#okay i’m done for tonight don’t worry

[yaoi-enthusiasts]

wake me up

cw: sleep sex | oral | cream pie | fingering | squirting | MDNI

Your husband Kento Nanami, a jujutsu sorcerer, that title meant one thing: unpredictable home time. Despite his contract specifying a 6 PM sharp departure, he couldn’t simply leave if he was engrossed in a mission. But tonight was different. He requested a day off, intending to train with the students at the school. “Satoru, I need you to handle the missions tomorrow. I promised my wife I’d be home for dinner,” he grunted to the white-haired man. “Oh Nanami, you just have to ask,” Satoru would pick lightly at the grumpy man,

Knowing your husband was getting off work today at precisely 6 p.m., you felt a surge of excitement. “Finally, I feel like we haven’t seen each other in weeks,” you exclaimed. It had been quite hectic since adding Yuji and Nobara joined the first years, and Megumi was no longer the only one.

“Ken should be home soon,” you thought to yourself. You found yourself checking your phone every five minutes, making sure you didn’t miss a text, a call, or the time. 

6:00 PM

You spent the entire day meticulously preparing for his return home, eager to shower him with a delightful surprise. You diligently cleaned the house, prepared his favorite meal, indulged in a relaxing exfoliation session, shaved, and even went and got your nails done. All day long, you had been yearning for his presence, hoping that he would finally have his eyes solely on you, not on those tedious reports he usually gets stuck doing at midnight. 

This morning, he was unusually affectionate, slowly caressing your thighs, his lips tracing the nape of your neck, and drawing sweet circles at your thighs. His other hand lightly groped your breast, and he was painfully hard, yearning to sheath himself inside you. It wasn’t quite time to get up, which only made him more excited. He had time to pamper you with his love, stuffing his fingers into your heat. Suddenly, his phone started ringing. 

Letting out a frustrated moan, he pulled his soaked fingers out of you, leaving you whimpering. His line of work required him to answer his phone even off duty, which always frustrated you to no end. Grunting as he walked over to his ringing phone, he muttered, “Fuck. Who the hell could be calling me?” He snatched his phone from the dresser and growled, “Fucking Satoru.” He groaned once again. 

“What is it Gojo-San?” Nanami ask begrudgingly, “Nanamiiiiii-“ Satoru says in a shrill

You didn’t hear all that was said, but as soon as the call ended, your husband stood up and kissed your forehead. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he said, “but I have to leave. I promise we’ll finish what we started when I get home.” He smiled faintly.

“Everything okay?” you ask, wrapping the sheets around you as he enters the shower to prepare for another day of slaying curses. A job you despised, but you knew that his office job was suffocating him and devoid of any purpose in his life. 

“Yeah, just some curses. Nothing to be worried about. Satoru is out of town for something last minute, so I have to take the new kid, Yuji Itadori, with me today.” He says while washing his face. You see the bubbles of soap form and sink into his skin, eventually draining down the drain. You look down and see his member hard as a rock, which makes him look frustrated. 

“Are you sure we can’t fix that before you leave?” You smirk, “Don’t tease me, or you’ll regret it later.” He groans, and you watch as he gently strokes it in the shower, knowing he’s about to burst any second. He yearns to bend you over right then and there, but he knows if he does, he’ll be late and won’t be able to stop. And then, there it is, he’s finished all over his hand, and the water washes it off. 

“Could’ve been me,” You moan, “Get out before you tempt me anymore.” He says, looking away from you. You do as he says. You already know how hard working your husband is, you wanted nothing more but to show him how much you appreciate him, how much you admire him, and that he didn’t have to worry about a thing. 

Little did you know that your husband would be working overtime today, and you would be fast asleep by the time he returned home. 

Hubby🩵: Baby I'm running late today, I promise I will be home as soon as I can. I love you. - 6:02PM

As you lay in bed, watching some trashy reality TV, time just seemed to pass quickly, trying to stay awake, you look over at the clock, “Maybe he’ll be home soon, I mean he will have to heat up dinner, shower, eat, he’s going to be exhausted when he gets home,” you thought, eyeing the clock,

11:46PM 

Cuddled up to your husband’s pillow, and the red wine filling your senses, you felt yourself start to doze, your last thought being, how much you wished your husband was lying beside you right now. 

It was 1 in the morning, and Nanami finally made it home. Feeling sluggish and ready to lay in bed next to his wife and feel her warmth, he was thoroughly exhausted from the day. He had been injured, had to do a report, and had to explain to Yuji how this cycle never truly ends. He wasn’t only physically exhausted, but mentally done for. 

“I need to shower.” He mutters to himself. He steps into the guest bathroom, which he usually does after a mission, because he doesn’t want to get your shared bathroom dirty. Washing off his day, feeling his muscles finally loosen up, he stood there what felt like an hour. Tired, so so tired. Finally stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist, pushing his hair back out of his eyes, he heard his phone vibrate against the counter of the bathroom sink,

*Dumb Ass is Calling* “This motherfucker,” Nanami nearly smashed his phone from the grip his hand had. 

“What on earth do you want, Satoru?” Nanami hisses. “Hey, hey, calm down, Nanami-San. I just wanted to express my gratitude for taking Yuuji and taking care of those curses. Please get some rest and some well-deserved ass. Ijichi informed me about your rather grumpy attitude today, not that, it isn’t out of the ordinary for you. I suggest you take the day off tomorrow.” Satoru chuckles to himself, “I had planned on doing that. Now, fuck off.” Nanami hangs up,

His phone beeps, showing that he received a text message,

Satoru Gojo: YOUR WELCOME, have fun😼

Nanami: 🖕🏻

Satoru Gojo: 🫶🏻

He finally turns off his phone, holding onto the towel around his waist, and walks out of the restroom down the hall to your shared bedroom. He knows you’re asleep; there’s no way you stayed up this late for him. As he walks in, his eyes find your bottom half is covered by the blankets, while your top half is completely nude, and you’re sprawled out, star fishing like you do every night. Usually, you’re star fishing on him. 

