This… this helps,” he murmured. “Being with you. Makes it easier to breathe.”

You smiled, resting your head against his. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The wind picked up, sending ripples across the lake and rustling the trees behind you, but neither of you moved. For now, the world could wait.

Here, in this quiet pocket of Hogwarts grounds, with his hand in yours and the stars beginning to glow above, everything felt… right.

And you’d hold onto that feeling—for him, for you, for as long as it took.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[theseinfernalangels]

Fragile — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Mender!Reader comes back from RSC worse off than the rest of your squad. Sawyer is heartbroken and takes care of you.

A/N: I pumped this one out surprisingly fast! I may post my OC reference sheet after this for more context, since there are references to characters you haven’t met yet, such as Reader’s dragon, Cridhe, and Eden (Liam’s girl!). We’ll see how it turns out! I might even do a part two for this hehe.

Warning for mentions of blood, injuries, insecurities, and anxiety. Oh, yeah; don’t forget the dragon telepathy.

Sawyer knew something was up when you didn’t meet him outside the Gathering Hall. 

It wasn’t like you to be late for…Well, anything, much less seeing him. He certainly wasn’t an anxious person, but it made his fingers twitch with nervousness when he didn’t spot your cautious frame lingering close to the sides of the hall. He waited anyway. He’d always wait for you.

At the ten-minute mark, his thoughts began to race. He could understand if you stayed behind for a word with one of your professors – you were a genius, anyway. Perhaps you could have gone off-track to help another cadet in need of extra notes. That was just in your nature (even though Sawyer and Ridoc had tried to convince you to charge a couple coins for it – you’d be swimming in gold by now). Maybe you were in the infirmary with your friend…Eden, was it? Emily? He could barely remember.

But no. Another fifteen minutes slowly ticked by, and his reasonable side began to veer off a little. Maybe you’d been injured somehow. Maybe the other cadets had finally taken advantage of your anxious, gentle nature and were in the middle of ganging up on you. Maybe they’d finally gotten you – the Marked cadets who weren’t too fond of you for what your parents, Navarrian military legends, had done to them.

He heard Sliseag’s chiding voice resound in the back of his mind. Easy there, Ashling, he soothed. Do not worry too much. She is exactly where she is meant to be.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I would beg to differ, he replied, trying to calm his racing heart. If she was in the right place, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

The dragon snorted. Really, now? he mused. Look up.

Sawyer had just turned, his palms sweaty, when he saw a figure moving sluggishly in his peripherals. He squinted, then froze, the sight making his blood run cold.

You finally showed up…But you looked awful.

Damaged was the best word to describe it. Your hair was messy, your bangs falling in your face in a way it only looked after an intense flight. One of your eyes was swollen shut, and the rest of your face was battered. Your bottom lip was split and bleeding, the blood oozing out sluggishly and staining your chin crimson. That was only your face; the rest of your body was probably just as bruised and injured.

Go, he heard Sliseag urge. Go to her now. She needs you, Ashling.

He broke out of his trance; he couldn’t run fast enough to get to you, his legs moving on what felt like autopilot. Gods. What did they do to you?

You held up a hand when he neared you. “I’m fine,” you whispered hoarsely. “I…It looks worse than it feels.”

Sliseag made a noise of disapproval in his mind. I doubt that.

Sawyer, in that moment, felt almost scared to touch you, as if putting his fingers anywhere would shatter you like glass.

Finally, he found his voice. “What the hell happened to you?” he murmured, wincing at how sick he sounded. His eyes traced your face; you still looked gorgeous as ever, but just looking at your good eye made his heart wrench.

“We,” you began, faltering as you fell forward a bit. Sawyer caught you with ease, splaying a hand on your back as you leaned into him. “We had RSC. I…I didn’t expect for it to be so…awful.”

You looked down, and Sawyer made a soft sound of protest as he lifted your chin back up to face his. Skies above, he thought. He’d seen you injured before, obviously – there was no avoiding that at Basgiath. But this…

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, ghosting a kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry. You…You haven’t been to the infirmary yet?”

You shook your head. “No. I saw a clock and remembered we agreed to meet up. Wanted to see you first.”

Oh, he thought. Damn you, you sweet, sweet girl. Damn you and your loveliness. 

He sighed quietly, glancing at the sky. It was getting close to dusk, which meant that the infirmary was probably winding down for the day. His gaze flitted back down to your trembling form, his heart aching.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound pushy. “I’m sure your friend is still there; she’d be willing–”

His voice trailed off when you vehemently shook your head. “No,” you said softly. “Not now. Can we���Can we just go to yours?”

At that moment, with you looking up at him hopefully, your good eye wide but exhausted, Sawyer would have given you just about anything. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too hard. “Of course, darling. Just hold on to me. I don’t trust your legs right now.”

The pained smile you gave him twists his heart. “I don’t, either.”

It took a little while, but the two of you finally made it to his dorm in relative silence, save for the pained gasps and whimpers that occasionally fell from your swollen lips. The whole time, Sawyer was clenching his teeth. It didn’t matter that RSC was something that happened to everyone – not even his injuries hadn’t looked this rough.

He sat you down gently on his bed. He didn’t want to leave you, not when you looked that beat up, but he pushed that aside to grab the little box of medical supplies you kept in his room for when he was beat up after sparring. If you weren’t huddled beside him looking more fragile than he’d ever seen you, he would have made a joke about it.

You’d already removed your jacket and shirt, leaving your torso bare save for the bindings you always wore. Sawyer relaxed for a moment before he took note of your ribs, black and blue bruising rippling up both sides. Save for that, though, and other bruising and – Gods forbid, handprints – you honestly didn’t look too terrible.

He brushed your bangs away from your face, tilting your chin up so he could assess the damage. “Have you tried mending yourself?”

You sighed, sounding almost disappointed in yourself. “No. I’ve never tried that, but it won’t work, anyway. I tried to mend Anya’s arm after it got dislocated, but it didn’t work. I’m either terrible with my signet, or the injury was too bad, or–”

He cut you off before you could delve deeper into self-doubt. “No,” he assured you, taking a wet rag and wiping the blood on your chin. “They tampered with your water. It’s supposed to dull your signet and cut you off from your dragon to feel more realistic.”

Your lips formed an O in realization. “So that’s why I couldn’t feel Cridhe,” you mumbled, hissing in pain once he actually touched your lip. “I got worried there for a while.”

He nodded, ducking his head lower to check the area around your neck. There was an angry red line around your throat; someone had tried to choke you, he assumed. Bastard.

“I know,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “When they took me, the serum didn’t wear off for about a day. I thought Sliseag randomly chose to hate me or something.”

The aforementioned scoffed softly. As if, Ashling, he muttered. I didn’t choose you just to leave you behind.

The words warmed Sawyer’s heart long enough that your silence didn’t bother him for the next few minutes while he looked you over.

He only paused when you spoke softly, your voice faint. “I…think I have a concussion,” you mumble. “The light hurts, and I’m dizzy.”

A tight-lipped smile fought its way onto Sawyer’s face. “Trust you to diagnose yourself barely an hour after it happens.”

You don’t respond, prompting Sawyer to lean back up and look into your eyes. Sure enough, your pupils were unfocused and exhausted. Smart girl.

He opened his mouth to make another little quip, only for it to die on his tongue once you leaned into his side.

“Tired?” he prompted you gently. A soft hum from you confirmed his suspicions, and he hesitated for a moment before relenting. He could carry you to Nolan or a healer in the morning, after you slept the night away.

He looked away for a moment, and you had somehow managed to snag a random shirt off his floor and slip it on. His eyes softened, and he reached over to help you out of your pants and under his covers. You looked so…unusually small in his bed, curled in on yourself like a flower without the sun to warm it. He didn’t even bother to change out of his uniform, opting to kick off his boots and leave himself in his undershirt as he settled next to you. You slowly unfurled from your tense position and rested your head on his chest. Pure bliss.

You both lay there in silence for what seemed like hours before Sawyer found his voice again, feeling weirdly sentimental. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you don’t want to talk about it.”

Your silence was an answer enough.

“Thought so,” he murmured. “That’s okay. We don’t have to. Just…I hope you know that I’ll never let that happen to you when the time comes. Whoever it was, they’d have to kill me first to get to you.”

More silence from you. Sawyer thought for a moment that you fell asleep, but his eyes popped back open once he heard your weary voice.

“Sawyer?”

“Yes, darling?”

A beat. Two beats.

“Thank you for this. I didn’t want to be anywhere besides here.”

…You don’t have to thank me, he thinks, a pained smile tugging at his mouth. I’d do anything and more for you, anyway.

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

🍰┆sweet disaster

kang yeosang x gn! reader

│synopsis: the one with the failed cake

│genre: fluff

│trigger warnings: none

│ prompt 10 + yeosang + baking

You were on the verge of a mental breakdown, in the middle of the kitchen, flour everywhere, as you desperately tried to bake Yeosang an anniversary cake. You wanted to do something for him, something that would scream how much you loved him. You weren't good at crafting, so a handmade gift was out of the question, but baking? You thought, what could be hard about baking?

Turns out, everything. The recipe you found online looked simple enough, but three hours in and you had managed to burn the first attempt, drop the second one on the floor, and now this third one just wouldn't rise properly. Your hands were shaking, tears threatening to spill over as you stared at the sad excuse of a cake before you.

That's when you heard the front door open and close. Yeosang wasn't supposed to be home for another hour. You panicked, trying to hide the mess, but it was too late. He walked into the kitchen, eyes widening at the disaster zone that greeted him.

"What happened here?" he asked, taking in your flour-covered form and the failed cake attempts.

