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kesujo · 1 day ago

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Chapter 15: Let's Try This

Previous chapter here.

After waking up a few times at the sensation of Irene guiding his cock back inside her, when he finally woke up the following morning, Irene was already awake, lightly grinding against his morning wood.

“Irene…?”

“Hm?” Irene directed her gaze up at Parker, greeting him with a slight smile. “Morning.” The honey-smooth, soothing quality of her voice was slightly strained, and looking at her face, Parker could tell why. “Turns out, you were right. I am soo sore down there.”

Parker scoffed. “Wha—then, why didn’t you take me out?”

“Well, I told you I would do it, and I’m a woman of my word.”

“At the expense of your own comfort and safety?”

“It’s a matter of pride, Parker.” Parker had been so preoccupied with the woman whose pussy was still squeezing his erection that he had forgotten about the other woman on the bed next to them. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But, seriously, Irene, if it’s so uncomfortable, you should get off now, right? Especially now that I’m awake.”

Irene pouted. “But, it’s such a waste of such wonderful morning wood…”

“Don’t worry, Rene, I got it.”

Jessica ended up just giving him a blowjob while Irene stood at the side, nursing the soreness in her groin while watching, and proceeding to spend most of the rest of the day recovering from the previous night at Parker’s place before heading out after dinner. A few days later, Tiffany showed up at Parker’s place, upon her insistence to ‘explain things’, as she stated.

Personally, Parker didn’t feel a need to pry: after all, they technically weren’t even dating yet, and even if they were, the kind of ‘weird’ Tiffany’s kink was, to Parker, was no stranger than the weirdness Jessica had accustomed him to. Parker briefly pondered how, in such a relatively short span of time, even such things as a cuckolding kink didn’t particularly phase him, and then he thought about how often he’s had a nearly identical train of thought in the last few weeks.

“Um…”

Now that they were in front of each other, Tiffany was considerably shier. It was understandable too—Tiffany probably didn’t intend on informing him about this tidbit about herself for some time, and now that she was thrust into this position, albeit in part by herself, she was in this position: sat on his couch, eyes directed at her twiddling thumbs, red-faced.

“It’s ok, Tiffany. I won’t judge you. If you don’t want to say any more, that’s also fine.”

“No! I—…” Tiffany sighed, then took a deep breath, nodding to herself, and continued, “…sorry you didn’t hear it from me first. I … I don’t really know why I’m like this, and I can’t really explain it either, but … I mean, I trust you a lot, and I’m only like this with a man I trust a lot—I mean, not that you’re, like, with me or anything—”

“Tiffany.” The stammering woman stopped at the firm, gentle call of her name. “Shall we make this easier, then?”

“Huh?”

“I would be more than happy to be considered ‘being with you’.”

It took Tiffany a while to process Parker’s words, and even more time for her to clasp her hands over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh my—are-are you sure?!”

Parker could only smile at that. “Why wouldn’t I be, Tiff?”

The dam of tears shattered, and Tiffany flung herself at Parker. “I-I-I-I, I, I would, I would—” Completely unable to finish her sentence due to the sobs that are erupting from her, Parker wrapped his arms around the shaking woman. He understood being happy, but … this? It feels a little over the top. Was he thinking too deeply about this?

“I’m not going anywhere, Tiff.” Maybe it was just the sheer euphoria of seeing Tiffany’s positive reaction to the question that was clouding his judgement.

“Thank you, thank you so much, I’m—I’m, I’m so relieved…”

“Tiffany…” No, he was right. It wasn’t just some small issue. Was it something he did? But then, why was Tiffany hugging him and crying like this? “…what’s wrong?” If Parker didn’t ask, he wouldn’t feel good about himself, or about any of this.

“I’m sorry, it’s stupid…”

“No, it’s not stupid, Tiffany. I’m sure it’s perfectly valid.” Her sobs had reduced to sniffles, but still, Tiffany planted her face into the crook of his neck. “It’s ok, Tiffany. I’m here for you. I won’t judge you. If it’s you, I’m sure it’s extremely understandable, what you’re feeling.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s ok. Take your time.”

Tiffany took a few more seconds to calm down before responding. “It’s just … I was so scared … that, um…” Parker stayed patient, continuing to gently stroke her hair, wordlessly waiting for her to finish her thought, “…that … you would find it so weird … that you … you, you would, that you wouldn’t like me anymore…”

In a way, Parker could see Tiffany’s point: if he were told that most people wouldn’t want to date someone who had such a kink, Parker wouldn’t have much trouble believing it. But, on the other hand, he couldn’t really empathize with it at all: if anything, it’s a massive relief to him, what with the competition with Jessica and Hunter and all. For a woman like Tiffany, it was all but given that Parker would accept such a minor quirk.

“I don’t, Tiffany. I still love you just as much as before.”

It took a good few minutes for Tiffany to calm down after that, but with a sufficient amount of tissues, she had regained her composure and continued where she left off. “Well, so, I was saying, um, that I’m only like this if the man I’m with is someone I trust absolutely, and I know that you’re not, um, emotionally attached with the other woman or anything. Something like that.” It was clear that Tiffany was beginning to waffle, but Parker’s steady gaze and encouraging nod prompted her to continue. “I … to be honest, I don’t really know. For some reason, I simultaneously find the idea of my man having s—having, um, you know, with another woman—or, I mean, a woman I also trust, like Jessica or Irene—but also want to know that my man won’t cheat on me, or leave me for her. I know it’s weird, but for me, I mean, I’m … well, I like the man I’m attracted to, and as a woman, I like my man in that way too, so … I don’t know, I only know it’s weird because I’ve picked up on it over the years, but to me, it makes sense.”

What a complicated set of conditions for Tiffany’s kink to activate, all of which just happened to be met in Parker’s circumstance. Or, perhaps another way to think about it is that it’s only because these conditions are met that he even got to know Tiffany this well in the first place. The thing that Parker took away most from that, though, was that Tiffany seemed to trust him a lot—so much, in fact, that she was confident that he would stay loyal to her even before he was her boyfriend. Knowing that reassured Parker even more about Tiffany, but still, he couldn’t shake away one thing.

“But…” the reaction Parker got from Tiffany was definitely not what he was expecting. Her body seemed to tense, as if readying herself for something. But what? “…no, I mean, I just…” it seemed to get worse the more Parker talked, and that put him more on edge. Was he saying something wrong? “…um, I don’t know. I just feel bad, still.”

“Wh-Wh-Why?”

“Tiffany, are you ok?” Parker reached out, tenderly grabbing her hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Huh? What? No! I’m ok. Why?”

Was this just a misunderstanding? “I—…I was just saying, it still feels wrong, and now that you’re officially my girlfriend now, I … I don’t know, even if I know you’re ok with it, it still feels like … you know, continuing in the competition with Jessica isn’t something I should be doing.”

“Oh!” At the very least, it was a relief to see the tension in Tiffany’s body disappear. What it was he said, Parker had no idea. “That’s what you meant. No, you don’t have to feel bad! I mean, it’s not like you’re in love with Jessica or anything.”

“Pfft.”

Tiffany turned to Parker with wide eyes, letting out a surprised chuckle. “What?!”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not very nice to Hunter! I’ll tell him you laughed at the idea of being in love with his wife!”

“Well, Hunter’s, you know, Hunter. Those two are crazy.”

“…oh. Is he?”

“Yeah. You know, super-high achieving, really intense. Work hard, play hard. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. So is Jessica, now that I think about it.”

“They’re made for each other, right?” Tiffany nodded. “Yeah, but not for me. I want to be able to chill sometimes.”

“Yeaah, I know what you mean!”

Tiffany shared some stories about the times Tiffany had to bring a completely-crashed-out Jessica home after partying a little too hard, but Parker was feeling a little better about the whole situation. Still…

“So, we’ve established that I already am dealing with too much Jessica as is, but…”

“Um!” It was clear Tiffany had an idea but immediately realized it was a bad one, especially with how quickly the tips of her ears turned pink. “… I … if you really feel bad, I, um … I-I-I, I can show you…”

“Hm? Show me what?” Tiffany pulled out her phone, and as Parker watched her navigate to the gallery, it became clear what she meant. “Um! First, please don’t…”

Gosh, was Tiffany so insanely adorable. “I’ll still love you, no matter what you’re about to show me.”

Although Parker had a good idea what Tiffany wanted to show him, seeing it was still a little jarring. “I, um … Irene sent me these, and I, um…” with every syllable, Tiffany’s voice got quieter, and her face redder, although Parker couldn’t tell if it was because of how embarrassed she was or how hot she was getting at seeing these pictures, of his cock buried deep in Irene’s pussy. “…I saved them. Immediately.”

The following silence that elapsed, Parker could tell Tiffany’s face was just becoming redder and redder. So, for a lack of anything better to say, Parker went with, “…so, you’re saying that, as long as I send you pictures every time, it’s ok?”

“Parker!” Parker laughed as Tiffany slapped his shoulder, her face erupting into an even deeper shade of red. “…but, if you really don’t mind …”

Parker somehow heard Tiffany saying those words quietly, and when he did, his laughter intensified.

“You-You promised not to laugh!”

“I said that I’d still love you no matter what, which I still do. I’m just … just, really relieved.”

“Hmph. Never mind.”

“Don’t be like that, Tiff.” In the brief moment before Tiffany turned away from him, Parker managed to catch a glimpse of an expression of Tiffany’s that he didn’t get to bear witness to from their first night together until now: red-faced, flustered, but also, aroused. “Let me make it up to you.”

Feeling Parker’s breath on her ear, Tiffany flinched, letting out a yelp before she could do anything about it. “P-Parker!”

“Can I?”

Her ears turned even redder as Parker’s arms snaked around her waist, but she kept her face turned away from him: this time, not so much as to pretend to be mad at him but more so to hide just how flustered, and just how turned on, she was.

“Ca-Ca-Can, Can you what?”

A smile sprouted on Parker’s lips, but this time, no laughter. “Let me make it up to you, babe.” Those words uttered into her ears, combined with the feeling of Parker’s hands slipping under her shirt and caressing her stomach, caused Tiffany to let out another, louder yelp.

“W-Wa-Wai-Wait, Parker…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.”

Tiffany’s eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping her lips as Parker’s strong, firm hands gently caressed her abs. “Oh…” No longer able to pretend, Tiffany started to lean back into Parker’s touch, her arms relaxing and melting into Parker’s embrace. “Mmm…”

“Is that ok?” When Tiffany didn’t respond for a second, Parker asked again, “Is that ok, Tiff?”

“Hm?”

“Can I keep going?”

Tiffany nodded, and Parker’s hands began migrating north, stopping just short of the undergarment covering her chest. His hand gently cupped her breasts, eliciting a soft gasp from the lips of his now girlfriend, but didn’t apply too much pressure to them. The fleeting touch left Tiffany wanting more, but, being too shy to express it, only leaned into his touch in response. Parker pulled back, and Tiffany unconsciously chased him, and when he noticed this, a smile sprouted on his lips.

How long would Tiffany last before she said something? Would she continue to try to lean into his touch? Just a little bit … strangely enough, this wasn’t the first time Parker had sex with Tiffany despite only now becoming her boyfriend, but there were still many firsts ahead of them. He just wanted a little bit, a little taste of a needy, whiny Tiffany, aroused beyond belief, begging for his touch … just a hint, a tease of what it’s like.

Was this fucked up of him? Was it Jessica’s influence that he thought of this? Before, Parker felt like he never would’ve had such a desire. Maybe it’s Tiffany who is drawing the desire out from him: her innocence, her purity, contrasted by her smoking hot body and her outfit that so beautifully traces out her curves.

Push and pull—Parker would let Tiffany’s breasts fill his hands, gently kneading and massaging them, and when that happens, Tiffany starts to lean back in content, but before Tiffany could get used to it, Parker would detach his hands. And so, the cycle would continue, with the impatient whine playing at Tiffany’s lips growing louder and louder until, finally, it was audible to Parker.

“Pl-Please, wai-wait…”

There it is.

Tiffany’s voice, her infallible gentleness, a softness that made Parker want to wrap Tiffany in a warm blanket and protect her, even the subtle aroma of strawberry that lingered about her, Parker found himself falling deeper and deeper into the unescapable pit that was Tiffany’s charm.

“What is it, babe?”

“Par-Parker…”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t … don’t go…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Tiffany.”

“No, I mean … your—your hands…”

“Do you want more?”

Tiffany was irresistible though. How adorable was Tiffany? The bashful tone of her voice, the way she asked, Parker could only bear stringing her along for so long. Seeing a puppy jumping at one’s feet, trying to reach the treat in one’s hands, one can only keep the treat from it for so long before caving.

Tiffany nodded, and that was all the go-ahead Parker needed to pull the bra down and palm her bare breasts.

“Ooh!”

His fingers sunk into the plush texture of her boobs while his palm filled up with them, and as it happened, Tiffany’s soft moans and gasps slowly grew in volume and frequency. “Does it feel good?”

Both from the feeling of Parker’s hands caressing and massaging her boobs and from feeling his deep, resonating voice so close to her ear, Tiffany could only whimper out a, “y-yes~”

By now, she had forgotten all about her ‘anger’ towards Parker, her back arching and pushing her boobs into his hands as they began moving in increased fervor. His fingers made their way to her areola, and when he softly pinched her nipples, Tiffany could’ve sworn she came a little.

“G-Go—od…”

It was dangerously addictive. Even when Tiffany was whimpering, she was utterly adorable, and knowing it arose from the extremely pleasant feeling of massaging her boobs, Parker sunk further and further into it. He wanted more: feel up her boobs more, to feel her body shuddering against his, to hear her soft, silky voice let out those soft whimpers and groans as his hands did their magic on her boobs, and to hear those small sounds evolve into sharp yelps as he squeezed her swollen, hardened nipples. Tiffany had gradually shifted onto Parker’s lap until now, where it felt like she was now gradually shifting closer to his body until Tiffany’s back was pressed flush against his chest. It wasn’t until he started to feel Tiffany lightly grinding against the tent that had formed in his pants that he even realized how uncomfortably hard he had gotten.