“Fuck, where are your clothes?” he mutters, his erection growing. He climbs into bed, leaning in to kiss your lips, then your cheek, and finally your neck. “I can’t do this while she’s sleeping,” he groans, god was he unbelievably hard.

You had always told him how you would love to wake up to him in between your legs, but Nanami was always so gentle with you, never wanting you to be shaken by such a scene, which you loved about him, he was so respectful to you, and treasured your body, but you sometimes just wanted him to take charge and do something that wasn’t so good boy behavior. Recalling the conversation as he stroked himself next to you, “Damn it.” He says to himself, taking the blanket off your body.

Seeing your white laced panties, he was surprised his cock hadn’t bust from the scene alone, his cheeks red, he felt like a college student who had sex for the first time. “Such a pretty little thing aren’t you?” He whispers in the crook of your neck, climbing on top of you, placing kisses down your neck, going down to your breast, lapping his tongue around your nipples, blowing on them to make them hard, he placed his teeth in between your nipple, slightly biting it, he pulled a moan out of you, your dreaming form was falling apart, and he had barely done anything yet. 

“Mmm dreaming about me baby? You should wake up so you can catch the live action.” He says swirling his tongue around your areola. He craved for much more, bringing himself down to your heat, he was slow in his movements, sliding your panties down swiftly, he was desperate to get a deeper taste, “If you knew how much I’ve craved to taste you all day,” He says as he began opening your folds with his fingers, gently placing his tongue on your clit immediately. 

He knew your body more than you did, and he definitely knew where you liked it the most. He quickened the pace of his tongue, sucking on your clit, your sweet moans filled the room despite you still being asleep. He doesn’t stop, wanting to taste your nectar all over his tongue. He starts to rub his index and middle finger on your clit, rubbing it up and down quickly, as his tongue dips into your hole, tasting you deeper. Your eyes start to flutter open, and you’re moaning more now, seeing your husband in between your legs. “Ken-kento. What are you- what- ugh yes.” You try to ask what he’s doing, but he has no desire to respond back to you, and you have no desire to care, his only desire is to make you cum over and over until you have melted into him, and your only desire was to cum over and over. 

That knot in your stomach was progressively getting tighter as you felt him suck and finger your gummy walls, before you could tell him you were close, you felt the dam break, and you gushed around his fingers, and finishing all on his tongue, as he flicks his tongue up, tasting every drop coming out. 

“Ffffuuuuucccckkkkkkk” you groan bucking your hips up, practically humping into his face. “Yes baby just like that.” He says, still rubbing your clit, and abusing your hole with his tongue. He had one of your legs pinned down with his free hand, and the other one, was pinned down by his elbow, as he was still flicking your clit with his relentless tongue. 

As he continues to abuse your poor clit into overstimulation, you feel yourself about to come undone once again, giving him exactly what he was wanting. Crying out, tearing spilling from your eyes, the feeling in your stomach was so much more intense than your orgasm before, trying to pull away, he only held on tighter, lapping you up like he was starved, like this was the only way to save his life, after a few more flicks of his tongue, your vision started to blur, and you gushed out a clear liquid, that had him in complete ecstasy, “KENTOO-!” You loudly squealed, “stop, oh my god.” You cried out. Looking up tp see his face dripping with your liquid, you blushed deeply, as your chest raised up and down, trying to breathe, coming down from the highest of highs you’ve ever had. 

“Fuck, that’s was sexy baby,” He says licking his lips, wiping his face with his towel. “Nanami-“ you pant, “Yes baby?” He says, moving up to you, positioning himself to enter. “I missed you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck, as he brings his head down and starts to kiss you, sticking his tongue in your mouth. “I missed you too baby.” He kisses down your neck, sucking on it, leaving purple love marks all over. It would serve a reminder tomorrow of how much he missed you, and also how much more he was going to add. 

“I tried staying up,-ugh, Kento I tried staying awake,” You moan, as he starts to slide himself inside slowly, he was big, despite how many times you two were intimate through your marriage, you could never truly get used to his girth. Slowly pushing himself in, he let out a moan, something you didn’t hear much from him. “I’m sorry baby I was late- ugh, today was so-fuck, - it was- so-s-so stress-stressful.” He moans, feeling your walls clench around his throbbing cock, he felt like he could burst at any moment. 

“Damn baby you feel so so good.” Kento says finally pushing that last inch inside of you. Stretching you out at full capacity. “This sweet pussy has been on my mind since this morning. Can’t believe I went the whole day.” He pants, starting to thrust faster, “yes Kento, just like that.” Your moaned in his ear only spurred him on, if you thought this was the only round, you were crazy, “Fuck me baby.” You say looking into his eyes, scratching his biceps, leaving your mark on him, in the same way he left his mark on you.

That was it, that was the string that kept your husband in control, once it snapped, he and you were done for. Your pussy was about to be his flesh light, and you were going to feel every bit of what he was going to give you. 

His hips pulling back, he thrusted back into you just as quick, beginning to thrust deep and precise, kissing your G-spot with each thrust, you had came 3 times in the last 30 minutes, you didn’t know how your body was still going, you reasoned it to be the lack of intimacy, you were in need of a recharge, and this was exactly what you needed to cure the insatiable feeling. 

Nanami kept edging himself, you knew he didn’t want it to end, he would fuck you fast and hard, and as soon as he felt like he was about to bust, he was slowing down. “Kentoooo- cum inside of me,” You began to moan out, “Not yet baby, I’m not ready for this to end,” He groans, feeling himself overstimulating himself. “Baby you feel so good. We fit perfect for each other. You belong to me, do you understand?” He says, you know it’s not a question, it’s a fact. You are his, and he is yours. And he will kill anyone who tries to get in between you two. He even thought about killing Satoru, for calling him before he was supposed to even be up getting ready to leave this morning, it through his whole day off. 