"I-I just wanted to make you something special for our anniversary," you stammered, feeling defeated. "But I can't even get a simple cake right." You were supposed to surprise him with something beautiful, not this chaotic mess. Yeosang moved through the disaster zone with careful steps, coming to stand in front of you. He reached out, gently wiping a smudge of flour from your cheek with his thumb. "I... I just wanted to..." you stammer, your hands still covered in flour and batter. "The recipe looked so easy online, and I thought I could surprise you with something special, but nothing went right, and I kept messing up, and now you're home early and everything's ruined and—" Your rambling explanation tumbles out in a rush, words tripping over each other as you try to justify the kitchen catastrophe surrounding you both. You gesture wildly at the failed cake attempts, accidentally flinging a bit of batter onto Yeosang's shirt in the process. You gasp, horrified as a glob of cake batter lands right on his white shirt. "Oh no! I'm so sorry, I—" But before you can finish your apology, Yeosang breaks into laughter, you freeze, your mouth dropping open slightly.

His laughter turns into a fond smile as he shakes his head. "You're adorable." Yeosang chuckles, watching you fumble with your words. "Didn't expect me to say that, huh?"

You stare at him, unable to fully process how he can be so calm in the middle of your culinary disaster. Yeosang hands gently come to rest on your flour-dusted shoulders as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The way he looks at you—like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen, failed cake and all—makes something warm bloom in your chest.

"You know," he says softly, "this is actually the best anniversary gift I could have asked for."

"A complete kitchen disaster?"

He shakes his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "No. Seeing how much you care. How much effort you put into trying to make something special for me." His thumb traces your jawline, "That means more to me than any perfectly baked cake ever could."

"I still wanted it to be perfect for you," you mumble, unable to hide your disappointment despite his words.

Yeosang laughs softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you with such affection that it makes your heart skip. "You're perfect," he whispers, leaning in closer. His hand cups your cheek, "Messy kitchen and all." Before you can protest further, he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips softly against yours. The kiss is gentle at first, then deepens as he pulls you closer, completely unconcerned about the flour and batter that transfers to his clothes. When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. "I love you," he breathes, the words falling softly between you. "Not for what you can bake me, but for who you are. For moments like this." Despite the mess surrounding you both, this moment feels perfect in its own chaotic way. Yeosang's smile, the warm press of his body against yours, and the genuine love in his eyes make all your failed baking attempts worth it. "So," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "want to try baking together? I'm not much better at it, but I think we could make a decent mess together."

You can't help but laugh, the tension finally melting away as you nod. "I'd like that."

As Yeosang rolls up his sleeves and reaches for a clean mixing bowl, you realize that sometimes the most perfect moments come from the most imperfect situations. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

♡│please join my 500 followers special!│

[thefairiesinthegarden]

Sweet as sugar

———————————————————

*just think as the Cookie Monster as Cassian

Hey now hey nowwwww this is what dreammmssss are madeee offf. Anyways here’s a sweet Drabble babble of Cassian and our favourite gurlll

Word count: 2000

Cassian x reader

Warnings: none!!!!

———————————————————

Baking cookies was a tradition that had become one of your favorite pastimes with Cassian. The warmth of the kitchen, the smell of melted butter, sugar, and chocolate, the sound of his deep laugh echoing off the walls as flour puffed into the air—all of it made your shared home feel like the coziest place in the world. It was a quiet evening, a rare moment of peace in Velaris, and you had decided to take advantage of it by making your favorite treat with your mate.

Cassian stood beside you at the counter, his strong arms bare, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was a sight to behold, even after all these years—his rugged handsomeness hadn’t faded in the slightest, if anything, it had grown more prominent with time. You handed him the bowl of dry ingredients, and he shot you a grin, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief.

“How much flour are we supposed to use again?” he asked, a mock-serious tone in his voice. “Was it one scoop or two?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress your smile. “You know it’s two, Cassian. We’ve made these a hundred times.”

“Just testing you,” he teased, before pouring the flour into the bowl with a deliberate slowness that made you laugh. “I’m an expert at this now.”

“An expert, huh? What about last time when you put double the sugar and we had to pry the cookies off the tray?”

“Hey, they were still good.” He leaned down, brushing a kiss across your temple. “I just like my cookies sweet.”

“Mmhm, sure,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in your chest at his affection. Even after a century of being together, Cassian had a way of making you feel like the most cherished person in the world.

You started mixing the ingredients together, your hands working the dough as Cassian hovered nearby, trying to sneak a taste of the batter when he thought you weren’t looking. But you were always looking, always aware of him—just as he was of you. It was part of being mates, you supposed. The bond that had tied your souls together so long ago was still as strong as ever.

When you caught him dipping a finger into the bowl, you swatted his hand away, laughing. “You’ll get your cookies soon enough, greedy.”

He shrugged, licking the dough off his finger anyway. “What can I say? You’re the best baker in all of Velaris. Maybe even all of Prythian.”

“Flattery will not get you more cookie dough.”

Cassian chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and pulling you against him. The familiar weight of his body pressed against yours, his chin resting on your shoulder, made you feel safe, anchored. “No? How about this, then?” His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he nipped gently, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Cassian,” you warned, though your voice lacked any real threat. “We’re supposed to be baking.”

“We are baking,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m just…multitasking.”

You laughed, shaking your head but leaning into his warmth all the same. For a while, you both worked together in content silence, Cassian occasionally sneaking more dough and you pretending not to notice.

After the dough was formed into balls and placed on the baking sheet, you slid them into the oven, turning to lean against the counter as you waited. Cassian stayed close, standing next to you with his arms crossed, his wings tucked neatly behind him. You reached out and traced a finger along the edge of one, admiring the strength and beauty of them.

He watched you with a soft smile, one that made your heart flutter. It was the same smile he’d given you on your wedding day, the same one that had made you fall in love with him all over again a hundred years ago.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, his tone suddenly serious, as if he could sense the shift in your mood.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to tell him the truth. “I was just thinking…about us. About how far we’ve come. A century, Cassian. Can you believe it?”

His gaze softened further, and he took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “It feels like no time at all. But then, every moment with you is a gift.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for him. “Do you ever think about what comes next?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You took a deep breath, feeling a little nervous even though you knew, deep down, he’d understand. “I’ve been thinking about our future. About…maybe starting a family.”

He blinked, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into something more tender, more thoughtful. “A family?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening around his. “I know we’ve never really talked about it before, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. We’ve built this life together, this home…and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to add to it. To have children.”

Cassian was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. You bit your lip, wondering if maybe you’d sprung the idea on him too suddenly. But then, he reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“I’ve thought about it too,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’ve wondered what it would be like to have little ones running around, to raise a family with you. But I didn’t want to pressure you, or assume…”

“Pressure me?” you laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “Cassian, you could never pressure me. I love you. And if I’m going to have a family, I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, without warning, he pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel his heart beating against your chest.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I would be honored to raise a family with you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, a wave of relief and joy washing over you. The thought of having children with Cassian, of creating a new life together, made your heart soar.

“We could teach them how to fly,” he added, his tone lightening as a grin spread across his face. “And how to fight. I’ll teach them all my best moves.”

You laughed, swatting him playfully. “I’m sure they’ll need more than just fighting lessons, Cass.”

He feigned offense. “Fighting is important! But fine, I suppose we could teach them how to bake too.”

“And how to read, and how to paint, and how to love with their whole heart,” you said softly, looking up at him. “Just like you’ve taught me.”

Cassian’s expression softened once again, and he leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep, as if he were trying to pour all the love he felt for you into that one moment. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could see the future reflected in his eyes—a future filled with laughter, joy, and the warmth of a family you would create together.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you.”

The timer for the cookies went off, breaking the spell of the moment, and you both laughed as you reluctantly pulled away to tend to the treats. The scent of warm chocolate filled the air as you pulled the tray from the oven, and you couldn’t help but feel like the sweetness of the cookies mirrored the sweetness of the life you were building with Cassian.

As you set the tray on the counter to cool, Cassian wrapped his arms around you once more, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both looked at the cookies.

“Do you think they’ll be as sweet as us?” he asked, his voice teasing.

“Only if they take after me,” you shot back with a grin.

Cassian laughed, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Our children are going to be amazing,” he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. “Because they’ll have you as their mother.”

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude, and you leaned back into him, savoring the moment. The cookies, the warmth of the kitchen, the weight of his arms around you—it all felt like the perfect beginning to the next chapter of your lives.

And as you stood there, wrapped in Cassian’s embrace, you knew without a doubt that whatever the future held, you would face it together. With love, with laughter, and with the joy of building a family that would grow and thrive just like the bond between you and your mate.

———————————————————

Thanks for reading!!!

[nanaboo-pumpkaboo]

Worse,

I see it. Last night. You promised.

The car comes to a slow, the Unova Police Department logo is on the side of the vehicle. inside the vehicle is a woman, and in the back a man who even now is still smiling. "This has been a long time coming, Grimshaw. but you cannot escape the hammer of justice forever." "Mhm" The man says, looking at the road. They're nowhere near the jail he was told to be detained in, a maximum prison facility on Castellia bay, if anything they're close to Anville.

"Your friends, the ones on this" She holds up a little device, it looks like a watch.

"They have no idea, they believed every word I said, I suppose I know you quite well in order to impersonate you." She laughed for a moment, before setting the watch back down on the dashboard.

Silence, until he leans forward, body battered and right eye barely able to stay open from the injuries acquired.

"It's over, you know that right? When they try me, they'll have to do it by the book, I might get off on the injuries you've inflicted on me alone."

"It's unfortunate that you won't live to see that day."

The car comes to a complete stop and the woman steps out of the car and opens the trunk. The man in the back only has to wait for a few seconds before the car door opens and he is dragged out by the handcuffs trapping him. The night air is cold and his body is battered and bruised, he very nearly falls to his feet.

"I want the files you took, everything, I know they're here." She tosses the shovel into the mans hands, he sighs and smiles, taking a hold of the shovel and walking a few feet forward.

he wouldn't even get another word in before a bullet sent him falling forward, the chief standing behind him with the still smoking gun, she walked forward and would check his pulse before taking a few shots into her car. and reached for her radio.