“Tiff…”

Hearing him calling out her name, dripping with such desire, and feeling Parker pressing his erection against her ass, Tiffany nodded. “I—I, I want it.”

“Let me get a condom, babe.”

“Wa-Wait!” Just as Parker began to pull away, the sudden interjection from Tiffany caused him to freeze. “I’m on the pill. It’s ok.”

“Are you sure?”

When Tiffany turned around, Parker’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. His beautiful, kind, pure, considerate, weird girlfriend, looking at him with such an aroused expression … it would be enough to bring any man to his knees. Luckily for Parker, he was already sitting down.

“Yeah.”

“Then, should we move to the bedroom?”

Surprisingly, Tiffany shook her head. “Right-Right here. Where we had our first time.”

A smile broke out on Parker’s lips. “I didn’t know you were sentimental like that, babe.”

A blush creeped up on Tiffany’s cheeks—or, rather, a deeper blush than the one already present—but she responded anyway by saying, “I want to show you how good I’ve gotten, especially compared to last time.”

“How good you’ve gotten? Last time?”

“At fitting you. You, your…” even if you were starting to get the idea of what Tiffany was trying to say, seeing her floundering about was much too enjoyable to get you to stop her, “um, you know. You—you, your, fitting you inside me.”

Even when Tiffany’s talking about such a subject, how can she be so unbelievably adorable?! “Is that so?” Parker wanted to laugh, but the thought of the implications of her words left his mind reeling. He wanted to tease Tiffany for it, but the thought of it … but, just to make sure… “…and how did you do that?”

“Hm?”

Parker couldn’t resist. It must’ve been Jessica’s bad influence that made him want to tease Tiffany so relentlessly. Then again, it was probably Jessica’s influence that Tiffany was like this, too. “How did you get better at that?”

Tiffany’s face was just turning more and more red, and it made Parker want to push her even more. “Oh! Um…”

“Let me guess: Jessica convinced you, or did something for you?”

“…yeah…”

“What is it?”

Tiffany, in addition to looking embarrassed, was also looking a little bit guilty. However, considering everything else she had been so hesitant about, Parker wasn’t even remotely worried about whatever it was Tiffany’s mind was preoccupied with. “…promise you won’t hate me?”

Instead of responding, Parker leaned forward and gave her a peck on the lips. When he pulled away, Parker couldn’t help but smile a little at the startled expression on Tiffany’s face. “Of course not.”

“…are you sure?”

“Do you need some more convincing?”

Parker placed his hands around her waist, but before they could get anywhere, Tiffany let out a squeal and said, “N-No! It’s ok!” Parker retracted his hands, letting Tiffany catch her breath before continuing, “Um … well, Jess did help … she, um, gave me … well, she said you wouldn’t mind! And, I thought, I didn’t, I thought, that, um, that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but now that I think about it, it’s sorta weird, especially because you—”

“Tiffany.” Parker placed his hands on Tiffany’s, who subsequently looked up to meet his gaze. “It’s ok.” Her waffling and panicking melted away in an instant.

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine.”

“…um, well, Jess gave me a … um, a, a, um, a model of your … um, you know, a replica of your, your…” seeing Tiffany’s eyes flicker down clued Parker in as to what she was trying to say, but seeing her floundering about was just too adorable a sight to let him intervene. “…your, um, your—your, your, you. I mean, not like, you, but, um … it. Your pen—your penis.”

Parker only felt slightly bad for forcing Tiffany to get those words out. Only slightly, though. In his defense, however, it was far too entertaining, and far too endearing, to cut short. “I see.”

“You’re not mad?”

On one hand, Parker couldn’t help but smile, but on the other, Jessica’s words reverberated in his mind: a cautionary tale of sorts, a warning, of her past relationship that somehow ended poorly. Was this the aftereffects of that? “No. I know about the dildo molded in the shape of my penis, but I just didn’t know had more than one made.”

“Oh…”

“…so, that’s how?”

“Hm?”

Fuck.

That thought was going to ruin him.

“Is that how you ‘got better’?”

“Oh! Um … um, ye—…—yeah…”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The imagery that appeared in his mind, of Tiffany laying in her bed, with the dildo in the shape and size of his cock in her hand, slowly yet firmly guiding it between her legs, parting her glistening wet folds and slowly but steadily prying apart her walls, the sweet, musical moans that would escape her lips, kept at barely a whisper because of her embarrassment despite being secluded in the privacy of her own bedroom in her own apartment, sweat starting to form on her forehead as more and more of the dildo enters her, but fighting on regardless, steadfast and stubborn, lips parted and eyes closed, legs trembling, her bedsheets being stained with more and more of her juices …

Yeah, Tiffany may very well be the death of him.

“So, you want to try the real thing now?”

“…well, um, if you don’t mind…”

Parker tried to refrain from laughing at that, but ultimately let out a stifled chuckle. “Babe, of course I don’t mind.”

In her excitement, Tiffany spent almost an entire minute fumbling with his belt and zipper—Parker, of course, offered to do it instead, but Tiffany insisted that she be the one to take off his pants and his boxers, and when she finally succeeded, the mostly hardened cock that sprung free from its restraints nearly hits her in the face.

“Wow, it’s so…” Entranced, Tiffany’s hands are drawn towards his member, and the feeling of Tiffany’s dainty hands gently caressing his member causes Parker to let out a hiss. “…so big … and so warm…”

“Shall I return the favor?”

“Hm?” How caught off guard Tiffany is at his question makes him laugh even more.

“You took off my underwear, do you want me to take off yours?”

“It’s ok.”

On one hand, Parker wanted to help Tiffany out of her underwear, but on the other, he wanted to make sure Tiffany is as comfortable as possible. This is only their second time, after all.

The way she took off underwear off, though, made Parker think she was influenced by a certain friend of hers: turned around, with her shorts on the ground, bending over and pulling her panties down, inadvertently shoving her ass and showing off her glistening, wet, pink folds to Parker in all their glory.

But, when she turned around, Tiffany looked none the wiser. “Ok. I’m ready.”

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“Hm?” Oh. She’s just that innocent, huh? “Do what on purpose?”

“The way you took your underwear off…?” The continued, confused look on Tiffany’s face made Parker almost feel bad for her that Jessica is one of her friends. “…I could see everything very clearly.”

“Hm?” Confusion, quickly replaced by a horrified look of realization. “Oh!” Tiffany’s face was starting to return to its normal color, too, but in that one moment, her face turns back to beet red. “I’m-I’m-I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t be. It was really sexy. You should do it more often.”

“…oh…”

Seriously, what business did Tiffany have, being this adorable, even as she was getting ready to take on the challenge, for the second time, of fitting his cock inside her?

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes!” With great haste, Tiffany turns back around and sits down on his lap. “But, um, you’ll have to help me a little.”

“Of course.” When Tiffany jumped at the feeling of his hands securing themselves around her waist, Parker instantly paused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” It’s like Tiffany is perpetually in a hurry, and the rushed way she answered Parker makes him smile a little wider. “Sorry, I just wasn’t … um, I mean, um … nothing, keep going. Please.”

“I’m your boyfriend now, babe, no need to be so polite.”

“Oh! Um, so—I mean, um, tha—thank you…?”

It was almost unbelievable, this specimen that is Tiffany Hwang, yet here she was, in his lap, asking him to help her impale herself on his cock. “You’re so adorable, what am I going to do with you?”

“You-You, You can, you can, um, well, you can—”

“Tiffany, I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to change my mind.” Parker’s soothing voice, so close to Tiffany’s ears, simultaneously make her jump but also calm her nerves. “Go ahead, try asking me without a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’.”

“Um … th-then, honey, can you help me with—” At the predictable place Tiffany hit a roadblock, Parker patted her stomach gently, reassuring her and giving her the confidence to continue, “—with, with putting your co—your cock inside me?”

If Parker had one less ounce of restraint, he might’ve taken that as his cue to pull Tiffany onto his raging hard-on and shove it inside her wet, waiting hole—thankfully, not only was there a physical separation that made that a little bit more difficult, but the practice that Jessica unknowingly provided him with, although not explicitly training him for this, gave him the patience to reign in his sex drive.

“Of course, babe.”

Parker had to be doubly careful with guiding Tiffany backwards, lest his lust take control and cause him to hurt her, pausing right as he had Tiffany’s ass pressed flush against his erection. Tiffany let out something between a sharp exhale and a soft moan, slightly grinding against his stiff member. “Ooh, gosh…”

“Slowly, ok?” Tiffany nodded, and, taking that as permission to continue, Parker lifted her partially off his lap while Tiffany’s hand reached downwards to grab his cock, aligning it with her entrance. “I’m going in.”

“Hmmm…” The anticipation inside Tiffany having built so much that it was being forced out of her mouth, Tiffany could only watch as that cock she spent way too many nights thinking about these past few weeks get closer to her, and when it finally brushed against her labia, she let out another, louder moan. “Hnn—!”

“Remember, we’re not in any rush, babe.”

The repeated reassurances from Parker did help Tiffany put her mind at ease, especially when she started to feel his dick starting to push aside her damp labia and into her pussy. “Hnn … oh, oh my…” it was even before his tip fully entered Tiffany that she was already starting to feel it: his size, his firm hands guiding her onto his shaft, and how hot it was.

When Tiffany was practicing by herself in the safety of her own bedroom, she could take all the time she needed, and it was with a toy that she had complete freedom to maneuver; now, she had more or less surrendered control to Parker, it was both scary and extremely arousing. In her own bedroom, she could go at her own pace, but because of how intimidated she was at even the toy-version of Parker’s dick, she would find herself taking quite a while to psyche herself up to even get started. With Parker, she wasn’t granted that time to mentally prepare herself, like how she would press the phallic object against her folds and then drawing away repeatedly until gaining the courage to push it in; Tiffany knew she could say something and Parker would stop, but she just didn’t. Surrendering control of her body, feeling Parker’s cock slowly pushing her pussy lips further and further and stretching her walls more and more, what started out as a sort of stubbornness in swallowing the discomfort and anxiety for Parker’s sake gradually transformed into sheer ecstasy.

And, as Parker delved deeper inside her, she came across the thing that she figured would be the biggest difference between the dildo and the real thing: body heat. She even tried warming the sex toy up by soaking it in warm water for a bit, but that by no means prepared for how, as Parker very slowly entered her, how his body heat seemed to seep into her body as well.

“Oh my … my go-od…”

It was almost torturous, pushing himself as slowly as he was inside Tiffany, but he could feel that it was necessary; he just barely pushed his tip completely inside and was already starting to feel hints of resistance. That, and the feeling of her sticky, damp pussy lips stretching around his girth, clamping tightly around its circumference, pushed Parker’s lust ever higher.

“Fuck, Tiffany…”

The groan that arose from Parker’s lips was a result of that pent-up lust, being shoved down into his body as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, advanced inside her. Tiffany’s sincerity made it easy to keep a lid on that impatience, but there was something about the back-view of Tiffany, how her shirt came just short of her shapely ass and how fucking amazing her waist feels in his hands. There were many upsides that Parker could see with being with Tiffany: of course, she’s breathtakingly beautiful, and despite her naturally cute demeanor that makes one want to simultaneously protect her and tease her relentlessly, she also has all the right curves in all the right places. Of anyone he’s ever gotten to know, Tiffany has to be the kindest, gentlest person he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting, and on top of all of that, she’s a very driven woman who takes her career in marketing very seriously. And then, the cherry on top is how addictingly silky-smooth her skin is: without exaggeration, Parker could see himself very easily hooked on this feeling, of running his hands across her skin, and then also hearing the small moans that escape her lips when he does so.

“Are you ok?”

Tiffany nodded. “That—That wasn’t so bad…”

“Hm? Tiff, I’m not even halfway inside yet…”

“…Huh?!”

Parker let out a laugh. “I thought you practiced.”

“Well—well, I-I-I did, I did, but it’s, it’s just—…” the more she stammered the more she lost her words, and it didn’t help that Parker was continuing to slowly, steadily, push himself inside her and splitting her pussy walls wide apart as she attempted to string words together into a coherent response. “—…oh god … I … Par-Parker, oh my…”

It was tight, alright, but it was noticeably easier than the first time; whether or not Tiffany realized it, Parker could feel the results of her practice. The first time, Parker stopped before going all the way in, the resistance he was feeling being a strong enough deterrent from doing so; now, although Tiffany’s pussy still felt like it was trying to wring the life out of his cock, he could still feel her walls flexing and stretching to accommodate him; that, and the natural lubricant that she was generating and lathering his length with, made it easier.

“Almost there.”

The words were true in a sense; although Parker had no way of knowing for sure, it felt like there was probably about a third of his length to go. And, if his speculation was true, then, for some, two-thirds could be considered ‘almost there’—in this case, whether or not Tiffany considered that to be ‘almost there’, Parker whispered the words into her ears to give her the confidence to keep going, and being the stubborn woman, the type of woman who worked unnecessarily hard to please the people she loved, which held doubly true for the man she loved, it was motivation enough for her to respond with, “Gosh, Parker, I—it, it still feels too big, but, it’s—but, you’re, it’s also so hot…”

“Do you like it?”

“Mmm … mmhhmm, yes, it feels so amazing…”

It must’ve been the sheer amount of pleasure Tiffany was feeling that was making her delirious, but she didn’t even seem embarrassed to make such a bold statement. And, to know that he was the cause of it, Parker felt his chest swelling with pride. That was the positive though—the negative was a thought that creeped in: if she’s acting like this now, then how would she act while she’s bouncing on my cock, on the verge of cumming, screaming as my cock slams into her cervix with each thrust?

It was so, so damn difficult to reign himself in—in fact, it felt like the only thing keeping his pent-up lust, his desire to fuck his new girlfriend relentlessly until she couldn’t even feel her legs anymore, was how insanely tight her pussy was. It was like Tiffany’s body, itself, was keeping Parker’s rampaging hormones in check, and to that, Parker was thankful.