“Kento, I love you.” You moaned into his ear, cumming again for the 4th time, “yes princess, cum for me,” He grunted into your ear, finally about to reach his high. He didn’t slow down his thrusting into you, absolute no desire to stop. “In or out?” He stammered, looking into your eyes for clarification, “In, please cum in me.” Your moaning had him reeling in the pleasure, it was enough to make him spill everything he had inside, and more.

As he peered into your eyes, as his thrust became sloppy and not so precise, you were cumming again, harder than ever, gushing and contracting around his cock, that was when he finally couldn’t hold himself together, shooting his hot cum deep inside of you, you felt your chest rise up and down, and the sweat from his forehead dripping down to his chin. You both were a complete utter filthy mess, and you loved every bit of it. 

“Damn, that felt amazing.” He pants, staying on top of you, not yet taking himself out of you. “It was.” You were panting to, you didn’t think you’d catch your breath for a while. “I just showered too.” He laughed, finally rolling off of you, pulling you to him, to kiss you. 

“I’m sorry I was so late today, today was long.” He sighs, kissing your nose. “That’s okay baby. I understand.” You say nuzzling your head into his sweaty chest, not even caring that you both felt sticky. 

“Princess, let’s take a shower before bed. I’ll change the sheets when we get out.” He says lifting you up, seeing his cum drip from your core. “Fuck that’s so sexy.” He whispers to himself. Stepping into the warm shower, you felt your muscles loosen, and the sweat roll off your skin, you heard your husband clear his throat, “Princess?” His eyes dark, and god his voice so sinful, “I know you’re tired, and I’m tired. But, I’m going to need you to bend over and hold that rail.” He commanded, you look over and you see his cock rock hard again. 

“Yes sir.” You smirk, you silently thanking the universe you told your husband to give you head while asleep. It was going to be an exceptionally long shower & long night. 

[nicollekidman]

“buffy season seven is not very good” okay im hearing you and im seeing what is making you say that. however, it is the spike season so,

[simplyghosting]

Me: Oh boy, I finally have some time and energy to work on my own projects.

My dad walking in about to give me a 3hr lecture on planning for the future and careers:

[cetoddle-archive]

also i got lots and lots of compliments on my outfit today and they were able to fix my necklace! i only wanted the big knot out but they fixed the other ones for me too and even cleaned it and for some reason they didn’t even charge me !! and i got my book ! yayyy

[lvl1l1]

LaDS LI’s when your child tells you to “Shut up”

pairings: Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier x F!Reader(separate)

genre: crack

a/n: dead trend i know 😔 has probably been done but it’s time to push my lads children name agenda!

Caleb

Caleb was sitting on the floor of the living room, playing with your six year old daughter, Elysia.

While you were plotting with your 12 year old son in his room.

Eden wasn’t old enough to be on social media, you however, were and you loved nothing more than to stress your husband out.

When you told your son, that you two would get into a faux argument and he was supposed to tell you to “shut up” at the climax of it, he was hesitant.

“But I don’t want to say that to you, mom…”

he had nervously said.

You ruffled his hair, smiling at your sweet boy,

“Aw, sweetheart don’t worry about it. It’s not like you’re saying it maliciously. It’ll be fine this once, just so we can see what your dad is gonna do, okay?”

Still unsure, your 12 year old slowly nodded.

He truly was a carbon copy of Caleb, especially when he looked up so bashfully at you.

“Alright, Eden, ready?”

Your son hummed, leaning into your touch before storming out the door, ready to start the scene.

“I told you, I’ll do it later, mom!”

He slammed the door shut, with you still in the room, the commotion catching Caleb’s attention.

You pushed open the door and followed the tween,

“And I’m telling you to do it now. Drop the attitude and get on with it.”

The boy groaned loudly and dramatically turned around, you made a mental note to treat him to something sweet later for his level of commitment.

You felt Caleb’s eyes on the two of you and it took you a lot to not start laughing.

“I don’t care, I’ll clean up whenever I feel like it, it’s my room!”

“Doesn’t matter! It looks like a bomb exploded in there-“

Caleb finally spoke up, noticing the rising tension,

“Hey, you two, how about-“

before he could finish what he was gonna say, your son perfectly cut in,

“Just shut up mom! Stop telling me what to do!”

Your eyes widened slightly, even though you told him to say it, it was still weird to hear you usually kind and quiet boy raise his voice like that.

You also noticed how Caleb suddenly went silent again, you looked over at your husband and were taken aback by his serious expression.

He immediately got up and you could tell, he was back in Colonel mode.

Your daughter looked at her brother, snickering.

“What makes you think you could talk to your mother like that?”

His voice was cold, missing the usually warmth it had while talking to his children.

He walked over to you two, you and your son frozen in place.

“I don’t remember raising you to be a brat with an attitude. You’ll speak to your mother with respect. Apologise.”

You decided that was enough and stepped between them, placing a hand on Caleb’s chest.

“It’s okay, honey. I told him to say that.”

Caleb looked back and forth between Eden and you, the boy shooting his father a nervous grin before rushing to sit beside his sister, who immediately went to hit him with her doll.

“You just love stressing me out, don’t you pips?”

He sighed, pulling you closer.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him.

“Seriously, I was about to teach him a lesson.”

You heard your son nervously chuckle from the living room and you winked at him.

“As if my sweet boy would ever speak to me like that willingly.”

Caleb just shook his head and walked you over to your children.

“Even if she put you up to this, Eden. You should’ve insisted that you wouldn’t do it. As punishment, you and your sister will stay over at your uncle Gideon’s tonight.”

Eden and Elysia blinked up at him, almost looking like twins,

“…how’s that a punishment?”

Caleb smirked, pulling you down to sit next to the two,

“Oh, the punishment isn’t for you. I’ll have a nice, long talk with your mother tonight.”

He ignored the incredulous look you shot him and laughed at the confusion on your children’s faces.

Rafayel

Your 14 year old son was just as eccentric and animated as his father, so once you suggested doing that trend you’d seen on tiktok, he jumped.

You two stood just outside of the kitchen Rafayel was sitting in, sketching away on his block.

Dorian whispered quietly,

“Just remember that I love you, mom. I don’t mean anything I’m about to say!”