You Promised

"This is Chief of Police Victoria Heralds, Code 10-98 swiped my gun and attempted to run, requesting medical aid and a body bag."

You've done everything you could, by all means You have reached the end Your end. But, perhaps that is not The worst After all. You've done everything you sought out to do. I hope you're happy. Genuinely

//Tw Epilepsy

So, if this is your end. Then why are You still here? The autopsy is complete, your heart is still, but you're still here. Why? You must Concede You cannot continue. Mr. Grimshaw. Don't speak, you do not have the capacity to do so. I will be back, Mr.Grimshaw. You are a stubborn man,you c nnot die. You promised.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

guh

[twin-yards]

it is completely one hundred percent baffling to me that any of the foxes would come away from witnessing neil and andrew's reunion in baltimore with the opinion that their relationship was just hate fucking . like my brother in christ are you blind

[cosycafune]

SCREAM UNTIL HE BREAKS YOU:

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

being fought by ovulation is hard, but trying to fuck yourself with your angry roommate around is harder. it doesn't help when he storms into your room, enraged, begging to angrily fuck you and soothe his heavy balls. the only requirement is for you to survive the night. can you?

acts: sizing, creampies, rough sex, degrading, breeding kink, filming, spanking, mating press, backshots, crying, bed breaking, choking, power difference kink, missionary, masturbating, and potentially more. mdni 18+. reblogs are appreciated. masterlist. quite short. 1.5k words.

jjk men: satoru gojo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, choso kamo and suguru geto. art by sakimenz on patreon.

satoru gojo ♡ · · ୨୧ ˚₊

“Fuck, Satoru! Ngh! So close!” Plunging your fingers so frantically inside you, flustered by the thought of being pounded by your roommate, you accidentally mewl loudly. 

“‘Need you…so badly,” Swiftly coming undone, you soppily bury your fingers further – panting before you hear your bedroom door swiftly open.

Met with the furious scenery of an angered Satoru, your heart swirls with embarrassing anticipation. Unable to shed your mortification, you gasp at being completely exposed – your slick fingers snuggly within your cunt.

Satisfied, you heavily pant – greeting the longing within Satoru’s eyes. Crumbling beneath Satoru’s story-filled gaze, you gently pull your fingers out with a lewd squelch – attempting to hide your gushing release. Your cunt is completely soaked, fluttering over nothing – perfectly facing an intimidating Satoru.

“Why’d you stop?” Taunting you, Satoru wickedly grins, “Heard you moaning my name, so don’t act shy now.” Relishing your embarrassment, Satoru stalks over to you – tension-filled.

“S-Sato’!” Naively battering your lashes, you turn to your side – faced with the scenery of Satoru’s monstrous erection.

Paired with his anger from losing a basketball game, you knew you would be destroyed and irreparably damaged.

“You were begging for it, so it’s time for you to take it,” Intrigued at your flustered state, Satoru speaks – subconsciously cupping his caged cock.

“D-Don’t hold..back,” Battering your lashes, you propose that Satoru completely strip you of your worth – breaking and moulding you for just him.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Smushed against Satoru, you’re barely able to breathe – shoved into the meanest mating press by him. Your coherency is lost while Satoru vigorously plunges his cock within you, filling your cunt with his inhumane cock. His veiny, anger-carry cock almost kissed against your cervix with each rough collision, leaving you as a beautiful cage for his anger.

“Don’t get mad… when I fill you,” Glancing down at a sobbing you, overwhelmed by his swift cock, Satoru lustfully smiles.

“Ah! ‘M yours! Strengthening his degrading pace, you repetitively moan – mentally stunted by a stupidly smug Satoru.

“Mhm, so…handle every inch,” Satoru grunts out, momentarily pulling out before burying himself deeply in your warm cunt – splitting you apart with his twitching.

“Imma…good girl,” Crying, pleading for Satoru to reconstruct you, he happily finishes within you – unwilling to free you as his fruitful seed shot against your cervix.

“Hm, you are,” Momentarily praising you, Satoru finishes again – his large batch of cum coddling your pampered cervix.

–

kento nanami

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Perched before your laptop in the living room, you softly toy with your soppy clit – attempting to rid yourself of your orgasm. Settling on the couch like this was risky, but the Twitter porn video you watched completely consumed you. Your ovulation cycle broke your rational thinking, leaving you to fuck yourself with a dildo – fixated on the fact that the couple looked like you and Kento.

“Kento! ‘M taking you!” Sinking the dildo within you, you almost scramble at the front door opening – unable to gift you time to flee.

Listening to the door slam shut, your chest shatters at Kento’s notorious footsteps stopping behind your couch. Trembling, feeling his gaze on your cunt, you gulp. Gulp as the dildo’s so deeply within you, his tension something you could feel from ages away.

“Screaming my name?” Kento’s deadpan tone causes you to swirl with timidness, unsure of what to do.

“I-I’m s–”

“--Don’t apologise now,” Obeying Kento’s response, you wait, “I’ll take my anger out on you since you’re so rough with yourself.” Walking around the couch, Kento finally glances at you – hatred welling in his eyes.

“Mhm, guess I’ll have to thank your mission going wrong,” At your misplaced teasing, Kento hurriedly pulls the dildo out of you – shoving it into your mouth.

“I will not go easy on you,” Making a promise, Kento begins to madly shed his clothes. Kento’s lust-coated from your irresponsibily nude frame, perched so prettily before his hungry gaze.

You gave yourself away to a monstrous version of himself. Rough sex is his favourite whilst angry.

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

“Mercy…Kento!” Obliterating your swollen cunt, Kento harshly slaps your ass – making sure that his large balls bash against your sensitive clit.

“Until you say…your safeword,” Picking up his speed, Kento burrows your head further into the couch – filling your stomach with his girthy cock.

“C-Can’t…handle,” Blurting your strained plea, completely at his mercy, Kento grows animalistic – fucking you with an impossible might that makes you dizzy.

“I’ll…break you,” Kento threatens, crashing his weight against your perched ass – smacking your stinging bubble butt.

“Ngh!” Incapable of complaining, you scream as Kento’s cock twitches – cumming in you at a speed that makes your teary eyes roll back.

“Not done with you, sweetheart,” Pleased, Kento angrily converses, “Keep that ass up,” Commanding you, Kento grins – panting mercilessly.

toji fushiguro

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“‘Need to…ride Toji! Ah!” Finishing against your vibrator, you desperately grind against it – savouring your sensitive clit.

“Need…to sit on his…cock,” Weeping, shuddering at the thought of Toji overwhelming you with his strength, you almost collapse with pleasure.

Fantasising about Toji, you tenderly rub your tingly clit – irredeemable. Such a thing was forbidden, but you find yourself consumed – ovulation tearing up your every thought. Every thought until you gasp one of your plump breasts, harshly squeezing your taut nipple.

“Toji–”

“--Stop calling my name!… Wow.” With precision, Toji swings open your bedroom door – halting midspeech.

Beautifully astonished, Toji almost falters – captured by your nude physique grinding against a vibrator. Grinding with desperation, moaning out his name with discouraged desperation – hungering for his divine cock.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t tempt me and think you’re getting away,” Licking his lips, Toji thrives within your nerves – responding to you with predatory intent.

“Please, I’m ovulating,” Unable to quell your physical turmoil, you pathetically plead for Toji to either break you or impregnate you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“I’ll…get you pregnant,” Thrusting his cock into you, Toji passionately grunts – forcing you to ride his bucking cock.

“Yes! Fill… me up,” Close to toppling over, you barely manage to handle Toji’s fat cock stretching out your cunt – closing in on your vulnerable womb.

“Mhm, I'll take you…like this every day,” Toji greedily musters out, a frantic moaning mess at your soppy cunt completely gripping him – tender at finishing so many times.

“‘Want…to not breathe,” Desperate for him to destroy you, Toji pushes you down to the base of his cock – watching you almost scream with pleasurable agony.

“Being…pregnant will do just that,” Grinning, Toji whimpers – bucking his hips consistently before he fills you with his ripe seed.

He wouldn’t let you rest until he tore your sanity apart.

–

choso kamo

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“Mhm, my pussy’s so empty,” A desperate mess, you’re yearning for cock — physically willing to hunt for it. Your lonesome cunt yearns to be stuffed with cum.

“Cho’, you’d…stuff me well,” Grunting, a profound mess, you whine intensely — desperate for Choso to obliterate your primal cunt.

“Ah! Cho!” Fucking yourself in your bedroom, filling the apartment with your moans, you fail to notice the silent presence lingering before your door.

Choso.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Before you knew it, your physique was folded, clouded with the thickness of Choso’s cock. Usually, Choso’s tinted with softness. However, softness failed to be his forte this time. With Choso angry, his demeanour held not an ounce of gentleness — roughness filling him.

“Baby, look…at me,” Choso harshly commands you, glancing down at a pretty you within missionary.

“Ah! Cho’!” Corrupted by Choso, you prettily moan — completely worshipping Choso’s cock.

As he’s about to cum, the two of you hear your apartment door open — but that doesn’t stop Choso from cumming his deepest inside of you. If he had to, he’d make you carry his child. A sign of you handling his brutal thrusts, contradicting his usually aloofness.

suguru geto.

Naturally, Suguru’s always two steps ahead. Even as you intensely thrust your fingers within yourself, he can’t help but observe you from your parted door — listening to you beautifully moan his name. Moan his name so dirtily, your dignity barely holding on.

“Sugu’,” That’s all it took before Suguru despicably pounced on you, filling you with his cock — his degrading camera filming you. Filming you as he accidentally broke your bed, pounding into you at a might that completely ruined your cunt. Your cunt that screams and squelches, torn apart by Suguru’s bubbling, cunning anger.

All until he cums inside of you, swelling your stomach with his cum as a reward.

sukuna.