“I bet that toy feels nothing like the real thing, huh?”

“It … it, it’s, it feels sort of familiar, but also, that thing never scrambled my brain as much as you are right now…”

Honestly, Parker should just shut his damn mouth. With every reaffirming word Tiffany spewed, Parker’s ego ballooned and it became increasingly hard to fight against the calling of his more primal side to shove the rest of his length inside her.

“God…” muttering that was all Parker could do to keep himself in check; it had now gotten to the point where Parker had to stop for a few seconds to let Tiffany adjust before continuing, and now that he could feel that he was nearing the end, that urge pushed and pushed against the cracking dam of his willpower until—“…fuck, Tiffany, I’m sorry, but—”

“—did…” Tiffany shyly cut him off, and although there was strain in her voice, Parker also heard an almost equal amount of arousal in her voice as well. “…do you just want to, um, to, just, um, sho-shove, shove the rest inside?”

“Are you sure?”

Tiffany barely had the chance to nod before Parker followed through, eliciting a sharp, louder moan from the Korean woman as her ass finally crashed down onto Parker’s lap.

“Fu-Fuck!”

“Nng, god, you’re so fucking tight, and so warm…”

For Tiffany, it was like a shockwave jolted throughout her entire body, straightening her back, her head subconsciously tilting back and pressing against her new boyfriend’s sturdy chest. In that moment, Tiffany could’ve sworn her mind flashed white, all other thoughts, all sensations vacating her brain except the fullness and the sheer heat of Parker’s cock buried to the hilt inside her.

“Tiffany…?”

“I’m … I’m … oh god, I’m going crazy…”

Even after shoving the rest of his length inside her, the fight against his lust raged on; give her ample time to get used to his size, give her pussy ample time to stretch out fully to accommodate his girth, give himself time to enjoy the hot, tight, wet cavern his cock was burrowed inside, before starting slowly. Nothing major, just griding slowly against her ass, indulging in the soft, plush texture of Tiffany’s shapely romp pressing against his groin while his cock brushed against Tiffany’s womb, shifting around, causing the fleshy, sticky walls of her pussy to shift in kind.

“Parker…”

Now that his hands were no longer needed to guide her onto his shaft, they vacated her waist, sliding under her shirt, unclipped her bra, and pulled out the undergarment from under her shirt. “We won’t be needing this anymore.”

“Oh…” Parker couldn’t tell if Tiffany’s face was red from embarrassment or from being flushed in general. “…um, yeah, I-I, I … yeah…”

As he got his hands on them, Parker’s attention shifted from Tiffany’s pussy to her boobs—despite the insane pressure her walls were exerting on his cock, feeling that squishy, silky-smooth, squeezable texture against his palm and fingers, the addictive quality of her ample breasts, the soft sighs and the way Tiffany arched her back at his touch, a silent cry for more contact, the way her body squirmed at his touch and how she let out a sharp moan at just the feeling of his fingers brushing against her areola followed by a whine as his fingers retreated, it was all too addicting.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh m—”

Tiffany was very clearly getting overwhelmed, awash in a sea of pleasure, every pore in her body screaming out in ecstasy, any hint of discomfort or pain from Parker’s oversized member having completely vanished. Just as amazing as Tiffany’s body felt against Parker’s body, so too did the fullness of his cock inside her, the heat from his cock pulsating into her, feeling his body rocking against her, everything about Parker, it felt like, was turning Tiffany on further and further. Tiffany felt like, with the practice she had done, that she was preparing herself for this experience, failing to take into consideration the rest of Parker’s body: his muscular legs that pressed against her own, his sturdy chest that she ended up leaning her head against, his powerful arms that trapped her arms against to her sides, his hands that kneaded and rolled and massaged her tits, his warm breath that brushed against her ears and warmed her face, the warmth and heat of his entire body, smothering her like a thick blanket—

“Parker, fuck…”

What’s more, Parker could sense Tiffany losing her mind, too, and it only made him want to do more: it made him want to be more aggressive with her tits, it caused him to turn the rocking motion he was doing into a more defined bucking, it made him want to continue whisper into her ear how great of a job she was doing and how amazing her pussy felt, how amazing her tits were, how he loved the way she squirmed at his touch, how divine her ass felt grinding against his groin, and the more it happened, the louder the sound of their sex became.

The two quickly fell into a rhythm, and so deep did Tiffany sink in ecstasy that, when Parker’s hand escaped from underneath her shirt, she let out a whine, followed quickly by an, “Oh—” and closing her mouth from embarrassment at the sound she just made.

Parker, not one to miss a chance to tease his girlfriend, quipped, “Don’t worry babe, I’m just taking off my shirt. It’s getting in the way.”

“Oh, ok…”

“Should I do yours, too?”

Tiffany shyly nodded, and before long, the two of them were back at it, now completely in the nude, with Tiffany sitting on Parker’s lap, who was in turn sitting on his living room couch, slowly fucking the rather inexperienced woman, hands returning to their perch on her tits and this time, being more aggressive with the light squeezes he finally granted to the swollen, erect nipples standing proudly from Tiffany’s boobs.

“Fffuck!”

“Do you like that?”

Tiffany nodded and was rewarded with another pinch. “Mmm! Park—baby, that’s, that’s, oh my god—”

Parker was getting close, but nowhere near as close as Tiffany, whose voice kept raising in pitch and volume the more he rammed his cock into the deepest parts of Tiffany. “Don’t hold back. Let it all out, baby.”

“Please, baby, I’m so close, oh god, I’m so close—” He could feel it, too, and it only pushed him further and faster and harder. “—a-ah, ah, f-f-ffuckk!”

At that point, it felt like Tiffany’s entire body was an erogenous zone. Parker really was trying his best to make Tiffany feel as good as possible, but it also felt like everything he was doing was working. The soft clapping of her ass against his damp groin, the gentle kneading of her tits in his hands, the firm thrusts of his cock against her fleshy, hot, sticky walls, and every time his fingers squeezed her pleasure button, Tiffany responded with all the positive feedback that made Parker want to do it again and again and again and again and—

“—Parker, god, I’m, I’m cum—I’m cumming, oh, fffuck!”

And just like that, Tiffany’s body straightened, vibrating violently against his body, causing his cock to stir about inside her even more and causing her orgasm to intensify even more.

“Oh god, oh my god, I can’t, I can’t, Parker, babe, please, I can’t stop, it’s too much—”

But Parker was helpless to do anything about it either. It was only the second time, but he was already addicted to it: the feeling of Tiffany completely unraveling against him, losing control, awash with sheer ecstasy. The fact that he was the cause of it, the fact that Tiffany allowed him to lose herself like this … the natural response of his body was to desire more of it. So, he was helpless to do anything but to continue fucking her with all his strength, letting her ride out her orgasm, prolonging it until—

“Tiff…”

“Mmm, hmm, hhnnng…”

It was clear that Tiffany wasn’t of the right mind to respond to him, and with how tightly her pussy was gripping his cock, it felt like pulling out wasn’t an option either. Briefly, Parker remembered Tiffany telling him that she was on the pill—and, while he knew there still was some risk to it, he also wasn’t in the right mind to make responsible decisions. All he could think about was Tiffany’s ecstasy, and his own, and the impending orgasm that was washing over his body.

“…fuck, Tiffany, baby, I’m cu—” before he could even finish his warning, the first stream entered her womb at the apex of Parker’s thrust. And Tiffany, who was beginning to wind down from her orgasm, at the sudden feeling of her now boyfriend’s warm, sticky fluid filling her up, felt everything coming straight back up. “Fuck, Tiff, I’m so sor—”

“Oh, oh god, oh my god, I’m—I’m, I can’t again, oh my GOD—” Tiffany craned her head against Parker’s shoulder, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull as a second consecutive orgasm struck her.

“…Tiff…?”

Everything about it. The was Tiffany responded to his every touch, the way her beautiful voice expressed her pleasure, the eagerness—or was it stubbornness?—with which Tiffany seemed to act, the feeling of her body against his, and now, how easily the act of creampieing her made her come to a second orgasm so quickly—everything, everything, made Parker go crazier and crazier. Even as his refractory period was starting to hit him, Parker managed to push through, forcing himself to let Tiffany ride out his orgasm on his cock until, nearly a minute later, Tiffany finally started to calm down.

There was a pretty long period of silence afterwards—silence, not awkward, but comfortable. Basking in the afterglow, Tiffany slumped against Parker’s chest, her own chest heaving, her arms hanging by her side, hands intertwined with Parker’s hands.

“…I can feel it leaking out…”

Parker let out a chuckle. “Sorry I couldn’t warn you better.”

“It’s ok.” Parker could tell by the bashful tone Tiffany’s voice was taking again that her face was red. Which was … strange, might be an understatement to describe it, considering how his cock was still firmly wedged inside her. “It’s … wow, oh my, I can’t believe how it still feels this full, and warm…”

“Let me—”

Tiffany stopped Parker as he moved to lift her off his lap. “I like it.”

To Parker’s credit, the way Tiffany said those words—bashful, hesitant, but with some firmness—that led Parker to respond, “Oh, do you?”

Tiffany whined and slapped Parker’s arm. To say that it even stung slightly would be an outrageous lie—all it succeeded in doing is making Parker laugh. “Shut up.”

“My couch…”

“Hm?” Tiffany first looked over at Parker, then down, and when she did, a look of horror befell her face. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

“No,” Parker told her, this time being the one to stop her from dismounting him, “it’s ok. It’s quite hot, actually.”

“What?”

“Give me a few more minutes. Then, I’ll be ready for round two.”

“Hm…” there was a bit of confidence, and perhaps a hint of mischief, in her voice. Something that Parker didn’t hate in the slightest. “…make that a few seconds.”

“Tiff, I don’t—” Parker swallowed his words at the feeling of Tiffany grinding against his crotch. What he was about to say was that he needed a little bit to recover, from his abundance of experience with Jessica and her relentless energy and how much she always pushed him to go again, now, right now! “…shit…”

But something about it was different about Tiffany. The shy confidence she held, the obvious inexperience in her actions but the eagerness with which she did them … it certainly didn’t hurt that it felt like Tiffany’s ass felt fuller and feeling the cushiony, velvety texture rubbing against his groin felt like heaven on earth, and of course, the insane, sheer tightness of her pussy, but he could feel his fatigue being blown away with every rotating motion.

“A few seconds, ok? I want more.”

Tiffany couldn’t get enough. That feeling, she could’ve sworn that she could feel his cock pressing up against her stomach as she bounced, ferociously, on his lap, crying out as each thrust caused Parker’s cock to strike at the entrance of her womb. The only pause happened because of a burgeoning desire to kiss Parker that eventually spilled out over her lips, and after turning around in his lap without breaking contact, Parker’s hands found their way around her waist and on her ass as her arms looped around his nape. The warmth of each other’s faces, the feeling of their lips pressed firmly against each other, dancing, as Parker’s monster relentlessly ravaged Tiffany’s pussy, each contact creating an increasingly loud slapping noise that also grew wetter, as each thrust also deposited a little bit of the creampie still left inside Tiffany onto Parker’s lap and onto the couch itself.

It was almost a shame, Tiffany’s beautiful moans being muffled, but the fact that it was his own lips that was muffling them made it excusable. The deeper and more lost in lust Tiffany became, the wilder the kiss became, until it eventually felt like they were just trying to devour each other. Animalistic, raw, pure desire for each other, the creaking of the poor sofa, the sheer amount of heat being generated from their activities that was causing beads of sweat to form along their hairlines, but they persisted still.

It wasn’t a novel feeling, really; Parker knew that he was bigger than usual, and that he actually wasn’t compatible with some women because of his size. Frankly, Parker would’ve figured that Tiffany, being the sweet, pure, innocent angel she was, might’ve been one of those women, but in that moment, he knew that he couldn’t be further from the truth. Bordering on discomfort, the intense pressure Tiffany’s pussy was exerting on his cock overwhelmed his senses. He was lost at sea, awash with the smoothness of Tiffany’s legs wrapped around his waist, the velvety soft texture of Tiffany’s lips pressed against his own, everything, everything, was just Tiffany.

As his second climax rolled around, Tiffany was nearing her fourth, so Parker expedited it by pressing on the cheat button. This time, Parker was able to give Tiffany a more heads-up warning, but Tiffany was too drunk on ecstasy to be able to say anything but, “inside! Please, babe, inside!”

So, that’s what he did, and when their climaxes faded, the two were left with the salacious mixture trickling out of Tiffany in droves, leaving a noticeable wet stain on the cushion. Of course, Parker didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You did so well, Tiff.”

“Hmm…”

Feeling how much energy Tiffany expended, Parker had half a mind to carry her, like this, back to his bedroom, as he did the first time they fucked, but his own fatigue decided against it.

“Sleep?”

Parker could feel Tiffany nod against his shoulder, so he extracted his cock from her, making a pit-stop in the bathroom to help clean her up before guiding her, who was now wobbly-legged, barely able to stand, to his bedroom.

When he tucked her in, he expected her to be out cold, so Parker was surprised when he heard Tiffany say, “I want to tell you something.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be asleep already.”

Tiffany turned towards Parker. He had ditched their clothes back in the living room, and while he could see that Tiffany was still slightly flustered by the situation, the mind-blowing sex and the aftercare afterwards seemed to have taken its toll of her embarrassment. “Can I?”

“Of course.”

“It’s about my ex.” Parker wasn’t expecting this so suddenly. In fact, Parker was content—curious, but content—with not knowing at all what happened, and presumably, what her ex did that made Jessica so protective of Tiffany. “Did Jess tell you anything about him?”

“Just that he was a terrible person.”