While you thought that was sweet, you still wondered what kind of act he was about to put on, needing that kind of disclaimer.

He cleared his throat and winked at you,

“Mom, why can’t you just let me be for once?! Seriously, I can’t do anything around here!”

He pushed open the kitchen door, walking in and opening the fridge with more force than necessary.

Rafayel instantly looked up, frowning.

You took a second to collect yourself and walked in after your son.

“Dorian, you’re way too young to be out that late. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Dorian looked up exasperatedly, giving his father a look as if to say, isn’t she crazy?

“You can’t be serious! Dad, tell her she’s overreacting.”

He crossed his arms, looking at his father expectantly.

Rafayel opened his mouth, getting ready to step in, when you followed up again,

“I’m right here, Dorian. You don’t need to involved your father. If you have something to say, say it to me.”

Rafayel blinked at you, not entirely sure if he should say something now.

His inner conflict quickly came to an end when his son interrupted his train of thought,

“Oh my gosh, shut up, mom! I wasn’t talking to you.”

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel loudly closed his art block, shooting his son the nastiest glance.

“Alright, you do not speak to my wife like that.”

Dorian, much like his father, never knowing when to give up, turned back to his father in shock,

“but dad-“

As soon as he saw his father’s expression he closed his mouth.

“Keep this up and I’ll throw you into the sea. You can play with some sharks and fend for yourself.”

At that, Dorian’s eyes widened, he quickly hid behind you, not wanting to face his father’s wrath.

You just smiled up at your husband, feeling giddy at how he was so quick to defend you.

“Before you turn our son into shark food, I put him up to this.”

Rafayel’s face immediately fell, putting his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong with you.”

You faked offence and put your hand over your heart,

“Whaaat, I wanted to find out if my big, strong husband would defend me from my mean son.”

“First of all, ew, second, hey!”

Your son exclaimed, still hiding behind you.

Rafayel looked at you two, trying to look mad but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes.

“I can’t believe I have to put up with you two.”

You rolled your eyes at that,

“Honestly, we should sign Dorian up for acting. That was some impressive improv!”

Hands on your hips, you turned around, looking at your son.

He beamed up at that, as Rafayel scoffed from where he was seated.

“Oh, please, he’s far more talented at real art.”

“Dad, what’s your beef with actors?”

“They know what they did.”

Your son looked at you in confusion and you just shrugged.

Zayne

You were dying to see what your usually stoic husband was going to do, if you got into a fight with your daughters.

You roped your 17 and 15 year old in by showing them the videos you had seen.

They were just as curious as you and while your younger daughter, Willow, was a bit more uncertain, considering she was much more like your husband, avoiding conflict as much as possible, Dawn, was able to convince her.

You went over what they should say with them and once they were ready, you waited for the perfect opening.

Once Zayne had finished up his work for the day, finally coming out of his office, you called him over for dinner.

You texted your daughters to get ready, as your husband came and sat down at the kitchen table.

You placed the plate full of food infront of him, he murmured a quiet thank you, before you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, mentally apologising for what was about to go down.

You called your daughters once,

“Dawn, Willow, dinner!”

No answer, just as you had told them.

You and Zayne shared a look and it took a lot in you to not start grinning.

You placed the girls plates on the table before trying again,

“Dawn! Willow! Don’t make me repeat myself!”

A beat of silence,

“Wait!”

“Gimme a minute!”

They yelled far louder than appropriate, just as you had instructed them.

Zayne’s brows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest in pretend anger.

“Girls, don’t make me come up th-“

and just as you had expected,

“Mom, shut up!

“Shut up!”

Came in unison.

Zayne dropped his arms by his sides, stunned.

You turned around, far too enthusiastic but Zayne was too caught up to notice.

You send him a look, as if to make sure he heard the same thing you just did.

He pushed his chair back and got up, and for the first time in a while you heard him raise his voice,

“You two come down here, right now.”

There was a trace of urgency in his voice but you could tell how mad he was.

His brows were furrowed and his arms crossed.

You could instantly hear the sound of footsteps rushing downstairs.

The girls came running into the kitchen, immediately halting in their movements as soon as they saw the look on their father’s face.

Dawn’s mouth made an ‘O’ shape but no sound came out and Willow looked at you, making a grimace.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, to not show how you were kind of enjoying your husband acting like this.

Before either of the girls could explain, he gave them a disappointed look.

You could feel the temperature in the room dropping, chills settling in.

“I can’t believe you two would ever even think of speaking to the woman who raised you like this.”

Stepping in to safe your girls from the lecture they were about to be served instead of dinner, you put your hands on Zayne’s shoulders, massaging him slightly,

“Zaynie, how mad would you be if I told you, I put them up to this?”

Zayne paused, slowly turning to face you.

You put on your best puppy eyes, trying to win him over. No such luck.

“You will be the death of me.”

He rubbed his temple and glanced back over at his daughters,

“I just hope you two know, that I felt levels of disappointment unreachable for others.”

Dawn let out a nervous chortle and Willow gave her a judging stare,

“Well, good thing we’d never actually speak to our lovely mommy like that!”

Zayne nodded, turning back to you.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook.”

He whispered dangerously to you, you blinked in surprise,

“Now, can I please have a normal family dinner with all of my girls? With no unnecessarily rude language?”

Your daughters giggled and smiled respectively, skipping to the table and sitting down.

Zayne wrapped an arm around your waist and lead you to the table.

You might be in danger.

Sylus

Sylus loved his twin sons, he couldn’t be prouder of them and he was also proud of the two of you for figuring out how to be good parents, even with your upbringings.

When the two boys were born, everyone expected Sylus to raise them strictly, preparing them for a life in the shadows, wanting them to follow in his footsteps, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He raised them with gentleness and kindness, warmth and love, giving them everything they could ever ask for.

You had to step up and be the strict parent more often than not but you simply couldn’t mind, when you saw how Sylus looked at his sons with all the love in the world.

They’ve grown up to be empathetic and loving teenagers, incredibly emotionally intelligent for a pair of 15 year olds.