Before you could even play with yourself, Ryomen’s already on you — fucking you angrily. Love bites, slap marks, and choking overtook you. Ryomen left no stone unturned, completely ruining your cunt — shoving you into the meanest mating press. Not an ounce of you could breathe, but Ryomen couldn’t care less. If he needed a sexual outlet, that would now be a precious, naive you.

do not modify, claim or repackage my work. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small dividers by cafekitsune <3

[kashverse]

it started with a simple trip to the store. nanami had one goal: groceries. necessities. adult things. things that did not include stepping foot into the toy aisle, where capitalism lurked, waiting for fathers like him to make poor financial decisions. but then, there was yuuji. yuuji, who had stopped dead in his tiny tracks in front of the lego shelf, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted in a soft gasp like he was witnessing true beauty. "papa." his little voice trembled with reverence. "they have… wobbots."

nanami made the grievous mistake of looking down at him. yuuji’s big, pleading eyes were practically shimmering, tiny hands clutching at his pant leg like he was a desperate protagonist in a drama. "papa," yuuji repeated, voice hushed as if he were revealing a grand prophecy. "i need it."

and nanami—tired, overworked, victim to puppy eyes and the relentless machine of consumerism—sighed and grabbed the box.

"papa, i lub you."

capitalism had won.

at first, things were fine. yuuji had never been so focused, hunched over the coffee table, tongue poking out as he assembled what was supposed to be a spaceship but slowly turned into an unholy amalgamation of a car, a dinosaur, and a mech suit with one wing. "it's a dinosaur spaceship with turbo boostahs," yuuji explained, proudly slamming a lego figure into the cockpit. nanami had nodded, sipping his coffee, unaware that his peaceful life was over. because soon, the legos were everywhere.

in the kitchen? yes. in his shoes? unfortunately. inside his mixing bowl while making brownies? horrifyingly, yes. nanami had blinked down at the little black lego head staring ominously from the batter.

"yuuji."

yuuji, standing at the counter with a suspiciously guilty look, gasped. "oh! batman in brownies! he is a surpwise."

"he is not a surprise, yuuji. he is a contamination."

yuuji giggled. “but now he's chocolate man.” nanami sighed deeply, fished out lego batman’s disembodied head, and handed it back. "batman does not belong in baked goods."

"okay, papa. but maybe next time, superman—"

"no."

but the worst was what was dubbed as “torture expressway.” it was yuuji’s pride and joy - a meticulously arranged, near-invisible minefield of loose legos, laid across the hallway with the precision of a military strategist. the first time you stepped on one, you nearly saw your life flash before your eyes. the second time, you did.

"mama!" yuuji gasped as you dramatically collapsed onto the couch. "you defeatyated my trap! you win da pwize!"

the prize was a singular lego brick.

nanami, from the kitchen, merely sighed. "you need to stop setting booby traps, yuuji."

"but it's a game, papa! i caw it…" he raised his little arms dramatically, "torture 'spressway!"

"accurate," you wheezed.

the final straw for nanami came when he got up at five in the morning, half-asleep, walked toward the bathroom… and stepped on something small and sharp. the sheer agony that shot up his foot nearly had him crumbling. he clutched the doorframe, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he whispered, voice tight with pain—

"… lego."

from his bedroom, yuuji sleepily called out, "you step on da fire bwock, papa?"

"yes, yuuji. i steppy on the fire block."

"dat means you gotta fight da boss now."

nanami closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and swore to himself that the next time they went shopping, he was buying a vacuum.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

rafe having no boundaries and grabbing his girlfriend's ass in front of family during a family trip

A little Rafe and Sarah being siblings

—

‘’Can you not do that here?’’ Sarah grimaced after Rafe wandered in and smacked your ass on his way to the fridge. ‘’We’re cooking. That’s gross.’’ 

You and Sarah had woken up earlier than everyone else and decided to whip some pancake batter. They were coming along nicely, slowly piling up on a plate.

Rafe rolled his eyes in response and leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘’Chill out, Sarah. I’m just saying ‘good morning’ to my girl.’’

Sarah scoffed, giving him a glare as you flipped out the pancake in the pan. ‘’Well, keep your 'good mornings' to yourself until after breakfast and when I’m not around, alright? I’ve seen and heard enough things I didn’t want to.’’ 

Your cheeks turned red and you kept your eyes on the pan, embarrassed as memories of Sarah catching you topless in their pool and all the times she heard you through the walls of Tannyhill before Rafe got his own place. You’ll never apologize to her enough. 

‘’Stop acting like a prude. I’ve heard you on the phone with that pogue you’re seeing. Ahh, John B., I wish your fingers were inside me. I’m so close, I need to—’’ 

Sarah grabbed a blueberry and threw it at her brother, her face burning hot at his mockery. If eyes could kill, Rafe would be a dead man. She looked murderous. 

Rafe smirked, unfazed by the blueberry that was thrown his way. He crossed his arms crossed over his broad chest, and his blue eyes flickered with amusement. ‘’These walls are old. Did you think I couldn’t hear you?’’ 

To avoid a Sarah vs Rafe duel from happening, you asked Rafe if he wanted chocolate chips or blueberries in his pancakes. You already knew the answer, but you needed to defuse the bomb before it would explode. 

‘’Blueberries. You know how I like my pancakes, baby,’’ he said, pushing himself off the counter and closing the distance between you and him in a few strides. 

Sarah shot a glare in his direction, her eyes narrowing, but Rafe chose to ignore her and kiss your shoulder, standing right behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back and resting his chin above your shoulder.

‘’Rafe, you’re distracting me,’’ you warned, pouring batter in the pan and adding some blueberries. 

Rafe laughed lowly, his chest rumbling against your back as his arms wrapped tighter around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear, his lips lingering on your skin for a few seconds. ‘’These look good. Think we can take the pancakes to bed after you’re done?’’ 

Breakfast in bed, away from everyone else, sounded tempting. You've had breakfast with the Camerons since you arrived, sticking to the polite routine. You missed being alone with Rafe in the morning, taking it slow and engaging in non-PG activities.  

Before you answered, Sarah cleared her throat beside you, a disapproving look on her face. Rafe thought he was subtle and sleek when he had his hand wander under your robe. 

He lifted his head and gave her a cocky grin. ''What?'' 

‘’In case you forgot, I’m still here,'' the blonde recalled, taking a few plates from the cupboards and deciding to set the table. ‘’And Wheezie and Dad and Rose are gonna come down soon.’’ 

‘’I know,'' Rafe replied, stepping back and letting you finish the pancakes. ''If you had not been here, I would have her bent over the counter already.’’ 

His words should have shocked you, but you were used to his bluntness by now. Rafe never held back, always saying exactly what was on his mind, no matter how outrageous. No matter the audience. You thought he would behave and tone it down with Wheezie in the house, but he didn’t. 

Thankfully, her young ears were not around.

You looked over your shoulder, failing at hiding the smirk that tugged at the corners of your lip.

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife   @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker   @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage   @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc   @pedrosprincess   @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb   @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom   @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey   @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld   @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble   @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696  @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius   @buckyswhxre @emerald-09   @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey  @ynmunson @riddle18  @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

[princesssmars]

better leave your man at home!

mini stories of vi, sevika, abby, and ellie showing you your true worth.

wc : 7.306

contains : sfw and nsfw. fxf. fem!reader. cheating on the men's part until ellie's part lol. ellie’s is a modern!au the rest are in canon. mentions of violence and alcohol. silco but he's chill. owen but he's not chill. reader can be interpreted as bi or comphet i think!

a/n : ladies if you're reading this...cheat on him. or cheat back. yknow what just leave him.

VIOLET ꨄ

ʚɞ ever since getting out of prison and restarting her life, vi had been looking for a new purpose.

ʚɞ she had found a solid job, managed to reconnect with wither last siblings left alive, and started to build up a life for herself, but still, she felt...aimless. she longed for a deeper connection than the ones she had, someone she could yet again.

ʚɞ and then she meets you, a sweet little store owner with a voice that sounds like a symphony and an attitude as sweet as cookies. the first time she even met you she bumped into you on the street outside your bakery, knocking you supplies for your treats all over the ground. she's expecting that usual zaunite 'watch where you're going!' but instead you tell her not to worry, that you were carrying too many things anyway.

ʚɞ it was almost instinct for her to assure you she was at fault, downright demanding she help you carry everything that dropped inside and that it was the least she could do. you call her a sweetheart and tell her if she does you'll send her home with a plate of her favorite dessert. how could she say no?

ʚɞ she cant help but to quickly hang out with you whenever she can. after her shifts she stops by to help you close up, telling you its the least she could do for someone who was oh-so sweet. you seem to welcome her affections, whispering one late night when making some extra batter that you always appreciate when she stops by. she goes home on a high that night.

ʚɞ but then the worst thing ever happens. you get a boyfriend.

ʚɞ apparently he's some old family friend who moved back to the city when he found a small fortune overseas and was ready to come back to 'win you over like he tried years ago'. you told the story with a slightly wistful voice but all vi could do was nod along with wide eyes and a shut mouth.

ʚɞ eventually, she meets the guy, a tall and rather weasly looking guy who was waiting impatiently outside the store. she gave him a simple greeting and all he could do was tilt his head in recognition that she was there, apparently. she passed him and went to the back of the store and asked you what he was doing standing outside looking all suspicious. her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when you told her he was waiting to take you out but had to stand outside because he couldn't stand the smell of bread.

ʚɞ yeah, this definitely wasn't gonna last long. she’d just have to get you to see that.

ʚɞ sadly, she didn't have to do much work. ton a sunny day when the two of you were walking through the upper city levels together you stopped in your tracks, a talking vi whose arm was wrapped with yours questioning what made you stop before following your eyesight to see your boyfriend in the arms of another woman, way too close for comfort. vi wanted nothing more in that moment than to go and knock the bastard's lights out, but she had to prioritize you first.