Tiffany pursed her lips and sighed. “I … wasn’t a virgin when we … um, before our first time.” Parker was already starting to piece things together, but he dared not interrupt her. “It was in high school. You know how it is. There’s … pressure. To do it. I felt it, but as a guy, I guess he felt it even more.” Even now, even now, Tiffany was trying to redeem him. Paint him in a better light. Just … just how much of a saint is this woman? “So, he eventually convinced me to do it. But … I guess … I wasn’t ready…? He would get more insistent every time, and I felt like I couldn’t keep just saying ‘no’, and it wasn’t like it was like torture or anything, and I did like him that way too, but I liked him more for his other traits. It’s just, I guess, he changed.

“I guess that I kept caving to him because I hated disappointing him so much. Eventually, it got a little tiring, and I felt like I couldn’t keep up with him, and we got into an argument. He told me that he had needs, and because I was his girlfriend, I was the only one who could fulfill them. In that moment, I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I remember telling him that wasn’t the case. It was something that I caught myself thinking again and again, especially after those nights, that it would be nice to be able to enjoy it but without being the one who was … um, well, you know.”

Parker could feel how much Tiffany was tiptoeing about the topic, even more so than usual, with the normal innocence she talked with regarding the subject of sex. Now, with the added complexity of speaking about her ex-boyfriend to her current boyfriend … it can’t be easy. But, Parker could see that, with each word that came out of Tiffany’s mouth, it was like a load being lifted off her shoulders. And, as slightly uncomfortable the talk was making him, seeing that load being lifted off Tiffany’s shoulders made it all worth it.

“And, eventually, that’s how I guess I learned of this kink that I have. So, we started, I guess, ‘experimenting’ with a female friend of his. On the days I didn’t feel like it, he’d go to that female friend, and then he’d send me pictures. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that the solution felt like a band-aid over a gaping wound in our relationship. I could tell that he was happier, and that made me happier, but … I guess it was just that … he didn’t want me anymore.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

Tiffany let out a chuckle. “Thank you, Parker. Jess told me that too.”

“Well, let this be the only time she and I agree on something. He’s a piece of shit that you were being too nice to.”

Tiffany smiled graciously at Parker. “I guess that’s partially why I turned out the way I did. Dating someone else, falling in love with someone else, terrified me. I felt like I didn’t want to lose someone the way I lost him, but I also knew that I couldn’t help but like what I liked. I knew how unfair it was, to want someone who was willing to go along with my kinks and remain absolutely loyal to me—”

“It’s not unfair, baby. To expect loyalty out of your boyfriend should be the expectation.”

Tiffany gave Parker a look for a second, then quickly closed the distance between them and buried her head in his chest. “Really?”

“Of course. If it’s what you want, as long as it’s not hurting anyone. Plus, Jessica is not someone I’d want to be with.”

“Hm?”

“She’s … way too much. Her lifestyle, her work mode, her sexual needs, everything. It’s not for me.”

“But she’s really sweet and understanding and empathetic, isn’t she?”

“…what is your play here?”

Tiffany laughed. “I’m just saying!”

“It sounds like you’re trying to sell me on Jessica.”

“I mean, she’s not that bad.”

“Don’t you dare tell her I ever said this, but yeah, she isn’t.”

“She introduced me to you, after all. So, there.”

Parker laughed, wrapping his arms around Tiffany. “You’re right. Anyone who led me to you can’t be such a terrible person.”

Welp.

… sorry for the long wait

^_^’

HOPE THE WAIT WAS WORTH IT THOUGH!! :D

#jessica jung #smut #snsd #soshi #snsd smut #kpop smut #Soiling Mr. Innocent #creamp1e #tiffany hwang #tiffany smut #tiffany #size k!nk #size difference

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thestarsaboveme · 21 hours ago

Text

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | rafayel ver. | zayne ver. | caleb ver.

sylus x reader | angst/comfort

You were used to Sylus being quiet.

Not cold. Just…quiet.

So when his messages started getting shorter, when his gaze didn't linger as long on yours, when his kissed turned into brushes of habit more than affection, you didn't notice right away.

Until it started to hurt.

You saw them again.

Sylus and MC in the lab.

Her laughter reached you before their voices did. Sylus stood beside her, arms crossed, watching her monitor as she demonstrated something. He wasn't smiling. But he also wasn't pulling away like he did with most people. He was listening. Engaged.

You waited for him to notice you.

He didn't.

After ten minutes of watching from the hallway, you left.

Are you free tonight?

You messaged him later.

We haven't spent time together in a while.

He didn't reply for two hours.

Can't. Late testing with MC. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow. It was always tomorrow.

You told yourself you were being irrational. That he'd always been closer to MC, given their compatibility, their shared background, their synced missions. This his loyalty ran deeper than words, and if he was cheating, you'd know, right?

But your gut twisted every time you saw them together. Every time he mentioned her like she was another heartbeat.

And tonight, as you sat alone in your room again, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You called him.

He answered on the second ring, voice calm. ''Hey. Everything okay?''

''No,'' you said, and your voice cracked more than you meant it to. ''Can you come over?''

A pause. ''Now?''

''I need to talk to you, Sylus. Please.''

A longer pause. Then: ''I'm on my way.''

When he arrived twenty minutes later, he looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes. His hair slightly disheveled from running his fingers through it too many times. He took one look at your expression and stepped in without a word.

You stood by the couch, arms folded across your chest.

He said nothing at first, just watched you. Waiting. Patient.

That made it harder.

''Are you cheating on me with MC?''

The words came out like broken glass.

Sylus blinked. No dramatic reaction. No flinch. Just stilness.

Then a slow, quiet, ''No.''

You let out a shaky breath. ''Then why does it feel like you're never here anymore? Why does it feel like you replaced me with her?''

Still calm, he asked, ''Is that what you think I've done?''

''I don't know what to think, Sylus!'' you snapped, voice rising. ''You've been with her constantly. You talk about her like she's in your head all the time.'' You make time for her, not me. And I sit here, waiting like I'm some background character you forgot about.''

He stepped forward slowly. ''You're not.''

''Then explain it to me,'' you whispered. ''Because I'm tired of guessing where I stand with you.''

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Quietly, heavily.

''There's nothing going on between me and MC,'' he said. ''But I haven't made that clear. That's on me.''

You swallowed hard. ''Then why have you been so distant?''

He hesitated, then moved to sit on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. Not his usual posture. He looked vulnerable. Smaller, somehow.

''I've been working with MC on some dangerous tech,'' he said slowly. ''There were…anomalies in her readings. We thought they were unstable. I needed to make sure she was okay.''

You frowned. ''So you were protecting her?''

''I was doing my job. I was trying to prevent another incident. Something like what happened to me.'' He looked up then, eyes locking onto yours. ''And I didn't want you anywhere near it.''

You hesitated. ''Why not tell me that?''

He looked away again. ''Because if you knew, you'd want to help. You'd want to be involved. And I couldn't handle the thought of something happening to you.''

Silence fell between you.

You sat beside him on the couch, not touching.

''You think keeping me in the dark is protecting me?''

''I thought I could carry it all without hurting you,'' he said. ''But I was wrong.''

You exhaled. ''You made me feel like you were slipping away. Like I was being replaced by someone who understands you better.''

His jaw tightened. ''No one understands me like you do.''

You met his eyes again. ''Then why couldn't you just say that?''

He stared at you for a long time.

And finally, he said, ''Because you're the only person who makes me feel like I'm still human. Like I'm more than what I was built to do. And that scares me more than anything.''

Your heart clenched.

''Sylus…''

''I'm not used to needing someone,'' he admitted. ''But I need you. And I didn't know how to say that without feeling like I was putting you in danger.''

''You're not,'' you whispered. ''You're just hurting both of us instead.''

He nodded, slowly. ''I know. I'm sorry.''

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his hand. He didn't move away.

''I don't want to be protected from your truth, Sylus,'' you said. '' I want to stand beside you, not behind you.''

he finally turned his hand over, letting your fingers intertwine.

''I can try,'' he said softly. ''If you'll let me fix this.''

You leaned into his shoulder, the silence between you no longer cold. But healing.

''I want to,'' you said. ''But next time…talk to me.''

''I will,'' he promised.

And somehow, in that quiet, broken space between heartache and hope, you began to believe him.

#lads #lads x reader #lads angst comfort #lads sylus #lnds #lnds x reader #lnds angst comfort #lnds sylus #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace angst comfort #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus angst comfort

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7-wonders · 1 day ago

Text

Seeing Ghosts

Dr. Jack Abbot x psychiatrist!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: A case hits too close to home for you. Jack wants you to know you're not alone.

Word count: 1.9k

A note from the author: "I'm just going to write a little blurb," I say to myself. "Fucking liar!" my laptop yells at me.

I don't even know what I'm doing with this but I'm watching The Pitt and cannot get this old man out of my head! If you're reading this, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Content warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts

You’re on night rotations for the first time in years, taking over for Dr. Gibbons who’s out on paternity leave. Night shift has been kind to you with a fairly easy workload as your body gets adjusted to a completely opposite sleep-wake schedule, but tonight, you’re called down to the ER for a 5150. 20 y/o male, brought to the ER after his roommate found him with cuts to his wrists. He's crying as his wrists are tended to, so sure that some unseen entity is on the phone with Pitt's admissions office right now to get his scholarships revoked.

You recognize him, this young overachiever who has the weight of the world on his shoulders for no real reason other than that he feels it will all collapse if he's not the one to hold it up. Not because you've met him before. You recognize him because, at one point in time, he was you.

One of your favorite parts about your job is getting to truly connect with your patients, and you feel that one of the best ways to do that is by meeting them at their level. Sitting next to them, giving them your first name and insisting they call you by that, and, if they allow for it, holding their hands. You catch a fair amount of shit for it from other doctors (mainly those for whom psychiatry isn't their specialty), but there's a reason why your patient satisfaction scores are so high. You know what you're doing, and you know how to accomplish a positive outcome, so when Shaun Gold takes your outstretched hand, you know you've got an in.

“I understand, that you feel like you’re alone in how you’re feeling right now. But can I tell you a secret?" He nods, and you tighten your grip on his hand. "You're not alone. So many people have felt the exact same way. I have felt the exact same way."

"You have?" Shaun's face opens up at this revelation, seeing in front of him a successful (-ish) doctor who's also battled the lowest of the lows.

"Yep. And I'm not here to tell you that I never feel the way I did then anymore, because I would be lying to you. But I have the right skills now to help me combat those feelings. Therapy, and coping tools, and medication. That's what I'm trying to do for you here. Give you the proper skills so that you can be the best possible version of yourself. And maybe one day, you'll be in my position, helping to give hope to somebody who needs it. So?" You squeeze his hand, smiling when he squeezes back. "Can we help you?"

Shaun agrees, and you get him safely transferred up to your ward with a schedule laid out and a promise that you'll be back in an hour. A favorable outcome, which is all that one can ask for in this career. But it doesn't change the heaviness in your chest, which continues to press down on you even after you're back down in the ER to discuss potential care plans with Ellis. Throwing yourself back into work is normally your trick to get your mind off of a tough case—it's not the healthiest coping mechanism, but mental health is nothing if not a balancing act—and you're left searching for relief. Where's a physician to go when everything feels a little too...much? Your fellow dayshifter clued you in on just the place.

The roof of PTMC is quiet at this time of night, no incoming or outgoing medical flights interrupting your stolen moment of peace. Almost immediately, you can see why Robby finds so much comfort in being up here. Leaning against the railing, having the cool breeze on your face and watching cars crawl through the streets of Pittsburgh like ants in an ant farm...it may not comfort you, exactly, but it does help to calm you down enough that you can focus on the things you would tell a patient in your position to do: deep breathing and grounding.

From behind you comes the sound of the rooftop door opening and closing and your slow exhale turns into a harsh sigh, assuming that it's some medical student coming to find you about a drunk experiencing hallucinations. Do people not remember how to use a pager anymore?

"Fancy seeing you up here." You'd be able to pick Jack Abbot's voice out of a crowd of hundreds, and it's no different now when he's standing behind you. Your shoulders, which you hadn't realized tensed up at the threat of being pulled back to work before you're ready, loosen up almost immediately.

It was naive of you to think that Jack wouldn't have picked up on anything out of the ordinary in any of the doctors on the clock tonight. He and Robby are two of the best ER attendings in the state for many reasons, but the way that they look out for those on their teams is one of them. Ellis probably snitched, you think, before realizing that you're not giving Jack nearly enough credit for his intuitiveness.

"I've heard so much about this 'trick' from Robby, figured now was the perfect time to try it out. Sorry to steal your hiding spot," you call out, keeping your eyes focused on the lights of PNC Park in the distance.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're alright, because god knows I would hate if someone came up here, interrupted my moment of peace, and asked the same." You can't help the smile that appears on your face. "But I am...here. Y'know, just in case you feel like talking."

You recognize this language, and it makes you chuckle. "Who's the psychiatrist here?"

"Not me, thankfully."

"Saw a ghost downstairs," you supply, still staring determinedly ahead. "I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing, at separating my work life from my personal life. But every so often, a certain case comes in that just...hits too close to home."

"I completely understand."

What Jack doesn't tell you is that, the moment you saw your ghost in that student, he saw his own ghost in you. He often hears negative feedback from those in the ivory tower about how he could stand to be a little more caring to, well, everybody. Though Robby hosts some of the worst patient reviews, he has more than a few of his own.

But who the hospital administration hears from is the bad seeds. Drunk idiots, antivaxxer mothers, bigots who think they can get away with snide comments to members of the staff—the types of people for whom complaining is in their blood. They're more than happy to fill out the survey provided to them with their discharge instructions, flaming everything and everything about the hospital—but especially about Dr. Abbot, who has been called anything from "gruff and unapproachable" to "a raging asshole."

He doesn't do this for them, though. He does it for the people that can actually benefit from his help, those who likely won't fill out a survey. The young parent frantically making sure that every test and procedure for their sick child is covered by Medicaid before consenting. The unhoused man being treated on his fingers for frostbite (and who will find a warm, sturdy pair of gloves tucked with his discharge paperwork).

The veteran fresh off a tour of duty and having her first real bout of PTSD.