So, when you approached one of them with your silly idea, he immediately felt unsure.

“Mom, I don’t want to disrespect you, like, ever!”

Zeno had said with such sincerity, you almost felt bad for dragging him into this.

Keyword, almost.

“Zeno, it’ll be funny! I won’t take it personally, I know you’d never actually mean it.”

You tried to reassure him but he just wouldn’t budge.

You were thinking of ways to bribe him, when you suddenly got an idea,

While both of the twins looked exactly like their father, Zeno was more like Sylus, in the sense that he had the same exact soft spots his father had for you, in other words; Zeno was way more of a mama’s boy than Jaden, so you tried pulling on his heartstrings,

“Come onnnn, baby. Please? For your mom? It’ll be so much fun!”

You could see Zeno’s resolve falter and once he let out a defeated sigh, you knew you got him.

“Great, sweetheart, thank you so much!”

You could tell the idea was stressing him out, not because he was scared of what Sylus would do, but because he would never wanna speak to his mom like that!!! Even if it’s just for a joke!!!!

You cooed at him for being as cute as he was, before dragging him downstairs and giving him another round of encouragement.

“Alright, don’t break character and just say everything we went over, got it?”

Zeno nodded slowly, getting ready.

Zeno walked into the living room with quick steps, avoiding eye contact with Sylus and Jaden, who were sitting on the couch together.

“Come back here! I wasn’t done talking to you, Zeno.”

You called after him, not walking into the room just yet.

“Drop it already, mom! I’m done having this conversation.”

Jaden quirked a brow at his brother, staring at him judgingly, and Sylus silently observed what was unfolding before him.

“Zeno, if you won’t go, don’t ask to go out with your friends either. You can’t just do whatever you want.”

The 15 year old was mentally preparing himself, he turned towards you, ignoring his brother’s and father’s gazes.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything, mom?!”

He slightly raised his voice and you stopped in your tracks, looking at him in shock, patting yourself on the back in your mind for your awesome acting.

“Dude,”

Jaden started, Sylus still watching with hooded eyes,

“Zeno, I’m not joking around with you. You have to deal with the consequences of your choices.”

You stopped Jaden and expectantly looked at Zeno,

“Can you just shut up. Holy shit.”

He mentally winced and turned around to storm out of the room, before he could take even a step black and red tendrils surrounded him, spinning him back around and keeping him in place.

His brother was looking at him like he had grown a second head and he blinked up at his father, who had gotten up.

Sylus walked towards you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“I have no idea who you’re talking to like this right now but I’m damn sure it can’t be my wife.”

Zeno was scrambling to come up with something to say, as his knees buckled and he fell, luckily he felt his father soften the fall with his evol.

Sylus tsk’d and looked at his son disapprovingly,

“I don’t remember raising you to have no manners, boy.”

before things could escalate further, you wrapped your arms around your husband.

“Let him off the hook, I coaxed him into playing along.”

Zeno felt his father’s evol immediately let off and he quickly got up, pressing his palms together,

“I’m sorry, mom! I shouldn’t have agreed regardless. Forgive me, father.”

You smiled at him and shook your head,

“You’re so cute! You have no idea how much convincing it took me to get him to agree.”

You finished, looking up at Sylus like this was no big deal.

A pillow hit Zeno hard and he looked at his brother, who was staring right back, unimpressed.

Sylus just smirked down at you,

“You’re being a bad influence, sweetie.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, as he placed his hand on your lower back, pushing you out of the room.

As you two left, Sylus turned around, looking at both of his sons,

“I hope this served as a valuable lesson to you both.”

With that, he walked out to follow you.

Jaden went to throw another pillow at his brother,

“You’re an idiot.”

Xavier

Unfortunately for you, all your children are relatively young, getting an 8 year old to tell his mom to shut up, might not be the best idea; but that wasn’t going to stop you!

You just had to see how Xavier, Mr. Expressionless himself, would react.

As you instructed Xavier to put your youngest daughter to bed, you scrambled to explain how this was gonna go down to your oldest child, Elio, one more time,

“And after I say that, you’ll tell me to shut up, okay? Only this once.”

Elio nodded, while his other sister, Cassiopeia, sitting next to him, shook her head,

“Mommy, that’s mean! I don’t want him to say that to you.”

You smiled at your sweet daughter and kissed her on the forehead,

“It’s okay, Cassie. This is an exception! We’re doing this to see how daddy’s gonna react.”

She hummed and glared at her brother, before hugging you tightly,

“Why don’t you go join Celeste? But don’t tell your father about this, okay baby?”

She nodded and jumped off her brother’s bed before skipping out of the room.

You checked in with Elio one last time, the boy looking serious, as he accepted this as a mission.

“I’ll do my best, captain mommy.”

You bit back a laugh, before nodding at him seriously.

He got off his bed and acted like he was sneaking into the kitchen, Xavier leaving his daughter’s room just in time to see him.

Before he could say anything, your voice came through,

“Elio, go brush your teeth and go to bed!”

At first the 8 year old didn’t answer, as you called out his name again, he loudly went,

“SHUT UP.”

You walked out of his room, immediately making eye contact with Xavier, who looked at you in utter surprise.

You saw his eye twitch slightly, his brows being barely drawn together and something, almost looking like a scowl, found its way to his lips.

He walked into the kitchen with heavy steps,

“Where did you learn to talk like that?”

You quickly followed behind, seeing your son stare at his father expressionless, not answering.

Xavier inhaled quietly, you were starting to feel bad for working him up like this, especially so close to bed time. The shock probably getting rid of his sleepiness.

“You don’t speak to the woman who birthed you like this.”

At that, Elio cocked his head to the side,

“huhh?”

And you quickly put an end to this before Xavier started explaining how babies are made out of spite.

“Great job, hunter Elio. Mission accomplished!”

At that, Elio’s eyes lit up and he nodded, happily,

“I’ll go brush teeth…”

With that, he ran off.

Xavier turned around and looked at you in betrayal,

“Why would you tell him to speak to you like that?”