ʚɞ you go into a depression for a week, your shop closed and your apartment locked as you skulk and cry in your home. but thankfully you gave vi a key not too long into your friendship, and she wakes you up one afternoon and demands you go and clean yourself up while she takes care of your chores.

ʚɞ you come out of the shower feeling rejuvenated and refreshed, your mood only lifting higher at the smell of cookies in the air. you pad out to the kitchen and cant help but smile when you see vi standing with a tray of perfectly made chocolate chip cookies on the island counter.

ʚɞ you sit up on your counter and moan at the taste of the cookies, vi accepting your praise of her baking skills with pride as she rubs over your bare thighs. eventually the topic steers to your recent heartbreak and vi makes sure you can complain and vent to her all you want.

ʚɞ but the last thing she wants to hear is you blaming yourself, teary-eyed and mumbling about how maybe you were too overbearing in your affections. she gently but sternly brings your attention to her, making sure you look her in the eyes when she goes on about how you’re the nicest and most soft-natured person she’s ever known and he was a fool to not see what an amazing woman he had in front of him.

ʚɞ and you cant help but feel even worse at the clear effect her affection has on you, unconsciously biting her lip at her praise and closeness. her eyes dart down to your lips and back to your eyes, slowly inching her head forward for permission. as soon as you slightly nod your head she’s kissing you with months of pent-up adoration, warmth, and lust.

ʚɞ a small part of you feels guilty for moving on to your close friend only a week after you broke up with your boyfriend, but when her fingers are drifting down to your cunt and making you cry as you cum over and over again, you can't find it in you to care.

ʚɞ “he was an idiot to give up on someone as sweet as you. but down worry muffin, i’m not gonna take that chance.”

SEVIKA ꨄ

ʚɞ sevika had made a promise to herself years ago: don't mess with married women.

ʚɞ she could give herself some grace, she was young and dumb, and the woman was incredibly gorgeous. and when a woman with legs that could bring any person woman or man to their knees comes up to you and asks you your plans for the night, you cant exactly pass up the opportunity. though she wishes she did after her partner caught them together in bed and she got in one of the worst fights of her life.

ʚɞ but she had to admit things in her life were getting a bit…stale, to say the least. her schedule was a steady routine of doing tasks for silco, reeling in jinx, and keeping the last drop working like a well-oiled machine. she didn't want anything drastic that would screw up their plans to happen, just…something.

ʚɞ and oh, does she get it. some out of towner got too rowdy in the bar and started a bar fight and before she could come in and get things under control theirams leg gets broken. so now she’s tasked with finding a good enough replacement to cover him for the few months it gets healed since he for some reason couldn't just take a shimmer dose and get back on his feet in no time.

ʚɞ she goes through dozens of recruits, all either too disobedient or downright atrocious behind a bar. she’s just about to give up and force one of the goons to do it when you come through the door. you’re rather unassuming, and at first she things you’re joking until you travel behind the bar and instruct her to give you any drink and you can make it. after ten different drinks she’s more than convinced.

ʚɞ she doesn't talk to you much at first, you’re just another cog in the machine that keeps the enterprise running smoothly. obviously she’s noticed that you’re attractive, surrounded by a stern but easy-going aura that makes most customers sit and want to talk to you for hours on end. it amused her when she watched how you convinced three different patrons to buy some more drinks so you’d continue telling them a wild story of some adventure you apparently had in bilgewater years back.

ʚɞ she can't help but ask you if its true later when the bar is closing and you’re wiping everything down, rolling her eyes when you call her out for listening to your conversations. you reveal that all your stories of adventure and excitement are true, but that you gave that life up when you decided to settle down after you get married.

ʚɞ she scoffs that the woman you married must be a hell of a catch to get you to leave behind such an exciting life, and she sees your eyes drop when you reveal that life with your husband is a nice and quiet alternative to your days of danger. sevika’s always had a good poker face, and she’s really glad she has it now after hearing you gave up all of that for a guy. and that her gaydar was apparently wrong, which never happens.

ʚɞ but its almost like this is the challenge her mind has been looking for, because after that conversation she keeps having late-night talks with you when no one else is around. you’re disarmingly easy to talk to, able to show a compassion and understanding that isn’t common for the folks down here. its only a few hours after she gets a bit too tipsy and accidentally lets slip a story about her upbringing that she lays in bed and slaps her human hand to her forehead in frustration when instead of being embarrassed all she can think about is your soft hand gently rubbing her shoulder as she poured her heart out.

ʚɞ she is so screwed.

ʚɞ eventually, you draw silco’s attention. mostly because the profits from the bar have nearly doubled since you started working, partly because he can tell a certain someone is distracting sevika. he gave her a list of tasks one day that he could tell she hated doing and she went off with a nod and without a word, and she either had a new woman in her life or she was about to snap. he made sure to find out about you a few minutes later, and asked/demanded to know more about your life. in particular, any outside connections you had.

ʚɞ sevika doesn't know whether she wants to thank silco or kill him when you’re given a more permanent position at the bar and finally introduce the crew to your husband, a man who silco has apparently given a job in his booking department. when sevika pulls him aside later to ask why he would od something like that, he just. shrugs. silco never just shrugs.

ʚɞ now that you’ve basically part of their little crime family it's even easier for sevika to spend more time with you. unfortunately for you jinx has taken a liking to you, but you handle it well and always make sure to give the girl her favorite drink in her favorite cup whenever she stops in the bar to babble on about some new weapon of mayhem she’s decided to make.

ʚɞ but after a few weeks she notices your mood start to sour, how you start getting snippy with some of the more rowdy drunks who stumble through the bar. she catches you a few hours after closing sat behind the bar with a half drunken bottle in your hand and mascara running down your cheeks. normally if this was anyone else she’d scoff to herself and quickly make her exit but instead she plops herself down next to you and demands you tell her what's wrong. through hiccups and tears, you tell her that you’re pretty sure your husband is lying to you. about a lot. in particular about where he spends his nights and comes back grumbling about ‘unfair bets’ and losing cash.

ʚɞ sevika assures you she’ll get to the bottom of it, and it only takes her a few hours of trailing thee guy to find out the problem. it seems your betrothed has been gambling your money away in seedy gambling circles, with some guys she swore she told to cut it out months ago when it came to rigging their dice when playing with tourists. but the amounts he’s using are definitely more than what either of you are making on a salary.

ʚɞ she tries not to smile when she picks the excuse of a man up by the back of his neck with her mech hand, reveling in the horrified look on his face as he makes up excuse after excuse for why he’s been stealing money from you and the boss, that he swears he’ll make it back up to silco-

ʚɞ you come in the next day as confused as ever, whispering that your husband packed up his things in the middle of the night and disappeared. sevika sits you down and explains that your husband was a thief, stealing hundreds from silco rather sloppily under his nose, and was dealt with in a timely manner. but she assures you that you won't be affected by any debts he may have had, she’ll make sure of it and make sure none of those gamblers come after you.

ʚɞ you only grow closer and closer after that night, and its no surprise you start to catch feelings for the gorgeous woman who constantly makes sure you’re safe and protected. its on one of the bars rather more exciting nights that you relent and play a drinking game with some members of the crew, and in a moment of weakness accidentally admit that since your husband left you haven't been laid in weeks, and in an additional moment of weakness admit that the first person you’d like to rock your world would be none other than silco’s second hand.

ʚɞ it was just your luck that the woman was walking by when the words left your lips, and fueled by her own dose of liquid courage came up behind you and whispered that she was free at that moment.

ʚɞ you expected many things when you settled down in zaun, and getting bent in half for hours on end by the second in command to the rule of the underground was not one of them. but when sevika groans in your ear and moans about how you have the tightest pussy she’s ever had the pleasure of taking, you’re really glad it happened to you.

ʚɞ “god, i’m really not gonna be able to stay away from you now. promise that the next time you get married you’re not gonna have to worry about being disappointed ever again.”

ʚɞ (when sevika walks in the next morning with a rare smile on her face silco does admit that he hired your husband knowing he’d be an idiot that she’d have to get rid of. you’re welcome.)

ABBY ꨄ

ʚɞ abby never saw herself as a jealous person. she’d only been in one relationship before, and even though it ended rather sourly she knew it was only natural that they’d both eventually move on. but when she sees you, a new wlf recruit walking and smiling side by side with owen, she feels…weird. really weird.

ʚɞ she does feel bad that as soon as he introduces you all to the group at a small party thrown by some of the soldiers all she can manage is tight-lipped smile and a small wave. you visibly deflate and smile it off, immediately pulled away by nora and leah to grab some drinks. manny butts her shoulder with his, giving her that ‘what the hell?’ look he loves to do. she defensively apologizes, because how should she react? her ex-boyfriend clearly has a thing for you, is she supposed to be all buddy buddy with you?

ʚɞ it doesn't help that its clear to everyone that you’re pretty. like, weirdly pretty for someone in the middle of an apocalyptic setting. crystal clear skin, smooth lips, and eyes of a beautiful shade. she caught herself staring once in the gym as you laughed with one of the trainers and had to quickly get herself together.

ʚɞ isaac must be playing a sick game because you then get assigned to go with her on patrol. she initially resented, questioning why you were tagging along when you mostly worked with the medics and mel was already trailing along. he said that apparently you had asked for the chance to get some more field practice and left it at that, dismissing her with a wave.

ʚɞ she was quiet for most of the ride to the patrol spot, hands tight on the steering wheel as you sat in the back of the truck with the others in the group and laughed at some story one the guys was talking about.

ʚɞ god, even your laugh is cute, she thinks as she carefully maneuvers the truck around a downed tree. youre like if a dream girl was placed down in this wasteland to torture her, a giant sign to tell her of course owen went after you, you were perfect. more perfect than she could be.