You found yourself caught off guard by how close you felt to this case, and in that moment, he saw himself in you.

"I've been that student before—still am, sometimes," you admit quietly, knowing Jack will still hear it. "I was always too scared of what would happen to me if people found out I was feeling this way. I was sure that I'd be judged by everyone, but especially by doctors. I had no reason to feel that way, of course, but I didn't know any better at the time. I think that's why this case got to me; I needed him to hear me, to know for certain that he wasn't alone in his feelings and that he had friends in those who would be taking care of him."

Jack's silent, but you know that's not a bad thing. When he finally speaks, his voice is closer than it was when he first joined you on the roof. "I think that's what distinguishes good doctors from great doctors. Good doctors study hard, perform quality work, and genuinely care for their patients. But the great doctors are those who allow their experiences to fuel them. Who go through pain, or heartbreak, or grief, and use those feelings to guide their work and how they treat those that come under their care. And you, my friend, are a damn great doctor."

"Thanks, Jack." You don't say what you want to, which is that he's describing himself, too. The man's trying to teach a lesson, after all, and you've seen his disdain when his lessons have been hijacked before.

"Got any plans after work?" he asks.

"Besides still trying to get used to working nights?"

He chuckles. "Can't help you there. But if you're not feeling like the walking dead come seven, I know a great diner in the area. We can share some more ghost stories, maybe. Only condition is that you can't divulge the location after we go, no matter how much you may want to sing its praises. I can't go having my favorite breakfast spot overrun by interns and residents, after all."

It's a good thing that you're still facing away from Jack, because you wouldn't be able to school your face to some neutral expression fast enough. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't carried a bit of a torch for Jack for a while—the kind of crush that's easy to sustain when you work opposite shifts and your interactions are in stolen five-minute interactions before your shift ends and his begins. If this were day shift, you know Dana would be teasing you endlessly and going on about the betting pool that's allegedly been steadily gaining money since you volunteered to temporarily move to nights.

("Garcia has twenty on you both being too chicken to make a move before Gibbons returns from paternity leave," Dana whispered to you last week when she was supposed to be giving you a status update on the Kraken before clocking out for the night. "Don't give her a win."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you claimed, cheeks burning as you focused on reading from the tablet in your hands.)

"Let me guess, the VFW?" you tease.

"Nah, their pancakes suck."

On your next exhale, when the heaviness in your chest seems to have finally abated, you turn around to face Jack. He's closer than you thought he would be, a couple of feet away at most. Close enough that you can see the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. "Alright, we can go to your super secret breakfast spot. But I'm expecting world-class waffles, deal?"

"Deal."

When Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders in a loose hug, he doesn't put it down again until right before the elevator doors open on the ER. You don't mind in the slightest.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x you #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x you #asking myself while I was writing this: what would dr Charles from Chicago Med do?

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Omg yay!! Thank you so much, friend! I'm excited for you loll ❤️❤️

Again, I really love the soft reader in this fic. She's lovely and kind and there's just something about her that's so endearing that it makes me want to give her a big hug. 💚

She's a real sweetheart, right? Writing someone who wants to work with little kids, I wanted to write a young woman who isn't without her flaws, but really embodied that kind, nurturing nature that makes for great elementary school teachers. 💗 (And the kind of inner goodness that I think Dean would find endearing too.)

I'm melting over her reassurance to Dean that she doesn't regret a single second! And the kiss had me screaming!

Aww that was one of my favorite scenes for this doozy of a chapter lol. 🥹 But it kind of makes you wish that you could knock Dean's head in like a coconut and get him to see what's right in front of his face! 😂

As someone who loves to bake I felt this in my soul. Also I love that you've given us another reader like the reader in Midnight Espresso who likes to take care of other people, because again it's so warm and welcoming and fantastic!

Girl same! haha drawing on my own love of baking for this part. But omg I love you for referencing Midnight Espresso lol. She's definitely a kind of version of that reader who's a giver/nurturer. 💞

Dean, Dean, Dean... you know why. We all know why.

Again, he's being a big dummy!! 🙄

I'm so happy at this point, but I just know that Lisa is probably gonna ruin it. Dang it, I love that you included her to cause some friction and some angst, but I'm just living life on the edge of my emotions each time she comes in.

Now I feel bad because I read the next sentence about Lisa being nice. Lisa I'm so sorry. Please accept this potato as my humble apology. 🥔

loll you may want to hang onto your potato for a while. Lisa is...complicated in this story. But you'll see why! loll

Okay... before I dive into the five years later, I just want to say that I feel so bad for Dean, but at the same time you GO Benny! Because he's being so sweet and kind and isn't playing with her emotions, and he's literally there for her even though she's having someone else's kid. Like what a man. 👏🏻

Yes, Benny really stepped up, didn't he? He is being more straightforward than Dean, and the reader knows where she stands with Benny. But as the lovely Wayne (waynes-multiverse) pointed out, he also steps in where Dean really should be. We can see Benny's a good man with good intentions, and he so clearly likes the reader and wants to be there for her, right?

Buuuuut maybe he should've asked Dean if it was really ok if he pursued the reader before he stepped in. Maybe as his friend, he should've asked Dean what the hell he was doing with Lisa when the reader really needed him right now lol. Maybe that would've been the wake-up call Dean needed to get his shit together and realize he didn't really truly love Lisa. 🤔

Literally screaming yes! I'm so happy for them. And also I love the Robert Plant reference.

ehehe yes! Reader and Benny are making strides forward, but mean while Dean did win the debate for the kid's name 🤣

Oh buddy... and just like that the happy feeling is starting to ebb away. I mean I'm happy that she has someone, but I hate that she feels like she can't be herself there. It turns into feeling trapped really quick.

Ah, exactlyyy. It's good with Benny, sure, but it's not perfect. No relationship is, but at the same time, this is a key moment that you can see where reader/Benny might not be the best fit...

Side Note: Love the Jurassic Park reference. I know that you're as big a Jurassic Park girlie as I am!! 🦖 But it's also terrible that he let a four year old watch that 😬

Ahaha yes!! I knew you would catch that! Oh yeah, but that's the kind of mistake a man not used to little kids would make, I feel like 🤣

Baby, he wants to be the good man who treats her right. And don't think I don't see the subtle hinting that you've got going on Lisa. I'm about to take back my potato.

lol oh yeah, she's starting to get the hint that Dean is in love with the reader, even if she doesn't want it to be true. 😅 (Hold your potato until further notice - it's about to get worse before it gets better with Lisa 😂)

Dang it. Now I feel bad for Lisa. It's true though. It's literally five years of on and off and where is it going? I see what she's getting at and I do feel for her.

Yep, her timing to discuss this might not have been great, but her points are totally valid. Dean should NOT have been stringing her along for this long. And yet, she's been willingly a part of this 5-year rollercoaster with Dean, so she's kind of at fault too 😅

Ah yes, the classic Dean Winchester get mad at other things because he's too afraid to say the one big thing that he's held close to his heart for the past 5 years. *sigh* 😒 It's sad to me because Dean could have done this five years ago and it would have been less complicated. Now he's been with Lisa for 5 years, and the reader has been with Benny for 2. And yes maybe the reader isn't happy, happy, but in the end there are four people involved in this rather than the two it could have been at the beginning (or maybe 3?).

BIG YEP. That's where we're at - Dean letting his anger spill into other things instead of talking about the thing he should get off his chest. 🥲🥲 He's just not ready to admit that the idea of her and Benny getting married means he's lost his chance forever, because that would mean actually acknowledging he has feelings for her when he's meant to be with Lisa.

And you make a really good point there with Dean and how he should've broken things off with Lisa sooner and talked to the reader about where each of them stands emotionally -- all of which will be explored in the epilogue too.

Oh my word he's such a good dad to Robbie even when he's hurt and I can't take the feelings! 😭

I knowwww I'm sorry I almost killed Dean, but this is the first of many wake-up calls for both Dean and reader. 😭😭

And the fact that Benny calls Dean "brother" is just making the feelings even worse, because I know what's coming and oh man, it's gonna hurt Benny so much.

Oh yeah, we're going full heartbreak in the future for poor Benny, but at the same time, he did peep the way the reader held Dean's hand. He might be shouldering some Lisa-like denial himself where the reader is concerned. 😅

Oh boy... this is... this is really... I have no words because both of them have points. But I would still like my potato back, thank you very much.

LOL girl I told you! But thank you because I too thought both Lisa and reader had valid points in this argument, even if it was hard for both of them to hear. 😭💔

This is KILLING ME ALEX! They just need to communicate with one another instead of shutting each other out! DANG IT! SPEAK! DEAN STOP DOING THE SUFFER IN SILENCE BIT! We all know you can look super hot while you're brooding, but COME ON! I just want to hit him with a frying pan!

hahaaa yes the frying pan would come in handy right about now!! Communication (or lack thereof) is their biggest weakness in this story, but it just goes to show that no one means to do anyone wrong here.

I tried to do something different with this story and make it feel more realistic, with no real "villain," except that we can hurt the people we love the most unintentionally with our actions and inaction. What we say, and sometimes more importantly, what we don't say.

Like an end table. Because that's what every woman wants from her significant other 🤣 Also I'm literally cackling over the fact that Dean and Benny chose the same night to ask their ladies to marry them. Their brains are so in sync LOL.

Hahahaa right? Really seeing what might just hold the reader up from accepting this impending proposal. Dean did get one final warning on what he's about to lose, and it ain't Lisa 😭

She can have a whole truck full of potatoes. She did the right thing and the "Go fight for it," is just so lovely.

Better late than never, right? 😅 She finally realized she had to let Dean go. 💔 And I love that you liked the "Go fight for it," line, because that was one of my favorites too. It's time for Dean to get off his ass!

I especially love this little bit, because you describe what the reader wants in love (what we all want LOL) and then you add the difference when Dean touches her. But I also completely understand her hesitancy to go to Dean even though it's what her heart is telling her. She's trying not to get her heart broken and yet Dean is the person she's held there for so long.

Ahh thank you! 🥹 Girl wants that Godfather Thunderbolt lol, and she has it with Dean, she's just afraid of being hurt again, or just being "sex and a good time" for Dean. But he of course makes it clear that she's the Thunderbolt for him too. 💗💗

Can I ask how long it's been since they got back together? I love the time skip, but I'm just curious to see how long Dean waited to pop the question. 😊

Ooh so you'll find out the answer to that question in the epilogue! There will be some key scenes that fill in the in between -- from this moment, to the engagement, to the wedding (and more). 😘❤️❤️

Also the stuff about Benny is so sad- I'm beyond happy for the reader and Dean (their love makes me so happy)- but dang he was Dean's best friend. And the stuff about Dean saying that this wasn't how he wanted to be promoted, I'm having so many feelings AHHHHH! But I wish Benny happiness. Who knows? Maybe he and Lisa will meet up in a few years and bond 🤪

Oh it's sooo very bittersweet and messy, isn't it? Dean and reader certainly weren't perfect, and Benny really tried his best, but you'll see more of his side of the story in the epilogue, which a lot of what I wrote was to do just that for Benny. 🥲 He deserves his happy ending! (And there's closure for Lisa too. ❤️)

(I also felt the need to add the next paragraph because I read the comments)

Oh you saw that, huh? 😂 Yeah, I think you remember that turned into a fun "anonymous" ask in my inbox asking why I was so "defensive" when people criticized my work. I typically have thick skin and was ready to forget the comments entirely, but when that "ask" came in it really annoyed me, not gonna lie. lol

I probably should've just ignored the inbox message and deleted it, rather than spend more time and energy on replying to someone whose mind likely isn't going to be changed on how they talk to writers, regardless. 😂

I get that this AU story was "different," and messy with these relationships, but that was kind of the point.

Bless you though for your thoughtful and heartwarming feedback regarding the Lisa and Benny storylines! 💗💗💗

And I think that Dean's character makes sense because yes at the beginning he was a playboy, but then he started to feel the stability of the reader, started to crave something more than what he had in his life- and instead of going with her, he clung to Lisa.

Exactly! I never outright said Dean's age at the beginning of Part 1, though heavily implied that he was young (mid-20s) and the reader was even younger, fresh out of college. They made mistakes and had to figure out how to level up in their maturity to handle the situation of a surprise pregnancy, all while trying to build their careers.

For example, Dean tried to take Sam's advice to heart about trying to have "real relationships," but he didn't mean with just anyone, Dean. 😂

Just as the reader wanted something more and started to date Benny, but missed the electricity of what the reader thought love should feel like. Dean and the reader both felt the need to push down their feelings and search in the wrong places for what they wanted from each other. At least that's how I took it and I loved every single second of this fic and how you wrapped everything up!

Yes exactly! I really wanted to make people think on this one, and you got where I was going with this. 👌🏽

When you have so much going on around you and things you have to deal with (like a full on child you weren't prepared for), it can be hard to figure out what you really want, whether that's relationships, your career, or your own sense of identity. I'm so glad you enjoyed the angsty ride, even though it wasn't easy!! And again, I really appreciate your thoughts here. 🥹💕💕

ALEX, this fic was amazing! It had me feeling all the feels on this wonderful, beautifully written emotional rollercoaster. I can't wait to read the epilogue!

Thank you so very much, Lee!! I felt all the things while writing this one lol, so I really hope you enjoy the epilogue too. It's going to answer some of those questions for you and give these characters even more closure. ❤️❤️❤️

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 13.1K

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

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Or something like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIVE YEARS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

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

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

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

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What’re you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just that what? he wonders.

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

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

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

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

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

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Months Ago...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I caught a minnow!”

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

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

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

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

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

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

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

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

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

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

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

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

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

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

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

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

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

Now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nice and safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She just gives him a long look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only one he can see is you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lisa, I loved you.”

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

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

He goes to her and kisses her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

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

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

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

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

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

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

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free.

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

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases.