He asked calmly, but the dark look in his eyes gave him away.

You embraced him, hugging his waist and leaning your head into his chest,

“Let’s just say curiosity got the best of me~”

The look Xavier gave you would’ve had anyone else shaking, you just giggled and intertwined your fingers with his,

“We should check up on all the kids!”

Xavier sighed quietly, following you,

“Don’t think I won’t get my revenge, once all the kids are asleep.”

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[milawritess]

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow — Gojo Satoru

pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

synopsis: crushed by the pressure of his work, Satoru and the reader's relationship begins to spiral. You do everything you can to make him happy, but you fear it's not enough. Maybe it never was. After a miscalculation that could have resulted in innocent lives being lost, the situation takes a turn for the worse.

Word count: 17k+ (I'm sorry in advance)

genre: heavy angst with happy ending

warnings: heavy angst, swearing, reader is a motherly figure to Megumi but their relationship is a bit strained, mentions of depression and self-doubt, reader is a sorcerer, fighting, insecurity, arguments, and breakups (?), descriptions of gore, mentions of sexual intercourse (mdni), depictions of a complicated and untraditional relationship, reader gets hurt, hardly edited/proofread (oops), gojo is fed up and mean :(

a/n: this is the first and longest thing I've ever posted on here lol. I felt like there was a lack of sorcerer!reader, so I played around with that concept a little bit. other than potentially shitty writing (sorry for any typos or grammatical errors), I truly hope you enjoy <3

sequel & blurbs

“Get out.”

The hash sentiment lingers, hanging heavily in the air. 

“Well, hello to you too.”

He hears your feet shuffle across the floor as you stumble to take your shoes and coat off. “I just came to check on you.”

“And I’m fine,” he responds without moving, one arm up, draping over his aching eyes. He lies on the living room couch, one lanky leg propped up at an angle.

“You’re clearly not fine,” you respond, seeming unphased. “Have you eaten anything?” You ask, waiting for a response that never comes. “Okay, I’ll make your favorite ramen.” 

He feels the side of the couch dip, your hand settling on his chest. Your fingers were greedy like you couldn’t stop yourself from playing with the fabric or caressing his taut muscles. Your voice is gentler when you speak this time. “Do you want an ice pack? Some tea?”

You two have done this dance before. You come home to find him exhausted, overworked with a migraine that could tranquilize an elephant. And just like always, you carefully slip his shoes off and unbutton the sleek black jacket to his uniform. It’s hard for him to stay mad about anything when you’re this kind, this caring. 

“Satoru, please say something.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Your voice was so gentle. So sweet, saccharine, and so fucking patient. A voice you only ever reserved for him and for his ears only. A gentle whisper carried in a gentle breeze. It was his favorite sound. 

But not tonight. 

So you try something else. Sweet kisses along the corner of his lips. You’re even bold enough to move his arm, the arm he was using to desperately block out any light or simulation. You kiss his eyelids, his forehead, and cheeks—feather-light. Your hand slides up his chest before reaching his face. You caress your thumb under his closed eyes, and your other hand finds his hair, gently massaging his temple. He has all of you. Every bit. 

“Let me take care of you.” If it were any other night, your breath fanning his neck would have shattered him; goosebumps would have wrecked his body, he’d shiver, and everything in him would ease, and all of his stress would slip away into nothingness. He never had to be the strongest with you. You would render him down to nothing but a simple man with just a few words. “You don’t look too good, honey. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” For a woman so strong in your own right, a woman of unyielding dignity and poise and unwavering determination to succeed, this is his favorite side of you. 

But not tonight. 

When his hand clasps your wrist, he feels your whole body freeze against his. Maybe you were surprised. Maybe you predicted this and were preparing yourself but-

The tongue-lashing dies in his throat when he opens his eyes. Just a peak to your face makes him falter. You were pouting. Worried. “I’m fine.” it’s harsher than you deserve but kinder than the thoughts swirling through his head a second ago. 

He’s agitated. Stuck in the same old system that continues to fuck him over—his students over. 

And yet, you just looked too beautiful. 

You pull away, finally taking the hint. Then, you stand, fully removing yourself from him and stepping away. Your body heat quickly disappears from where you once sat, and he quivers. The room was quiet once again. 

The room remained quiet even as you placed a hot bowl of ramen on the table beside him, a glass of water, and two pills. 

You slept alone that night. 

-

You remember when you first met Megumi. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

You never would have expected that to be the the words from a child you had just met. You raised a brow. “Well, aren’t you a fucking, brat?” 

You were different back then—colder, angrier. You were similar in that sense.

Oddly enough, maybe that’s what gravitated him to you.  

You’re not sure when it happened, but gradually, the harsh edges of you began to… change. Not entirely softened, as thorns remained, but you bloomed, red petals and all. You grew softer, kinder, more patient—and finally—your heart had made space for others. The fear of loss remained, but you had never cared for someone so fragile. No one had ever cried for you, reached for you with small chubby fingers, or depended on you as he once had. You never had someone in your life that needed to be nurtured, protected, and guided. 

He was just a boy. 

Over time, you realized that if you remained unchanged, perhaps he would never grow into the man he needed to be. You’re not sure why he picked you, why he looked up to you of all people, but he did. He found comfort in you and followed you like a little duckling with a little waddle and permanent scowl. 

There wasn't a rhyme or reason. He chose you, and you chose him. 

Soon enough, you were waking him up for school, running your hands through his messy, dark locks. You were making him bento boxes, running to parent-teacher conferences, and having hard but meaningful conversations with him in his room about his troubling behavior. 

Then you were hugging him as he cried, as he revealed the same dark thoughts you once had about yourself. 

You wished this world wasn’t so cruel, so dark. You hope that in a different life, he would have grown into a normal kid, with hopes and dreams and a list of things he wanted to do and go out and experience. You didn’t want him to be shackled to a world that’s left you so scarred.

You fought for any sense of normality you could give him. If that meant confronting the higher-ups, so be it. At times, you even confronted Satoru. 