ʚɞ it isnt helpful that shes left partnered with you as you clear out the abandoned store in the strip mall they've all been sent to check and re-clear the spaces if necessary. she finds herself frustrated when you very reasonably and very smartly stick to her side the whole time. she swears she almost trips over an overgrown branch when she catches a whiff of your soap and she doesnt know where the hell you managed to snag vanilla flavored anything.

ʚɞ everything is fine for a while. you both remain vigilant as you walk through the barely lit aisles of the department store, the only action when a clicker jumps up out of nowhere and nearly tackled you before she’s roughly pushing you out of the way and kicking out its knees before bashing in its head with her boot. she’s panting and catching her breath before roughly asking if you were alright and reminding you to stay vigilant, taking your wide eyed stare for shock at a close encounter to what would be a rather painful death.

ʚɞ but despite her rather abrasive attitude you try your best to be friendly with her. you reveal that owen did confide about their past relationship, and as awkward as the situation sometimes was you wouldn’t let it drive a wedge between you, that you in fact wanted to be friends with abby. you had heard a great many things about her, how she was a loyal friend, a courageous leader, clearly an incredibly strong soldier-

ʚɞ her brain. short circuits a bit. the way you called her strong, like it was fact that was so obvious that she’d already proven it to you just by being out here. sure she’d pushed you of out the trajectory of that clicker but that was normal, anyone should and would do the same. she realizes you wouldn’t get the chance to see any displays of strength like that back in the base save for the visits to the gym, and a foreign voice in her head laments what a shame that is.

ʚɞ she doesn’t realize until a day later just how screwed she is.

ʚɞ whatever weird…feelings she has for you don’t even get a chance to go away or settle, just fester and multiply with your constant presence. where abby is her friends are close by, and that now includes you. at small get togethers, shared gym workouts, breakfast lunch and dinner hangouts, you’re always there with a bright smile and a warm greeting for her. she thinks she’s hiding whatever it is she’s hiding pretty well until nora pulls her to the side and asks why she just keeps staring at you whenever you’re around, that she understand there might be some lingering feelings of jealousy and resentment towards owen but that’s no reason to treat you rudely.

ʚɞ abby stumbles over her words, insisting that she’s not treating you rudely, that’s the last thing she would want to do. who would ever do that to someone as nice and sweet and gorgeous as you? she ends her mini explanation with a stiff chuckle and looks at nora who’s now staring at her with an open mouth and a flabbergasted look on her face.

ʚɞ so it’s clear that abby likes you. she doesn’t know how to grapple with the fact, and decides its best to just deal with it privately and wait for it to just pass as most things do. the only person who knows is nora, who after not talking to her for a few hours after their last encounter came back to abby’s room to apologize for walking out on her in a moment where they so clearly needed to talk more about what was just revealed. she assures abby that she’ll help her through this but it’s very confusing to herself as well. it’s not every day you have to deal with your best friend falling in love with her boyfriends new girlfriend.

ʚɞ she doesn’t agree with abby’s method, frequently telling her that dealing with this in private will only have the opposite effect. and just like normally she’s right, abby’s increased attempt at distance from you only peaks your worry and drives you to constantly check in on her to make sure she’s okay. one day you come by her room after one of your workouts, and the sight of you covered in a thin sheen of sweat in shorts and a tank asking her sweetly if she’s feeling okay and if she’d like to join you for lunch let’s her know for sure that she really can’t do this for much longer.

ʚɞ so she’s tries her best to try a different approach : exposure therapy. as bad as it sounds, she’s sure once she starts spending more time with you she’ll realize you aren’t some mythical girl of of her dreams and are just a normal person who’s dating her ex and who she can totally just be normal friends with. she comes up to you in the halls a few days later and asks if you’d like her to help you train for more field work and you beam up at her before wrapping your arms around her neck and thanking her a multitude of times before composing yourself. you go one about how you were so eager to prove yourself and you’d do no better than to have the abby anderson teaching you the basics. she zoned out as soon as she felt your skin against the back of her neck, nodding along to all of your words with a doe-eyed blank look.

ʚɞ it’s really nice bonding with you over the course of a few short weeks. you quickly pick up on the things she teaches you, and whatever you don’t she’s more than eager to help you learn. she hates to admit it but her conscious cheered a little bit when you told her you needed help aiming one of the bigger rifles, and it nearly screamed when she got to place herself behind you and helped you aim at the target practice. maybe she’s a bit delusional at this point but she swears she felt your body relax into hers, felt your breath stutter just a bit when her chest met your back.

ʚɞ and she knows it’s serious when she trusts you enough to share her space in the library. it’s a night when manny has a girl over so she’s in her usual cozy spot surrounded by the book shelves when she shears your gentle footsteps and call of her name, remarking that you initially went to the room out of loneliness about owen being gone for the night but came here when a breathless and shirtless manny told you her usual sleepover spot. she invites you to settle in with her in her heap of old blankets surrounded by dusty novels, trying her best to remain calm when you lean your head on her shoulders and insisted she keep reading her current book aloud.

ʚɞ she wakes up to the early morning light with her head rested on top of yours, snuggled up to battle the chill of the stadium air and your hand clamped around her arm. when she looks down at your face and wishes she could see you like this every day she realizes that she is really, really screwed.

ʚɞ luckily she doesn’t have to wait long to see you like that again. well, the circumstances are rather horrid. yet another soldier was having small secret party ok one of the larger stadium dorms and you were glued to abby’s side. everyone besides nora was confused but happy that the two of you seemed to be getting along so well, and nora herself kept giving abby looks that were a mixture between pity, worry, and just a bit of ‘you need to just get this off of your chest to anyone else but me’ annoyance.

ʚɞ abby was your designated drink manager, constantly making sure you weren’t too drunk and were drinking enough water to stave off any of the negative effects of the smuggled in alcohol they brought in for the party. you’re both sitting on one of the couches and observing the party when you make an off handed comment about not seeing owen for a while and abby decides to sit you down snuggly on the couch while she goes to look for him to appease your tipsy haze. her search leads her down the hallway, and it’s only when she hears an object drop in a nearby maintenance closet does she find out the truth.

ʚɞ she whips open the door to see owen and mel in a rather…well, let’s just say a really lewd position. in the midst of being disgusted and infuriated she finds a bit of amusement at mousy mel of all people doing a drunken hookup in a dingy closet. owen hurriedly tries to fix himself and his pants, insisting to abby that it’s not what it looks like, and suddenly his eyes lock on an object behind her and she turns around to see you, teary eyed and clearly betrayed before you silently stoop off to the direction of your own room.

ʚɞ abby is normally a calm person. as a soldier she isn’t afforded the luxury to let her emotions get the better of her in moments of stress. but seeing you with tears in your eyes and a wobbly lip makes her wish she broke owen’s nose on the spot. collecting all of her composure, she slaws the closet door in his face and quickly runs after you.

ʚɞ she quickly chases after you, making her way down the stadium halls until she finds your bedroom door agape, quickly knocking and entering when she hears your quiet cry demanding owen leave. she makes sure to announce who she is once she settles in beside you on your bed, gently extending her hands to make sure shes allowed to physically comfort you before pulling you into a tight hug once you let her know it’s okay.

ʚɞ she had again struggles to keep her composure when you cry into her shoulder, not minding the tears staining her t-shirt when she hears you weep about what a fool you wer, how you were such an idiot to believe that someone like him could truly care about you.

ʚɞ in the morning, she can blame the weeks of pent up feelings, or maybe the cup of beer she had an hour before, but she can’t stop herself from grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards her, commanding your attention before she reveals that should’ve warned you about owen earlier, that she should’ve known he would take advantage of someone with as sweet a nature as you. She’s always known he was a fool, but to ruin his chances of someone like you is the dumbest thing he ever could’ve done.

ʚɞ when you sniffle and look up at her with those shiny eyes and puffy lips and ask her if that’s true she feels her composed facade slipping, hands shaky as she reaches up to wipe your tears away before letting her palm letting her fingers trail down your face, biting her lip when she sees your eyelids flutter closer when her hands start to ghost down your neck.

ʚɞ she doesn’t feel sorry when she watches you take off your top, doesn’t feel guilt when she pushes you down to the bed and lets her lips bite and kiss from your neck to her chest and draw out all manners of whines and gasps from your throat. and when she feels your hips lift up and grind into her crotch, when her hands attach themselves to your hips and forces you to bring yourself to an orgasm in your pants, she doesn’t give a shit how it’ll seem when she parades you around the stadium tomorrow.

ʚɞ manny and nora are open mouthed and shocked when you walk hand in hand into the cafeteria the next morning, both starry eyed and covered in love bites as you sit together nearly attached at the hip. when owen walks in a few minutes later and quickly storms out after seeing the two of you, abby can’t help but shrug when manny asked her what the hell is going on.

ʚɞ “owen had his chance, and he should learn that jealously is a monster.”

ELLIE ꨄ

ʚɞ in moments like these ellie remembers laughing at how her fellow lesbians would fall for their straight friends in middle and high school and end up with broken hearts and broken friendships. and now as she sits across from you and listens to you lament about your boyfriend, she realizes that karma is real and she is totally a bitch.

ʚɞ truly, she has no one to blame, but herself the moment she saw you walk into the record store she worked at she knew that this would only lead to trouble for herself. It was obvious to Dina, who lightly pushed his shoulder and told her to stop drooling and to focus on her work and not fall into another relationship so soon after her catastrophic breakup with cat. she had rolled her eyes at the brunette and assured her nothing would happen, that she’d politely introduce herself, help you buy a product, and never think about or see you again.

ʚɞ god, what an idiot she was.

ʚɞ as soon as she introduced herself, you complemented her tattoo, mention that you had wanted one but were too indecisive about a design and placement. before she can even think of what she wants to say she’s telling you that wouldn’t mind hooking you up with her tattoo artist who could help you decide what you wanted. hell, she wouldn’t mind helping you decide what kind of vibe you were going for when it came to the body art and where exactly on your body would be best to showcase it.