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

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

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

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

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

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

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

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Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdeanwrites @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @redhoodieone

#lovely review!! 💕💕💕#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #zep replies

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dilf-docs · 2 days ago

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Foul Promises, Forbidden Games

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: finally, harry and you seem to have found temporary truce. a small step. but what it's not, if a big dangerous leap?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 1,840 words

side note: hi hello thank u for ur support my citizens!!!!!!! new spot just dropped a few days ago UGH i'm so excited for this movie can't wait to meet our smitten billionare istg if he gets dumped for cevans' poor ass but in celine god song we trust,, NOW brat summer is over it's time for dilf summer and pedro pascal is the star!

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Come in"

The door opens, and the familiar click of shoes and wooden musk invades the place. You don't dare pronounce his name.

"This office is for married people only"

He chuckles at your dry tone. Petty even.

"Thought you were allergic to 'em"

"I am, but they bring money to the table"

"Thought it was your daddy's" he's quick to retort.

You try to keep neutral, your view busy on the same file you've had open since he entered the room.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not offended by the trust-fund baby calling" you reply, nonchalant. He takes a sit without you allowing it, that stupid soft smile on his face while crossing his legs. You finally look at him. "What do you want, Harry?"

Because, why was he, the last person you'd like to see, inside your office on a weekday, let alone, almost at closing hours?

"I want a truce"

His words fall into the silence of your office, partly iluminated by the moonlight. It isn't your worst wednesday night but it sure deserves a spot on the list.

You arch an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we were at war"

"With you, honey" he leans in closer, his shadow hovering over your desk, "there's always a fight"

"Then why take the trouble to come?"

"See what I mean?" he's quick to smile like he knows something you don't. "Anyway, I came because it's urgent. Wouldn't, otherwise"

"Huh. I've heard that before"

Harry stands up, looking at your condecorated wall, seemingly impressed by the papers hanging inside frames, a testament to your intelligence.

"Well?"

"Do you know why people come to you?" he asks, still facing the wall.

"Because I'm the best"

He turns around, smiling in amusement. "So humble, aren't you?"

"I take you didn't come to compliment me. Tell me, Mr. Castillo, why is it you're here?"

Harry faces you. "Drop the formalities, we're not strangers"

"I don't know you"

It's sharp, but he doesn't flinch.

"You could if you wanted to"

Your heart picks up a faster beat. It's starting again, like the two times before, this new off-putting feeling you hate and can't stop.

"You came here for bussiness, I pressume. Not comradeship, Harry"

To talk with you is to wrestle with a seething tongue.

"We can always have tea or a nice dinner other day. I know this pasta place downtown; I'm friend's with the owner" at your narrowed eyes and lack of response, he clears his throat and continues. "Alright, not the talker. I'll go straight to the point"

"Finally"

He contains the urge to roll his eyes.

"Nevermind. You do talk the talk" he sighs. "But I'm here for a favor"

Now it's your turn to sigh. "Could've said that first. Time's money and you've wasted me enough. This is a law firn, not a charity"

His lips quirk into a smirk. "I don't want your alms. Just you"

Two simple words shouldn't affect you this much.

"Besides, haven't you got plenty?" he continues, tone joking, at your lack of response.

"It's never enough"

His eyes shine with an inexplicable anticipation.

"I can always try"

You cross your arms, leaning against your leather chair. Maybe he won't notice the slight tremble to them.

"You said you needed me"

"Precisely" Harry seems content. "Now we're talking"

"Speak"

"So bossy" you roll your eyes. "Do you know Paul Lauder?"

"If you're rich and leave in New York, it's impossible you haven't"

"He's a friend of mine" he offers.

You scoff. "Would be weird if he wasn't"

"I don't have as many friends as you think I do"

"Who you befriend isn't my problem. Or what I think isn't yours" Harry looks about to correct you, but you don't allow him. You place your elbows on your desk, assesing, in that pose he thinks you use to intimidate. You ressemble a hunter, ready to bounce over it's prey. It sends shivers down his spine, despite mantaining his natural facade. "Continue"

"I need your help"

You grin like a cat. "If you need my help, as you say, and they only way I can help you is the only way I know, you could've sent an e-mail"

"But that's the problem" he smiles, albeit a bit sad. "He doesn't want to get a divorce"

His shoulders slump, face frowned and a serious glint over his eyes that makes him look like he carries the world's whole weight within them. You're taken back by how used you're to his usual happy and confident self. For a moment, you think you want to do everything in your power to make him smile again. The treacherous thought is pushed down as quick as it came.

"Then why are you here?" you ask, this time curious above anything else. "I thought you believed in marriage"

He doesn't take your little bait. "No. I believe in love"

You push back a smile. "Right, how could I be so dumb?"

"You're not, which is why I came to you. Do you think I would put up with your charming personality for nothing? There are tons of other divorce lawyers out there"

"Yet here you are" you interrupt, harsh.

"Yet here I am" he repeats, softly.

"Harry..."

"I know this is sudden, and I know it's late. That you don't care for me, or my friend"

"I don't"

His gaze turns hard for a second, maybe as a warning, expecting less judging and more sympathy.

"Don't expect anything from me"

"I don't expect you to understand what you don't know, y/n" he replies, tone patient yet condescending. "But know this: love tends to bring the strongest down"

"Love" you savour the word, rolling off your tongue like a snake who seethes. "You speak a lot about it. Tell me, Harry, have you ever been in love?"

A pin could drop and be heard.

"I think you'll know when I do"

You decide to serve yourself some coffee, and when the cup spills, filled to the brim with shaky movements, he doesn't say anything. You don't offer him a cup either.

"Listen, I pride myself in reading people. Wonder how I ever got so far in this industry? I know what people want, and that's the key. The rest is sweet talk and paper. So, when I tell you it took me less than two seconds to figure her, I'm serious. Paul may have married this girl out of love, but she obviously hasn't. As Lauder is charmed by her heart, she's by the numbers of his bank account"

A true player, you think cynically.

"You expect me to fill sorry for the poor filthy rich?" you tilt your head, the annoyance palpable.

"That's funny coming from you"

The roughness of his tone surprises you. You don't reply anything.

"He's self-made"

"And I'm supposed to assign bonus pity points for that?" you find your voice again.

He rolls his eyes, composed demeanor faltering a bit. You smile, delighted.

"I wouldn't want all his hard work to go to waste for a fairy tale he's deluded himself with"

"Now you're speaking my language"

"Don't confuse yourself. True love is still out there" he counters.

"You're a believer, Harry. I'm still deciding if that's heroic or stupid"

"You may think I'm being selfish, but I know my friend. This isn't Paul. He's gone in her cold smile he perceives as warm, and his pockets keeps emptying as his love into the place her heart is supposed to be, but he's just pouring worship into a hollow pit with a hole in the bottom that leaks with indifference. Apathy. Aversion even" he makes a pause, seemingly pained by just recalling. "I believe love makes you grow, so does devotion. But devotion isn't servitude. Surrendering, in flesh and bone, to another soul isn't the same as losing yourself"

"Poetic" you drop with a bitter tone. Almost humiliating.

He shrugs, not affected. "I'm not a poet, just a friend who wants to help"

"By seeking out a divorce" you reply, entertained.

"No" sharp. "I'm helping my good friend before he makes the biggest mistake of his life"

"You will break his heart" you add, not knowing why.

"A heart only breaks once. The rest are just scratches"

You can't help but wonder about your father and mother. If he loved her; if she's the only woman he ever loved. Maybe that's why he was so fucked up now. You still remember the weeks after her departure, how he'd drunkenly call her name after shots of tears. In the following morning, he wouldn't recall, and you wouldn't tell him either. Out of empathy or pity, you don't know. He never did again after he married his second, neither when she left. Nor with the next one, and so on. His polite smile when arriving to your office to finalize each never faltered, so maybe Harry was right, at least in that. You won't give him that much credit though, let alone tell him.

You sigh. "If he doesn't want a divorce, there's nothing I can do. What I do, is the legal procedures. Not magic"

"I think you're underestimating yourself" like a nurturing father. You don't know how much you need those words, the forbidden warmth in your chest rather embarrassing. "You could change anyone's mind"

"Right. I'm not a witch"

"Pretty sure I heard a few of your employees call you Wicked Witch of the East Coast as I walked by" he smirks.

"Well, Broadway isn't that far. I'm glad you appreciate their wit" but your gaze is cold. "When you keep them close, they're pretty much the same, but I know I've got both admirers and enemies" a breath goes by. "I'm curious, though. Which are you?"

He's as surprised by your boldness as yourself. Maybe it's the late hour or the bitter adrenaline of caffeine in your veins.

"I'm whatever you want me to be" in that infuriating tone you've yet to decipher; you hate the unknown.

"Always the gentleman" you concede, icy. "Now be the one who tells me why the hell I'm supposed to help your fallen friend"

"Because I'm asking you to"

The tension could be cut with kid scissors.

"Are you paying in advance?" you ask, throat dry.

The billionare smiles.

"A true business woman. Your dad was right"

You give him a tight smile. "He mocks me"

"I don't"

He raises from his seat, an indentation in the shape of him where he just sat. More of Harry in your life, in guarded spaces previously only your own.

"Good. Do we have a deal?"

You extend your hand. When he takes it in his, something clicks.

Harry smiles. "We do"

Your hand burns as if you've just made a deal with the devil.

"Goodnight" he exits your office, voice as soft as only Harry Castillo can.

For a moment, your hand still in the air as his back loses in the dark shadows of your closed office, you can't help but think you've made the worst mistake of your life by agreeing.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco (comment if u wanna be added!)

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devilish-cherry · 2 days ago

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choso relationship headcanons pt 2 ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ part one

ᨳ♡₊➳ me, not posting content for months: 🛌💤

also me the second choso crosses my mind: 🧍‍♀️💻🔥

i abandoned you all for two months but crawled out from under my rock at the call of my choso thirst alone. brand consistency is on point. nature is healing. please accept these headcanons as a humble offering before i crawl back into my hole. 😌🖤

₊⊹. choso's idea of waking you up gently is hovering over your sleeping form silently, staring until your soul feels his presence, and you wake up in sheer terror. "good morning," he deadpans, genuinely puzzled by your startled gasp. "were you dreaming badly?"

₊⊹. choso insists on watching those overly dramatic soap operas with you because his memories vaguely recall his vessel's grandma watching them. now he's deeply invested in the plot. you find him dramatically yelling at the tv, "do not give him the rose, mari! he betrayed your trust!" if you miss an episode, he's like, "i have updates. you will not believe who betrayed who."

₊⊹. he's surprisingly good at video games once he learns them, but is personally betrayed whenever your animal crossing villagers move out. you find him softly murmuring to your switch, "was my hospitality inadequate?"

₊⊹. choso discovered cooking tutorials on youtube exactly once and now he's committed to mastering japanese cuisine. unfortunately, it usually ends up with rice burnt to the bottom of your favorite pan. he always looks so earnestly distressed, blinking at the scorched remains, "this isn’t how chef kenichi said it would turn out…"

₊⊹. once he found out houseplants increase serotonin, your apartment basically turned into a botanical garden. he gets emotionally attached to each plant. you swear you've caught him softly reassuring a succulent, "you are doing well. keep photosynthesizing."

₊⊹. he knows how to use chopsticks, shake hands, and make a dentist appointment, all thanks to his vessel, but he has never emotionally processed any of those things. he does them like he’s cosplaying a civilian. that’s why he answers the door for the delivery driver by simply saying, “greetings.” and then doesn’t move to take the bag. just stares. the driver glances at the food, at choso, back at the food, like maybe this is a very elaborate mugging. you quickly jump in and handle the transaction while choso whispers to you, “they were unusually tense. suspicious?”

₊⊹. choso genuinely thinks the "don't talk to me until i've had my coffee" mugs you bought ironically mean you require silence in the morning. so every dawn, he sits in complete silence next to you, handing you coffee with reverence like you’re some ancient deity who must not be angered.

₊⊹. he knows how laundry works, in theory. but the first time you ask him to handle it, he somehow ends up washing your whites with a vibrant red hoodie. now everything you own is pink. he looks at you, tilting his head slightly. "pink suits you. i improved your wardrobe."

₊⊹. he doesn’t fully get sarcasm, so when you joke, "wow, love that for us," after you both spectacularly burn dinner, he nods sincerely, "i also appreciate our unified failure." he eventually adopts your sarcastic sense of humor but misses the delivery entirely, resulting in gems like, "oh great, another sunny day. precisely what we needed." completely serious, staring at a cloudless sky.

₊⊹. he tries to cheer you up by sending animal videos he discovers online but sends you bizarrely intense wildlife survival clips instead. "look, love. it's a meerkat narrowly escaping death. inspiring, isn't it?"

₊⊹. your first time visiting a pet cafe was his personal awakening. now, whenever he's stressed, you inevitably end up at the local cat café watching him silently commune with the cats. "they understand," he assures you while cradling a grumpy-looking cat named 'pancake'. "we should consider joint custody of this cat."

₊⊹. he knows what a “joke” is. he even knows the formula. set up → punchline → laughter. but when he tries to tell one, it’s like watching someone who read about humor but has never experienced it. he also always forgets the punchline halfway through and solemnly finishes, "i'm sorry. this was supposed to be humorous."

₊⊹. choso likes to hold hands, but doesn't quite understand when it’s socially acceptable. you once ended up awkwardly holding his hand while explaining to your landlord why the sink was broken, choso calmly beside you, fingers entwined, giving zero context.

₊⊹. choso tries texting you once, but doesn't understand emojis. you receive an ominous message: "Come home. 🔪🍅" and spend the entire day convinced something horrifying awaits you. turns out, he just wanted help cutting tomatoes.

₊⊹. choso believes firmly in quality cuddle sessions. he doesn't ask; he merely strategically drapes himself nearby until you notice and concede. you finally ask why he doesn't just say he wants cuddles, and he blinks slowly. "that seems aggressive."

₊⊹. choso finds diy tutorials online and tries them secretly to surprise you. spoiler alert: he’s hilariously bad at them. you've come home to questionable-looking clay mugs, half-painted canvases, and one very strange knitted... something. he presents each with absolute sincerity, "it is handmade. by me."