He was just a boy. 

Fire never harmed you;  it never dared to scorch your skin. You commanded and held domination over nearly every flicker of heat. He was so small when you met him; you remember the first time you saw his small form shiver in the cold. It made you anxious. Despite buying him the heaviest winter coat you could find, you were beside yourself, always wondering—is he warm enough? 

But, long were the days of you bundling him up in his jacket, tying his shoes, and tugging beanies over his dark hair and red ears. Long were the days of you clasping his little hands in yours to bring them warmth when the air grew too bitter. He grew older, smarter, wiser, and stronger. The boy that used to cling to your skirt after a hard day at school now stood inches taller than you. 

You knew that one day he’d leave you, and you were okay with that. Seeing him so ready for the world made you happy. You worried—of course you still worried—but you were so proud. He was hesitant, unsure at times, and sometimes even looked back to you for assurance. 

You were always there, smiling, ushering him along. 

You can do it. I believe in you. 

You grew up together, you think. Sometimes, you wondered if he ever paid for your shortcomings, or if he remembered your failures as a caregiver, but just like you did him, he’d assure you with a soft nudge and a gentle smile. 

He knows you did the best you could with what you had.  

He was just a boy. 

Your boy. 

He wasn’t yours, but you loved him like he was. Only as he grew did you realize the lines you had crossed. 

He doesn’t remember his mother, but you’re sure he remembered her smile, perhaps her touch, or the sound of her laughter. You never meant to impose on her memory.

When it happened, he had just gotten into Tokyo Jujutsu High, and Satoru took him on his first official mission. You no longer had the means of pushing this off; you couldn’t beg Satoru or the higher-ups for another month, another week, another day. Megumi wasn’t a normal kid. He was a sorcerer and needed to start fulfilling his duties and mastering his technique.

“You can’t avoid the inevitable. You can’t protect him forever,” Satoru had once told you. 

You knew he was right. 

You stayed home that day, anxious and worried, but you knew Megumi would be alright. Satoru was with him. Even if the tall man was a bit harder on Megumi than you, you knew he’d keep him safe. 

However, your worst fears came to fruition. Megumi wasn’t the same after that mission. 

You remember. Satoru’s eyes were stern that night while Megumi's eyes never left the floor as he made his way to his room. 

You remember thinking—what could I do to make my boys happy again? 

After all, they were your everything, the reason you stood here now with a full heart. Things were newer for you and Satoru then, but he kissed you that night, warm, large hands gently holding your cheeks. He missed you a little bit extra that day. You were nervous, hesitant to fall into the sanctuary of his embrace, but it was only a matter of time until you were fully, devotedly his.

 “Are you okay?” You had asked, only for him to nod his head. 

“Yeah. Of course, I am, angel. Megumi is shaken up, but he’ll be alright too.” 

You made Megumi’s favorite dinner that night—the same beefsteak he’s raved about since he was only six. Well, he never raved, but you perfectly remember the first time you made it, which happened to be the first time he tried it. He could barely get his chin over the table to scope his food into his mouth. He wasn’t good with chopsticks yet, so he used a little fork, which he held in his tiny fist. His little eyebrows raised before dipping down, creasing at the inner corners as he concentrated on the flavor. He murmured it’s good, and you remember being so proud of yourself. That was one of the first times you felt that you were doing something right by him. You made the same dish on occasion, and time only helped you perfect the recipe. 

Megumi never came out of his room that night. The lights were off when you knocked. Even after hearing no response, you had cracked open the door, poking your head inside. 

“Gumiii,” you stepped into his room. He was on his bed, groaning as you flicked the light on. He turned his back to you. “I made your favoriteee.”  

You had sat on the edge of his bed, a hot plate of food in your hands. “C’mon, it’s the beefsteak you like. Nice and warm.”

“‘m not hungry,” he had grumbled. 

You sighed. “The mission must have been unpleasant.” He remained still. “I’m sorry, Gumi. Satoru said you did well! I’m proud of you—” he flinched from your touch, snapping his arm away from your reach. You froze, having felt the coldness of his rejection. “If you don’t want to talk about the mission, how was your first day at your new school?” You asked. “Do you have any classmates you like?”

“Just quit it already…” he had murmured. “I’m not in the mood.”

Your shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. My first mission was tough too, and you already know I wasn’t great at making friends either–” you winced, biting your tongue.  This was coming out all wrong. “… are you okay, Megumi?” 

“I’m fine!” He clipped, pushing himself upright in bed. “Just leave me alone and stop acting like you’re my mom already!”  

You remembered—and just the memory of that night shambled your heart. You could never forget the hurt those words caused and how you couldn’t show it. 

You had smiled wearily. Then, you placed his dinner on his desk. “…you’re right,” you echoed. “I’m not her, never could be. I’m sorry if I imposed. I never meant to.”

You never spoke of the incident, but you remembered that things were tense between Satoru and Megumi for a short while after that. You told Satoru to drop it, but you had a feeling the poor boy received a tongue-lashing from Satoru. You were never sure, though, and you could never prove it. 

You just remembered feeling cracks in the foundation of the home you never knew you had so carefully crafted, brick by brick. Some of the warmth was gone—a warmth you never knew was quite there until it wasn’t. 

Little by little, you pulled back. Megumi moved into the student dorms shortly after, and he needed you less and less. You no longer made him bento boxes or his favorite beefsteak. You bit your tongue with the lectures: Megumi, that’s not nice, or Megumi, you need to have more faith in yourself. You can do it.  

Though the bitter bite of cold never entirely touched you, heated by an unquenchable fame, you pulled back your hand when you reached for him. He left you seared—burned. 

You still worried. You never knew if you were giving him too much or not enough. So, you left most of the mentoring to Satoru now.  It’s been a few months since the incident, and now you only ever speak to him if he approached you first. 

That's why you were happy when you spotted him in town. You offered him a small, shy wave. He unexpectedly approached you and asked how you were and what you’d been up to. However, the most unexpected part was when he asked if you were busy. You shook your head, and it was impossible to hide you beam when he offered to get you hot chocolate from the same coffee shop you used to take him to after school in the colder months.