ʚɞ you’re beaming up at her and thanking her, telling her that she really is just too kind. she’s even kinder when she continues to talk to you as she helps you look through the store, helping you decide which record would be best for your collection.

ʚɞ and helping you pick out another record as a gift. for your boyfriend. she can hear dina snicker at the counter all the way from three aisles away, passing it off as allergies when you turn to look at her.

ʚɞ but it’s not like she’s gonna fall for you. she gives you her number, but that’s because she already promised she’d help you with the tattoo stuff. and sure she talks with you for hours the following week and even goes with you to the parlor for moral support, but that’s because she’s a good person! and you even told her she’s a great friend for helping you with this! she’s just being friendly.

ʚɞ soon enough she basically becomes your new best friend. she doesn’t know how it happened really, somewhere between helping you when your car broke down in the middle of the road and having dinner with your parents when they demand to meet the person who’s been taking up an extra chunk of their daughters time. it’s frightening how easy it is to just be with you, to talk to you about any and everything. she remembers it took dina pestering her at work for weeks for them to become friends, and here she is laughing with your dad over roasted chicken after a month.

ʚɞ dina and jesse call her delusional. when the former shows the latter a picture of you on the instagram account you have to ellie he folds over in laughter and tells ellie oh so eloquently that she’s definitely going to fall for you, it’s only inevitable. but she remains vigilant that she wouldn’t do something so dumb. i mean yeah you’re basically exactly her type, like a deity went into one of her wet dreams and plucked the woman she manifested and placed you in the real world, but she was strong. there were plenty of fish in the sea. plenty of gay fish, to be exact.

ʚɞ she tries to go on dates, scrolls through tinder and likes every other attractive viable woman she sees. she even manages to have a few hookups. its really just a coincidence that they have some of your similar characteristics, truly. she’s not actually looking for you in any of these girls, that’d just be weird.

ʚɞ but then it happens. she has a girl over, her leg thrown over her shoulder as she grinds herself into the pretty girl’s cunt. she’s lost in a high after the blunt they’d shared earlier and her heads thrown back as she’s letting out expletive after expletive, and then she does it. she moans your name. she pauses, the girl pauses, and its silent as they remove their entangled limbs from each other and rigidly lay in bed side by side. it hurts even worse than the embarrassment when the girl pats her shoulder with a smile after she’s put her clothes back on, wishing her luck with whatever’s goin on between the two of you.

ʚɞ there’s no point in denying it then. she doesn't even get the chance to keep it to herself, the next day when she’s watching a movie on your couch you poke and prod at her until she reveals what’s got her in such a sour mood. she doesn't tell you the full story, of course, just that something absolutely mortifying happened last night when she was riding some girl. she groans that she didn't even get to finish and that was way worse then what she said, hoping the joke will ease some of the embarrassment she has telling the story and the guilt about passively lying to you.

ʚɞ she doesn't notice how you hips shift in your seat, how your teeth bite at the skin of your lip. she does notice when you question what she meant by riding a girl. she cant help but think about how adorable you are before explaining the position in the nicest way possible. you hum and turn your attention back to the movie and she thinks that's the end of the conversation. but only seconds later you’re asking her to show you.

ʚɞ she thinks she's dreaming. no, she knows she's dreaming. its happened before, weird dreams she has after a strong high where she swears her dreams become all the more vivid and lifelike. it was super annoying the second time it happened, she woke up to a world where she in fact did not win the lottery and get to make out with her celebrity crush. but this is just cruel, she didn't know her brain could be so masochistic. but no, the feel of your hand shaking her shoulder and shyly asking if you’ve made her uncomfortable is real, your big eyes flitting to anywhere but hers is real.

ʚɞ she stutters over her words, asking if you really mean it. and you say yeah, you’d been curious about this anyway. it wouldn't hurt to do it with ellie, you were friends, right? and god what an idiot she was because she’s nodding along like of course, this couldn’t make your friendship weird at all, right? so she gets to work, not doing anything too lewd except for gently pushing you to lie on your back as she maneuvers her body over yours, placing her crotch over yours until she can feel the heat of you through her jeans. she tries not to show a reaction to the sight of you looking up at her, curious and flushed as your hand briefly comes up to rest on her hip. its only when your hips delicately press up into hers that she abruptly removes herself from on top of you, stiffly chuckling before recommending you get back to the movie.

ʚɞ neither of you bring it up again.

ʚɞ it’s so much more difficult to be around you now. before she was resolute in the fact that she was alone in whatever weird feelings she had towards you, but eventually she might move on. but with only a few actions you threw that whole viewpoint out the window. now it was clear that you were interested. maybe not in ellie but in sex with another woman. a small part of her is upset at the fact it might not be her. its only cliche that if you started having these feelings you’d fall for your gay best friend, who the hell else were you thinking about? whatever, that wasn't important.

ʚɞ what was important was what occurred over the next few weeks. it happens slowly but surely, your complaints about your intimate troubles with your boyfriend. now ellie had met the guy before, and it made her feel slightly better that she had a valid reason right from the start not to like him. the man was clearly an ass, looking her up and down the first time they met and giving her a ‘yeah you’re weird’ look that he apparently didn’t think she’d recognize. luckily she didn’t have to see him often, only seeing him in passing when she spent time with you at yours or picked you up to go hang out.

ʚɞ but now his weirdness is apparently front and center. she nearly chokes on her chipotle when you tell her that he questioned why the two of you were spending so much time together, feeling like ellie was going to make a move on you.

ʚɞ and yeah, it was offensive. just because she was a lesbian didn’t mean she wanted to jump the bones of every woman she met. unfortunately that didn’t apply here because she very much did want to jump your bones. not like he knew that. hopefully.

ʚɞ but she doesn’t want to get in the way of your relationship, begrudgingly recommending that maybe the two of you should spend some time apart so he can chill out and realize he’s being paranoid. she’s very happy to hear your quick rebuttal, remarking how you’d rather dump him then spend any more time away from her.

ʚɞ god you are making this so confusing. and it only reaches a head the next time she sees you. you’d texted her to ask if she could come over late at night and obviously she said she would, along with a bag of your favorite drinks and snacks just in case you got peckish. so she’s sitting on the couch as you both eat some shareable m&ms when the topic becomes a bit more…intimate.

ʚɞ she notices your rigid shoulders as you sit stark straight on the couch and laughs about how pent up you must be. your following laugh is awkward as you agree that you have been a bit stressed lately. so she tells a joke, that your boyfriend isn’t up to par in bed. she expects you to laugh and hit her shoulder but you nod your head.

ʚɞ you…nod your head. and then you turn to her, and she’s getting flashbacks to the last time you were this close on your couch. her face is hot as whisper that the past few times you’ve tried to sleep with your boyfriend he, as you eloquently put it, ‘just pumps and dumps’, and brushes you off whenever you bring up the fact that you haven’t had a release. that as much as it ashamed you to say it, once he falls asleep next to you you sometimes find your hand trailing under your shorts and thinking back to her stories of the hookups she told you about, wishing she could show you how all of that felt.

ʚɞ ellie has always liked your bedroom. its soft and sweet, with vines of fake ivy hanging across the ceiling and a large canopy hanging over the bed. you even have an adorable collection of stuffed animals, a few of them gifted to you by her throughout the months of your friendship. all of the little guys have been shoved to the floor now, and for a fleeting moment she things they’re really just going to have to understand before her mind is consumed again with you, how you’re pretty flushed face is staring and moaning up at her as her wrist nearly cramps with how fast her fingers are pistoning into your wet cunt.

ʚɞ you haven’t even touched her and she’s already on cloud nine. your confession nearly made her pass out, and she swore she had died and gone to heaven when you asked her to help you with your problem and grabbed her hand to lead her to your bed. it was like her horniest dream come true to see you undress, to feel over your skin, to lower her head to your pussy and try her best to suck out your soul in the most loving way possible.

ʚɞ she feels her boxers get soaked when you cum around her fingers again, legs wrapping around her waist and head raising to muffle your sounds in her shoulder. she swore she nearly came when you bit into her shoulders, already knowing she was going to look into the mirror later to look at the mark your teeth left on her with a smile. but she didn’t predict for you to be so insatiable, for as soon as she pulls her fingers out of your cunt you’re whining and grinding your hips up into hers, whispering little *‘please, el, need more’*s

ʚɞ “don’t worry, baby, i’ll give you whatever you want. swear once i’m done you’re never even gonna think of that stupid boyfriend of yours again.”

[fairytsuk1]

play fighting with katsuki<3

katsuki had said time and time again, "don't wanna hurt you on accident, baby. cut it out."

but you were relentless. you craved, needed and practically begged for katsuki to wrestle you to the ground as you flailed uselessly under him.

there was something about the way his forearms flexed as he pinned your wrists to the plush carpet of your home; katsuki would grin wickedly as he straddled you and brought his face centimeters from yours. "had enough yet?"

"nope," and you're worming your way from his gentle grip to kick up at his chest, though he catches your foot with ease. "hey, no fair! don't fold me!"

but he had already decided, you needed to be brought back down to earth. katsuki's hips solidly glue to yours as he leans over fully to bring your ankles by your ears. he had you folded like a pretzel. no matter how you squirmed and whined, katsuki had you in the most delicious mating press.

"yeah, i know, justtt fuckin' take it. you asked for this, nah, you begged for it."

he had you crying, hands pushing your thighs closer to your head as his cock drove into you over and over again. katsuki's a sweaty mess above you, tongue dipping out to lick at his lips while his eyes honed in on how your gummy walls gripped the base of his cock with each thrust.

"katsuki, kats', katsuki!! i can't, 's too much!"

"uh uh," he tuts and shifts his hips till he's angled upward and battering against that spongy spot deep inside you. "you wanted to fight, so we're fighting, baby. you're losing."

your face scrunches up and he grins cockily at your bleating whimper, "you're too strong! it's not fair!"