₊⊹. he randomly gives you head pats but doesn’t understand the social nuance, sometimes patting your head gently during serious conversations. "this is comfort." he declares, clearly satisfied with himself.

₊⊹. you once sarcastically called him “my strong little man” after he carried a heavy grocery bag. this man did not talk for an hour. he was processing. he sat down with a glass of water and said, “i am not little. but i am... yours.” you almost choked.

₊⊹. choso is basically your shadow in public places because he learned from his vessel's memories that partners stay close. sometimes so close he accidentally steps on your heel repeatedly. if you ever ask him for more space, he just blinks, totally deadpan. "i am ensuring your safety."

₊⊹. one day, you jokingly said, "ugh, i’d marry whoever does the dishes tonight," and you've never seen choso move so fast in his life. the plates nearly shattered from his enthusiasm alone.

₊⊹. if you ask him to pass you a towel while showering, he reaches into the bathroom with his eyes dramatically shut tight. his determination to respect your privacy while also being helpful is ridiculously endearing.

₊⊹. despite his perpetual resting bored face, choso genuinely believes everything you do is incredibly cool. you open a tricky jar? "incredible strength." you manage to fix the wifi router? "unmatched technological prowess." he looks at you like you're simultaneously beyoncé and albert einstein incarnate. it’s honestly adorable.

₊⊹. sometimes, he stares at your shared life, photos, plants, mugs, and mutters to himself, “i never thought i’d have this.”

#jujutsu kaisen #choso #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk #jjk crack #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #choso kamo x reader

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on-the-clear-blue · 2 days ago

Text

Some more angst, but with some fluff, not a lot tho

Leslie, after promising that Bruce hadn't made a deal with a devil or done mad science to bring Jason back, had given the boy a check up, running proper scans that couldn't be done at the Cave (yet.)

Even if Jason's fatal wounds had been mended, there were many that wasn't, not to mention the damage he had done to his hands digging his way out of the grave.

(Bruce had gone there one night, after Alfred had been sworn twice over to be by the boys side at all time, he saw the muddy trail leading away from the dug open grave, the shards of wood coated with blood, if Bruce was any other man he would have thrown up by the mere sight of it all.)

From Leslie's tests, (and the autopsy report that he had never was able to make himself read) Bruce learned the extent of what his little son was suffering, X-rays showed his hands had broke at his escape, his wrists which had been broke before he was buried barely mended and brittle.

A head CT showed why Jason struggled to speak, brain damage barely healed enough for him to function, leaving him in state of a continuous concussion.

The rest of the boy's body followed much like his hands, barely put back together, like a broken porcelain doll glued back together and played with before the glue had a chance to set.

---

Jason wasn't the same, Bruce couldn't help but notice as he got used to having his son back with him, his boy struggled so much now. The simplest tasks now herculean with the amount of effort that he had to put in with it.

Bruce helped as much as he could, always getting up to help his son stand, carring him up the long staircases of the Manor (Bruce would never admit it but he loved the closness of those little moments) though Jason was still his little spitfire underneath all difficulties he now faced.

Jason always managed to dress himself, though now most of his clothing were much more loose, easier to slip on and off, with no buttons his shaky hands struggled with nor zippers that his aching fingers couldn't properly zip.

He still was able to feed himself, though it took time for him to learn how to again, the now constant tremors he was plagued with caused more woe that Bruce liked to think about.

Not all of Jason was able to peak through though, the boy hardly spoke anymore, and when he did, his voice was weak and ragged, smoke and dust of the explosion leaving their mark on him.

Another issue Bruce had noticed was that Jason struggled to read, he would sit and stare at a page for long minutes, managing only a single chapter in the time Bruce knew that he used to be able to tear through the whole book.

Bruce had to intervene, sitting next to his son and pulling him close, the man settled him on his lap (something that Jason protested minorly), and after pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Jason's head, Bruce read for his boy, letting him close his eyes and just listen for that moment.

---

It was a month later when Bruce finally got up the courage (as well as a weak pleading look from Jason, and a single raised eyebrow from Alfred) to finally reach back out to Dick.

It had been nearly 6 months since he had heard from his eldest, though that didn't mean Bruce hadn't kept tabs on him.

Knowing right when Dick usually took a break from his work, Bruce pressed the call button, his eyes squeezing shut as the phone started to ring.

It rung once, twice, and a third time, before it was finally cut off. At first Bruce thought that Dick declined the call before he heard his sons clipped tone.

"What do you want Mr. Wanye."

Those words sunk into his chest like an arrow, and Bruce had to take a short breath before speaking.

"Richard...Dick I...I need you to come home. Something has happened and I-"

"Home? Do you mean the Manor Mr Wanye? Because I think last time we spoke you said it would never be my home. That it was a mistake to take me in." There was a growl to Dicks voice as he spoke, and Bruce could only imagine his sons clenched fists, knuckles white as he resisted the urge to yell.

Guilt built up like a tidal wave inside of Bruce, much like the bile that was rising in his throat, he had said that didn't he? He just wanted Dick to get away, to leave before Bruce's defections grew even more into his son, like a mold digging deep into the core.

"Dick please...I..." Bruce struggled with words, his throat felt tight, but he wanted...no needed to speak to Richard.

"Its Jason. He is alive. Something happened and he is back. I...I understand that you don't want to speak to me but...But please...he misses you."

Dick was silent on the other end, the only way Bruce knew he was still on the call was the shaky breaths that sounded through the receiver.

"If you are lying I will break both your arms and leave you in Arkham to rot like the insane, narcissistic bastard that you are. Don't be at the Manor when I get there."

Bruce wasn't able to get a word in before he heard the call drop, and he was left standing in his study, looking down at his phone as the guilt grew and grew.

---

And when Dick arrived Bruce was no where to be scene.

The first Robin, freshly his own man stepped back down onto the dark pavement of a place that he swore he would never return to.

Alfred was waiting by the steps, grabbing him into a frim hug before pulling back, his normally professional passive mask was gone, and a sad smile instead adorned his face.

"Welcome home Master Richard...welcome home..." and at that moment, Dick felt that maybe it was once his home. But not anymore.

Sighing slightly but returning the hug, Dick pulled away from the older man, a frown set on his face, "Bruce told me...Alfred is it true is he-"

Dicks words died in his throat as he saw movement at the front door, first assuming Bruce was coming out, that he was actually at the Manor, but...no.

It was Jason, God it felt like Dick was sucker punched in the gut, breath left him as he stared up at the boy from the steps, his eyes taking in every detail

The boy looked rough, there was scars across his face, jagged and still fresh looking, and he had a sickly palor that just seemed wrong.

"J-Jaybird? Is...holy fuck it's you..." Dick was moving before he could even think, taking the steps two at a time to get up by the door even quicker.

Jason smiled weakly, shuffling a bit over to him, letting out a soft "Hi Dickie" as said man wrapped Jason in his famous octopus hug.

Dick took a while to pull off of Jason, tears prickling at his eyes, but practically jumped back when he heard the soft whimper of pain come from Jason. "Sorry sorry...Fuck I am sorry your..." thousands of words wanted to spill out all at once but Dick stopped himself, just staring down at Jason, watching as the boy took the walker that Dick didn't even see Alfred fetching.

"I-its okay Dickie...J-just squeezed to hard..." Jason tried a smirk but it only came out as a grimace, but that turned into a frown at the look of panic on Dicka face.

"S-stop that. I...I get enough pity from D-dad." Jason said, stopping to cough half way through, which only caused the panic to shift to anger than guilt.

Alfred sighed softly as he watched the brothers, Dick looked worse than he did the last time he was at the Manor, his hair longer and tangled, dark bags under his eyes and seemed to favor his right leg, and the older man was sure that if he tapped the left it, Dick would crumple in pain.

"Gentlemen, Might I suggest to continue in the parlor? It is not too wise to have Master Jason standing for longer than he needs."

Jason gave another frown, squinting at Alfred while Dick hurriedly agreed, trying to usher Jason back into the place he once called home.

---

Bruce watched from the Cave, the security cameras of the Manor playing the live footage of his sons, and Bruce could only feel anguish as he watched the two of them sit, Jason laying his head on Dicks chest, watching as his oldest froze, the way Dick was practically forced by the hurting young boy to card his fingers through his hair, as if Dick though that if he touched Jason wrong the boy would dissappear.

Bruce though the same, that if he looked away for just a moment that he wouldn't be there, that Jason would be dead all over again.

The man held his face in his hands and wept. Because Bruce knew that deep down, that in the depths of his soul that he deserved this pain, that the suffering he caused to his little sons to endure for his foolish crusade meant that he must sit on the side lines, watching as his sons are reunited again.

---

And after hours, after Jason falls asleep and Dick spent that time acting as his human pillow, long after Bruce had cried every tear he had and dragged himself away, donning his regalia once more to be the Bat, and after Dick had left to patrol his own streets.

A young boy watched, eyes glistening with tears, joy and relief welling up in his heart as he watched through the lense of his camera, his Robin was alive. Robin was magic.

He came back.

Just like he promised he would

I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.

#batman #batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #making a surprise appearance #tim drake #Dick and Bruces legendary screaming matches #bruce said some things he can never take back #bruce wanye and the foot he put in his mouth #bruce hates himself and blames every problem that his children have on himself #also he has yet to tell Barbara #babs is going to be so fucking pissed #disabled Jason Todd #Dick is so guilty about not knowing Jason as well as he should have #he is still on the road of becoming the smiley Nightwing #he is still the murder Robin at heart ala the teen titans tv show

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sincerelyhunnybee · 3 days ago

Text

ʚɞ i wanna be the only one you need (eren x afab!reader) ʚɞ

♡ cw: modern au, smut, drinking, aggressive and possessive behavior, eren (he’s a content warning himself), explicit and foul language, angst w/ happy ending ೀfrom bee: this is a long overdue piece for @theseabreezestreet lyrical love event (sowwy </3) i highly recommend listening to the song before or after reading i looove it !! but ikr eren in my 2025 ?? who would've thought. enjoy <3

mdni - 3.8k

The street lights lit up the inside of the car as you passed them, casting soft, fleeting shadows across the dashboard. Eren kept his eyes on the road, expression unreadable, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting against the window. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the empty sidewalks and shuttered storefronts blur by. The only sound in the otherwise dead silent car was the soft grunge bleeding from the radio. It sounded like Radiohead. Of course Zeke’s music taste would rub off on him, you thought.

Fifteen minutes of silence had stretched too far. You chewed on your bottom lip, nerves crawling beneath your skin. Had you really done it this time? Had you finally pushed him too far?

The night had started out innocent—just you and some friends celebrating the end of a stressful week. Totally normal, right? Except your ex had shown up. And between the drinks, the dim lighting, and whatever heat the music stirred in your chest, you found yourself making out with him by the bar. Every warning Eren—and all your friends—had given you about staying away from him evaporated the moment his lips touched yours.

You remembered pulling back, staring into his eyes, momentarily forgetting why you'd even broken up. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or some pathetic ache for something familiar, but the words still left your mouth: “We should try to make things work again.” And he laughed. Right in your face.

“Are you serious? I just wanted to see if we’d fuck or something,” he said, brushing you off like you were nothing.

You stood there, dumbfounded, humiliated, your high hopes crashing into the floor like glass. He chuckled at your expression and shook his head, “It was nice seein’ you around,” before disappearing into the crowd.

To recover from the burn, you ordered a shot. Maybe two. Maybe three. Drunk and spiraling, you made the worst mistake of the night—you pulled out your phone and called the one person you shouldn’t have. The one person who’d been through enough because of you.

Eren answered on the second ring with a confused, “Hello?”

You spilled everything. And his silence said more than words ever could.

Not even thirty minutes later, he was dragging you out of the club by the wrist—your knight in a dull black hoodie.

And now here you were, sitting in silence, enduring the cold shoulder from your childhood best friend. It was warranted, sure. Still sucked. By now, the buzz had worn off, thanks to the bartender who insisted you chug water before Eren showed up. You stared down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers until finally—

“We’re here.”

You blinked, looking up to realize he’d pulled into his apartment complex.

“This isn’t where I live,” you muttered.

He parked, unbuckling his seatbelt without looking at you. “I know. But who knows what the fuck else you’ll do if I leave you alone.”

His words cut sharper than they probably should’ve. You flinched. Still, you climbed out of the black Dodge Challenger and followed him up to his place. Inside, the apartment felt unusually quiet. No one was there—not even Connie, who usually crashed on the couch with a bowl in hand and 90 Day Fiancé on full blast.

“Armin’s out of town visiting his grandfather,” Eren said flatly, already making his way to his room. “He’ll be gone for the weekend. You can sleep in his room. He won’t care.”

You stood in the entryway for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. Eventually, you slipped off your shoes and made your way to Armin’s room. It was neat, like always, and smelled faintly of fresh linen.

Meanwhile, Eren stood in his room, hands buried in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as if that would help untangle the mess in his head.

How could you be so stupid? How could you run back to someone who gave you nothing—when he’d always given you everything? How could you do that to him?

The love he poured into you—silently, constantly—was supposed to be for him. Only him. And still, here he was, picking you up off the floor like always. Playing the part of the fool.

He shook his head and peeled off his hoodie, tossing it aside. He walked over to his Bluetooth speaker and let some indie rock fill the room, hoping the sound would drown out his thoughts. Falling back against his black sheets, he stared up at the ceiling, fingers tapping against his chest in time with the music.

A knock broke through the haze.

“Come in,” he called, voice flat.

You stepped in cautiously, trying to make your presence as light as possible. The air felt thick, the tension unbearable. You were in deep shit with Eren, there was no denying it. The easy, nonchalant version of him had vanished. Now he leaned back on his elbows, green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Annoyance. Frustration. Maybe worse.

It felt like your existence in his space irritated him. But you were wrong.

You lit something in him. You always had. He didn’t just feel bothered. He burned for you. Craved your voice. Your defiance. Your warmth. Even now.