"not fair? 's not fair? awh, but weren't you just begging me to get on top of ya? you wanted this as much as i did."

you can't say no, in fact, you can't even reply as your husband fucks your brains out. his hips messily clap against yours with slick thumps against your ass; it smells of sweat and sex, and katsuki is reveling in your body as he rolls his fat cock deep into your guts.

"fuck, 'm in there, aren't i? fuuuck, i love fucking this sweet pussy. you just know what to do," he groans into your neck, hunckering over you to relentlessly pound you into your soft carpet.

"gonna cum, gonna cum!!"

you can barely reply to him, only able to feel how he fucks into your cunt with the ferocity of a man starved. a man in control, and you're delirious as you wrap yourself around katsuki as an anchor.

he knows your body, knows you're getting so close when your pretty feet curl into crescents and your head flies back—your hair splayed out on the ground and looking so delectable as the swan of your neck grows exposed.

"yeah, that's it, fuckin' cum on my cock. cum for your husband, you know you wanna give in."

and you do give in. hard. you're crying out and squirting from effort as your orgasm overtakes you. katsuki is right behind you, driving his hips deep one last time before spurting creamy white inside you. you can feel each pulse, and it drives you so wild that your eyes roll back.

"thereee we go," he grunts, hips twitching as he massages the backs of your thighs. katsuki lightly pats your cheek, thumb rubbing over the plump skin before pulling away.

"that was only round one, you know. i wanna go again," he's nosing at your jaw now, still having you pinned underneath him. "let's go again. come on, you can take me."

and you do, willingly. naturally, katsuki ends up tackling you to the ground with a joyful laugh, and all you can do is smile and let your man do what he does best. fight and fuck.

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Unspoken Truths;

Pairing; fem!reader x loser boxer!Park Sunghoon Synopsis; Your best friend shows up at your door late at night with a bloody face. You lead him inside and take care of his wounds as the both of you try to ignore the growing tension between you. Warning; Suggestive; mentions of blood; sensitive!Sunghoon(sexy tension because Sunghoon has never seen you in pajamas?) My Masterlist;

A/N: I love this drabble so much :(( I love Sunghoon so much :(( Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you so much <3

When you unlocked your front door and found your best friend standing there, his elegant face stained with dark blood, your eyes immediately welled up with warm tears. Your hands trembled as a wave of nausea rose from your stomach to your throat.

Sunghoon stood in front of you with puppy eyes and pouty lips. Thick drops of blood dripped from a cut across his prominent nose. His eyes were swollen, with dark purple shadows beneath them, and his thick eyebrows were red with open wounds. Despite his battered appearance, as soon as his gaze locked with yours, he smiled—a genuine expression of relief.

He wasn’t sure why he had come to your house at such a late hour on a random Tuesday. He just needed to see you, to confirm with his own eyes that you were okay.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, your voice cracking. “What happened?”

His response was subtle—his ears and neck flushed pink, and his smile faltered. Taking a step into your home, he wrapped his arms around your waist. His cold, strong embrace sent shivers racing across your skin. He leaned down, resting his head against your chest with a grip that felt desperate.

Your loose pajama shirt shifted slightly as he hugged you, the buttons slipping open to reveal a hint of your chest, though he seemed oblivious. As his nose caught the familiar scent of your warm skin and soft perfume, the tears he’d held back began to fall freely.

You had never seen Sunghoon cry before, so you knew something serious must have happened. He also knew how much you hated when he got into fights, yet here he was, battered and vulnerable at your door. Though he was strong and skilled in fighting, his emotions often betrayed him. And when he emotionally fights he becomes obsessed and weak.

After a long moment of soaking in your presence, Sunghoon lifted his head to meet your gaze. He noticed the small tears streaming down your cheeks, as if you were sharing his pain.

“It’s alright, Hoonie. It’s over now…” you murmured softly, your fingers brushing against his damp cheeks with tender care, hoping to relieve his pain.

At your soothing words, his arms tightened around you, and he buried his face in your chest again. Loud sobs filled the quiet room. You stepped back very slowly to close the door behind him, then stood patiently, allowing him the time he needed to calm down.

As his cries subsided, your hands never left his dark hair. Your fingers moved gently, massaging his scalp, while your lips pressed light kisses into his messy locks. Feeling his icy tears soak through your shirt and hearing his vulnerable sobs made it feel as though his pain was your own. Your own tears slowly rolled down your cheeks.

Minutes later, Sunghoon’s breathing had steadied, though his nose still bled, staining your gray pajama shirt.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” you said, gazing into his dark, expressive eyes. A familiar warmth stirred in your chest, the same feeling you tried to push away every time. Sunghoon always had that effect on you.

“Yeah, let’s go…” he replied softly, glancing down at the floor. He quickly removed his trainers before looking back at you, waiting for you to lead.

You giggled at his cute behaviour and took his hand, guiding him toward your small bathroom. Tonight, more than anything, he just wanted to stay close to you.

In the cramped, white-tiled bathroom, Sunghoon sat awkwardly on the toilet lid. He didn’t know what you were planning, but even if all you did was let him hold you for hours, he’d feel better.

You rummaged through the cabinet for your first-aid kit, knowing it had the essentials to clean his wounds. All the while, Sunghoon’s eyes followed your every movement.

It was the first time he’d seen you dressed so casually, and to him, the sight was mesmerizing. The way your pajama shirt lifted when you stretched, revealing a glimpse of your tummy, or how your loose pants sat low on your waist, perfectly hugging your attractive frame, made his heart race. He was already overwhelmed emotionally, and seeing you like this sent his hormones into overdrive.

He was stupidly in love with you, there was no denying that.

When you stepped out briefly to grab the kit, he exhaled deeply, trying to banish the scenarios in his head. But to his dismay, you returned just as quickly, the kit in hand.

You placed it on the sink, preparing some cotton soaked in alcohol. Standing between his parted legs, you leaned down to clean the cut on his nose, your movements careful and precise to avoid hurting him.

Sunghoon barely noticed the sting of the alcohol. His attention was fixed entirely on you—on your lips, softly bitten in concentration as you tended to his wounds. You were such an angel, so good to him…

He studied your face intently, his gaze tracing the careful lines of your expression. But soon, his wandering eyes drifted lower.

The neckline of your shirt had shifted further, and the undone buttons revealed more of your chest. Though you hadn’t meant to, the way you leaned forward gave him a view that made his breath hitch. The soft curves of your breast and the warm scent emanating from your neck left him dazed.

He felt his body grow even warmer, so he shifted his gaze elsewhere—only for his eyes to land back on your lips, now stained in a deep burgundy from how hard you were biting them. They looked irresistible, plump and glistening, tempting him beyond measure. As you carefully placed a small bandage on his nose, he murmured:

“I can’t do this anymore…”

Sunghoon gently tilted your chin downward, bringing your face closer so he could lock eyes with you. You looked down confused, your body getting warm to the feeling of his icy fingers on your face. His intense gaze seemed to reach straight into your soul, leaving you frozen and unable to look away.

Heat rose in your cheeks, and though you wanted to hide, you remained in place. His fingers held you firmly, keeping you exactly where he wanted. Sunghoon offered a faint smile before leaning in, pressing a soft, testing kiss to your lips.

They were gentle, warm, and utterly addictive. As soon as he pulled back, you instinctively leaned forward, seeking his touch again, desperate to reclaim the fluttering sensation in your chest. Your fingers slid into his dark hair, tugging lightly and drawing a soft groan from him. His thumb traced your flushed cheeks as his lips moved in sync with yours. When his tongue brushed against yours, you surrendered completely, letting the moment consume you.

The position wasn’t the most comfortable, so you shyly shifted onto his lap, settling on his firm thighs. When you finally parted to catch your breath, you straightened your back and looked down at him. His lips were reddened and glistening from your sensual abuse. Your eyes locked, and you reached out to cup his face, gently stroking his cheeks.

“Why did you get into a fight?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with concern. When he didn’t respond, pressing his lips together in hesitation, you added, “If you don’t want to tell me why, at least tell me what upset you so much.”

“He was talking badly about you,” Sunghoon finally admitted.

You held his gaze, waiting for him to say more, but he stayed quiet, his eyes lowering to your legs as you perched on his lap. The closeness seemed to make him nervous.

He didn’t want to repeat the cruel words the guy at boxing practice had said about you. Sunghoon couldn’t stand by while someone reduced you to a mere sex object, something so undeserving of your worth. When he confronted the guy, the taunts only escalated, pushing him over the edge. Sure, he walked away with a cut on his nose and a few bruises, but the other guy left with a broken nose and a swollen face. Sunghoon wasn’t about to tell you all that, though—he knew how much you hated his fights outside the ring.

“Promise me you won’t fight with those people again,” you said firmly, though your voice was soft. “Let them talk. I don’t care what they say about me, but I care about you. I hate seeing you hurt…”

Your words carried an unspoken confession, a hint of the feelings you’d been hiding all along.

“I won’t… I promise. But only because you asked so sweetly,” Sunghoon teased, his tone playful. It worked, drawing a shy smile from you.

As you rested your head against his broad shoulder, savoring the quiet intimacy, Sunghoon’s hands slid to your thighs, cautiously testing your reaction. When you smiled and leaned in, your eyes full of unspoken desire, he knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

For Sunghoon, you were—and always would be—the only one who mattered.

Taglist; @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever If you want to be added or taken off the taglist, just let me know!

[luvergirl777]

Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 

--- 

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 

“Stop calling him that?” 

“Calling who what?” 

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 

“Dean-“ 

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 

“What?! It is not-” 

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 

--- 

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 

“Washing your dirty ass car.” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!” 

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 

“Is that a problem?” 

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 

“To you, of course.” 

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 

“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 

“No, no you do not.” 

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.