You swallowed hard. “...Hey.”

You shifted from one foot to the other, your discomfort plain. “You mad at me?”

What a dumb fucking question. Of course he was mad.

Eren raised a brow. “What do you think?”

Here it comes.

“I don’t know. Maybe the silent treatment since you picked me up? Locking yourself in your room after saying maybe ten words to me?” Your voice rose, irritation seeping in. “If you’re so mad, Eren, why the fuck did you bring me here? You could’ve left me at home. Hell, if I was such an inconvenience, I would’ve just taken an Uber.”

“You’re the one who called me. Drunk, might I add. You think I wasn’t gonna show up?” Eren moved his body off of the bed, standing up now. His body language defensive.

Fair point. But still, why show up only to ice you out?

“Well yeah… you’re my friend. Isn’t that what friends do?” Your voice cracked a little on the last word. It made you feel weak. But shouldn’t you be allowed to feel weak around your best friend?

Eren stepped forward, head tilted slightly. “And what does that mean to you? Being friends?” He took another step. “Does it mean one person is stuck worrying if the other’s going to destroy themselves the second they’re left alone?”

You stepped back. “What the fuck do you mean by that, Eren? You think I can’t take care of myself?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Clearly, it fucking shows that you can’t! Who’s the one making sure you’re drinking water? Who reminds you to eat? To finish that paper due at the end of the week? Without me, where would you even be, huh?”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. “Am I really that much of a burden to you? Aren’t we friends? That’s what friends do… right? Take care of each other?”

He looked away, eyes landing on the poster above his bed. “Of course we’re friends.”

“Yeah? Then what does that mean to you? Because right now, you’re acting like it’s a chore to care about me.” Your voice wavered, but the anger behind it was solid. “Just say it. If you don’t want to be in my life anymore, I’ll fucking go. I’ll leave you alone, Eren. You won’t have to worry about me again.”

“No, that’s not—Ugh, that’s not what I’m saying!” He ran his hands through his hair again. “Just stop being so fucking blind for one second!”

“NO! Stop telling me what to do! What are you, my fucking babysitter? You get mad every time I go out or do anything that doesn’t involve you. You’re acting like a jealous, possessive child.”

He scoffed. “A child? That’s rich coming from someone who made out with their ex like some pathetic excuse for closure. What was it again? Oh right… You’re still in love with someone else. Admit it.”

“In love? With someone else? Like who, Eren? You?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Pain flickered across his face.

“You… You don’t mean that, do you?”

“Oh, now you wanna act like you care about what I think?” you snapped. “Maybe I should’ve called Jean. Or Reiner. At least they wouldn’t throw shit in my face the second I let my guard down.”

You turned to storm out—but his hand caught your arm, firm. “Only me…” he mumbled.

Your eyes widened. “Eren, what the fuck are you doing? Let me—”

“I said, ‘I want you to need only me.’”

“You were just complaining about—”

“I know what the fuck I said,” he interrupted, his voice breaking. “But I’ve never once not shown up for you. Not once. I’m just so fucking frustrated because you don’t see it—you don’t see how much I care about you. How much I want to be the only one you need.”

You stood there, speechless. He’d never seen you that way. Quiet. Still.

And then you said it: “I… I don’t get it. You have women lining up for you. You never made it seem like I was anything more than just your friend. And now you’re yelling at me about not being able to take care of myself? That’s not how you confess to someone, Eren.”

The silence stretches. Eren’s jaw clenches, his fingers still wrapped tight around your arm. But now it’s not to stop you—it’s like he’s holding on, afraid that if he lets go, so will you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, his voice softer now, tinged with something close to desperation. “You’re not a burden. You never were. It’s just—fuck—it’s exhausting watching you let people treat you like shit. Watching you chase people who’ll never show up for you like I do. Like I always fucking do.”

You stare at him. His face is flushed, eyebrows drawn together in frustration, but beneath all that, there’s something raw. Something fragile. You’ve never seen him this way. Not even when his mom passed. Not when his dad skipped town. Not even on that night you both sat under the train bridge, seventeen and scared of the world.

“I didn’t chase him,” you whisper. “It was stupid. I was drunk. I thought I wanted something that made sense because everything else feels like it’s spinning and—”

“You called me.” His voice cuts through, low and heavy. “You could’ve called anyone. Jean, Reiner… hell, even Mikasa. But you didn’t. You called me. So don’t stand there and act like I don’t matter.”

You blink at him, and maybe it’s the way his voice cracks near the end, or how his grip loosens as if afraid he’s crossed a line. But you can’t deny what he's saying. Because he’s right. You always call him. He’s the first name in your contacts and the only one who always picks up.

“Then say it,” you whisper. “Don’t skirt around it. Say what you want, Eren. Because I’m tired of trying to figure it out.”

His lips part, but the words falter on his tongue. You watch the war in his eyes—pride versus fear, longing versus restraint. Then, slowly, like he’s choosing to jump from a cliff with no landing in sight, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I hate that it took you breaking your own heart for me to say it.”

You exhale shakily. The room feels still. His confession hangs in the air, vibrating with a quiet intensity.

“You’re a dumbass,” you finally say, but your voice is shaking. “You could’ve just told me instead of being a passive-aggressive shit head for the past few months.”

He snorts, eyes softening. “Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly giving off ‘date me’ vibes either.”

Silence again. This time, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with everything unsaid, but also something new.

Hope.

You glance down at his hand, still wrapped around your wrist. Then back at him. “So now what?”

Eren steps forward, slow and cautious like you’re something delicate. Something he’s afraid to break. “Now... you sleep in my bed. And we talk in the morning. And maybe... maybe you let me show you what it’s like to be loved right.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. His words are gentle, but his gaze is fierce, protective, possessive in a way that should scare you. But instead, it makes you feel safe.

The word leaves your lips so quietly you almost don’t hear yourself say it. “Okay.”

Eren exhales like he’s been holding his breath for eons. He steps forward again, slow and deliberate, his hand slides down from your wrist to your fingers. He intertwines them with his, grounding himself in the feel of your skin.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “If you don’t want—if this isn’t what you want—tell me now.”

Your heart pounds. “I called you because I wanted you,” you whisper. “Even if I didn’t realize it then… It’s always been you.”

That’s all he needs.

His mouth crashes onto yours, not rough, not forceful, but urgent. Like he’s been waiting for permission to fall apart, and you just gave it to him. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. Your back hits the wall as his hands come up to cradle your face, lips pressing into yours with a desperate kind of reverence. His tongue slips past your lips, slow and deliberate, tasting, savoring. You moan into his mouth, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt until you yank it up and over his head.

He breaks the kiss for a moment to shrug off his shirt. His hands go to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s memorizing the feel of you, green eyes are blown wide with something primal.

You respond with a soft moan.

“I want you to remember this,” he says, voice low and firm. “Not him. Not anyone else. Me.”

He gently pushes you down onto the bed, crawling over you. He took you in below him. Your warm face, lips slightly swollen from kissing, and needy eyes that he could get lost in.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, almost like it hurts to admit. “You’re mine.”

You arch into his touch when a hand slides down your side. “Then show me, Eren.”

“Let me take my time with you,” he murmurs, kissing a path down your neck. “Wanna learn everything that makes you shake.”

You nod breathlessly.

Eren trails kisses over your collarbone, then lower, pulling your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach before you feel the warmth of his tongue teasing around your belly button. He glances up at you as he unbuttons your jeans, eyes asking silent permission.

You lift your hips in answer.

He slowly slides them off, dragging your underwear with them. “Soooo fucking pretty,” he mutters under his breath, spreading your legs gently. You feel exposed—vulnerable—but the hunger in his eyes makes you melt into it.

Eren leans down, pressing soft kisses along your inner thigh, then lets his tongue trace an agonizing path upward. His hands hold your hips in place as he licks a slow stripe up between your wet folds, piercing, emerald eyes flicking up to watch your reaction.

“God,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair, undoing the half bun.

He groans into you. “Say my name.”

“Eren…”

“That’s it. Louder, baby.”

He works you open with his tongue, methodical and unrelenting. One hand snakes up to squeeze your breast, thumb brushing your nipple while he sucks gently at your perky clit.

You’re a mess already, hips bucking toward his face, legs trembling. “Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for.

“Want my fingers?” he asks, lips glistening as he pulls back just enough to speak. “Or should I keep making you cum just like this?”

“I-I want—fuck—you.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

He crawls up your body, kissing along your stomach, your sternum, your jaw. His lips find yours again, and you taste yourself on his tongue. As he settles between your legs, two fingers slide into you first, slow, curling perfectly to hit that spot inside that makes you gasp.

“Feel good?” he whispers, thrusting them in and out gently.

You nod, panting. “Yes, Eren! I’m s-so close already—”

His fingers pump into you faster. “Wanna feel you cum around me. Want you to fall apart for me first.”

And you do. Your legs lock around him as you cry out, head thrown back, the orgasm crashing through you in waves. Eren keeps going until you’re twitching, until you have to push weakly at his hard chest.

He slides his fingers out gently, kissing your temple. “Still with me?”

“Barely,” you whisper, dizzy with pleasure.

“Good.” He undoes his belt with one hand, eyes locked on yours. “I’m not done showing you how much I want you.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, pulling out his hard cock from his jeans. You see the small glint of precum dripping down from the head to the shaft in the dim lighting of his room. Lining himself up between your thighs, he pushes the head of his cock to kiss your clit a few times. Sending waves of euphoria down your spine. One hand holds your waist, the other cups your face. “Look at me,” he says. “I wanna see your eyes when I’m inside you.”

You make eye contact with him, and it’s intense. When he pushes in, it’s slow, controlled. You both release a moan at the same time, and Eren buries his face into your neck with a strained breath. “Fuck. You feel like home.”

His hips roll, building a rhythm that’s deliberate, possessive, but worshipful. Each thrust grows more desperate, his lips brushing yours between curses and confessions between gritted teeth:

“Only I get to see you like this.” “You called me, baby. Don’t forget that.” “Let me take care of you—like I’ve always wanted to.”

“Say you need me.” He begs.

“I need you,” you whisper, breathless. “Only you.” Your fingers claw down his back, nails leaving faint red trails.

That does something to him. His thrusts get sharper, deeper, and his voice turns guttural. “That’s right… You belong to me.” A hand moves down to grip your thigh and pushes it up, getting even deeper. Wet paps and huffs are all that fill the room

Your moans turn incoherent, your body trembling under his. Eren slows just enough to press a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. “Gonna come for me?” he whispers, voice ragged. “Come while I’m inside you, yeah?”

You nod frantically, and with a few more thrusts, it hits you. Hard. Eren follows moments later. He groans your name like a prayer, spilling into you and holding you through every second of his orgasm. His thrusts become slower and sloppier until he stops, but still buried at the hilt.

He doesn’t move for a long moment, just holds you close, his forehead resting against yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, lips brushing his.

A warm glow of morning leaks through the black curtains, painting gold across Eren’s bedroom walls. The apartment is quiet, still empty, still yours and his. The sheets are tangled at your ankles, warm skin pressed against warm skin. You’re the first to stir, blinking into the new day.

Eren’s arm is heavy around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck. He’s not fully awake, but his grip tightens slightly when you try to shift away.

“Mmm, don’t move,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep.

You smirk, the tension from the night before now replaced with something softer. “Dude, I have to pee.”

“No, you don’t,” he grumbles. “You just want to escape before I tell you how annoyingly cute you are in the morning.”

You snort. “You’re delusional. I look like I wrestled a raccoon in my sleep.”

He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes. His hair is a mess, wild wispy strands frame his face, and there’s a sleepy sort of affection in his gaze that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“I’d wrestle a raccoon for you.”

You blink. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grins, kisses your collarbone lazily, then flops onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “Too early to be emotionally vulnerable. Let me pretend I’m cool for ten more minutes.”

You roll to your side to face him. “You’re not cool. You cried when we watched A Silent Voice.”

“That was Armin’s fault for putting it on during finals week,” he says defensively. “I was already emotionally compromised between organic chemistry and microbiology.”

You laugh, and it’s easy—too easy, given everything that’s just happened the night before. That scares you a little. Because it feels good, and nothing good ever stays for long in your world.

Eren notices the shift instantly. Your laughter dies out, and your eyes fall to the sheet you start fidgeting with between your fingers.

“What is it?” he asks, softer now. “Talk to me.”

You hesitate for a moment, “Why’d you wait so long to tell me how you felt?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds. You can almost hear him sifting through his thoughts before he finally answers.

“Because I thought I’d ruin what we’ve had for so long,” he says plainly. “You’re the most important person in my life. If I fucked this up—if I said the wrong thing, if you didn’t feel the same—I don’t think I could’ve handled losing you.”

Your throat tightens. “So instead you let yourself sit there and watch me fall apart?”

“I thought being your friend was enough,” he says. “But watching you kiss someone who didn’t give a shit about you? Watching you call him instead of me, or worse, go home with him instead of me. It killed me every single time.”

“I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.”

“You weren’t,” he says quickly, reaching for your hand under the blanket. “Not on purpose. You’ve never been cruel. Just… blind. Like I was.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Eren shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. I’m telling you because last night meant something to me. Not just the sex. Not just the fighting. All of it. And I need to know we’re not pretending it didn’t happen.”

You stare at him. His brows are slightly furrowed, lips parted like he’s holding back more. And in that moment, you realize just how long he’s loved you. Quietly, steadily, even when you were looking the other way.

“We’re not pretending,” you whisper. “We’re here. I’m here.”

Relief softens his expression, like he’s been waiting years to hear that.

You press your forehead to his. “What now?”

“Now,” he says, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “you let me take you to breakfast. And we pretend like this is normal. Like we’ve always been like this.”

“And after breakfast?”

“I keep showing up. Like I always have. But this time, you let me love you out in the open.”

special thank u to @qichun for beta reading 🫶

#𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 #🖋.writing #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #reader insert #x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #eren smut #aot smut #aot x female reader #eren x fem!reader

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