However, it seemed you weren’t the only one confused by Satoru’s recent behavior. 

“Huh?”

“Gojo didn’t want me going on my mission,” Megumi reiterated. 

You blink a few times, tapping your fingers against the styrofoam cup in your hands. “Huh. He’s never done that before.”

“He doesn’t think I’m ready. He took the mission himself.”

“He said that? That he doesn’t think you’re ready?”

“Well… not exactly.” He scowls slightly, looking down at the cup of hot chocolate. “But he damn well implied it.”

“Gumi,” you frown at the boy. He doesn’t make eye contact with you; he looks forward now, gazing out the window and watching the fresh snow coat the ground. 

He was upset. 

“He could’ve at least taken me with him.”

For a moment, you see that same little boy you met over ten years ago and that same dejected look on his face after being let down one too many times. It breaks your heart. 

“If Satoru took the mission and went alone, I’m sure it’s for a good reason.”

He wants to say more but opts for something quick and sweet. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You have to do something. Quick. Anything to make him a bit happier. “I have a mission later in Osaka. I’ll be catching the 2 pm train. Wanna come? I could use the extra help.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, you presume, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“Great! And just so you know, we’ll probably be dealing with a grade one or two.” 

He pauses momentarily before calmly asking, “And you need help with that?”

“Uh, yeah. Any help is much appreciated. Plus, I haven’t seen you much recently.” You smile brightly, and he turns his head, eyes finding the ground, looking a little bashful. 

“About that…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you wave him off. “You’ve been busy with school, and I know that.”

“But that’s not–”

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you smile again, resisting the urge to reach across the table and gently squeeze his hand. “I get it.”

He gives you a look, a small disgruntled scowl. He wanted to say more.

“Alrighty then.” You stand, stretching from sitting in the chair. “I’ll buy you another hot chocolate for the road. We should probably start getting ready to leave.”

-

The mission goes well. An abandoned warehouse in Osaka conjured up a nasty looking grade three, but Megumi held his own just fine—like you expected. He’s grown much stronger and more sure of himself. You’re proud. Seeing how far he’s come certainly puts a smile on your face. He’s not a little boy anymore, you realized. He’s growing into a fine young man. 

Urg. Stop getting emotional. 

However, after stopping for a later dinner, you both arrived home late, around nine or so. 

“You did good tonight, Megumi,” you tell him for the nth time. 

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. “You’ve told me that already.”

“I know, I know. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m proud of you. You’re getting so much stronger.”

Instead of brushing you off like all the other times, he sighs before offering a forced “thanks.” 

“Alrighty then. Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you and the others sometime tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Get back home safe.”

You nod, smiling. You make sure to watch him as he goes, making sure he gets inside before turning around. He’s capable of taking care of himself, but some habits never grow old. Making sure he gets inside anywhere safely has always been something you’ve prioritized, whether he was going to a friend's house, school, or boarding the train. 

You loved him like your own, but you knew he wasn't. After all, it was only a few months ago now that he reminded you that he wasn't yours.

You’re not my mom. 

It hurt—it still does—but you never held it against him. You still loved him nevertheless. Your relationship might have shifted but it doesn’t negate the fact that you care for him and would gladly give your life if it meant keeping him safe. 

Then, there was Kugisaki and Itadori—two others slowly weaseling their way into your heart. They’ve helped Megumi so much; he might be too proud to admit it, but they’ve helped him come out of his shell; they were his friends, and you knew they had each other backs. 

You sigh, a translucent cloud of white floating up and above your head. Just like always, your thoughts shift to blue eyes. Satoru. You’ve missed him today. No calls or obnoxious spam texts. It’s not unusual per se, especially when he gets busy. Regardless, you missed him.

But, something is bothering you. He wasn't communicating with you and he usually tells you these things. Even if he didn't have the time to tell you something right away, he'd eventually find a moment to talk to you. This time around, he didn’t. He didn't tell you he was leaving or about the whole ordeal with Megumi.

He just got up and left. You woke to a cold bed and an empty house. No text message, no note with a silly doodle. When you called him in the morning, it went right to voicemail. Eventually, when you pull up your shared text messages to check for anything new, you only saw the message you sent him from the day before. At a loss, you type out a quick message. You didn't think it would make things better, but at least it was something.

I hope you have a good day today :) 

It was all you could really muster up after last night. He seemed so agitated, and so fed up. You blamed it on stress; he isn’t usually like that. Usually, his touch was careful, calculated as if you were fixed of glass. You missed his lame jokes and mischievous grins when he was up to no good. You weren't offered any of that last night. Or the night before. Even the night before that. 

You’re starting to worry. 

He always bounces back so quickly. The only thing that typically gets him this mad are the higher-ups. Which, in Megumi's case, makes sense. You can see why Gojo would intervene if they gave him a dangerous mission. 

But why didn’t he take Megumi with him, at least?

Hm.. maybe it was beyond Megumi's skill set. Would the elders be stupid enough to set him up? They did it to you long ago, but they wouldn’t be bold enough to do it to the boy with the ten shadows technique, would they?

Or maybe Satoru… just doesn’t want to be near you?

Urg. You roll your eyes at your own selfish thoughts. Satoru wouldn’t do something like that. He’s already overworked as it is. Maybe you should make him something. A nice dinner? Or maybe he needed a pick-me-up? Kikufuku? You’re sure you could find the recipe online. 

You're torn, so you decide to make both. Maybe you'll even put on a nice dress. 

You decide to call him, and after a few rings, he answers. “Hey, honey,” you say sweetly, happy he even bothered to answer your call. "I was wondering when you’d be home tonight. I want to make you a nice dinner.”

He’s quiet again—too quiet. “Dinner? Tonight?” 

“Yeah, you’ve been so busy lately. I figured you’d like that.” 

He hums into the phone, sounding a bit lighter. “Dinner does sound nice…” 

Your smile widens. You could hear the underlying stress in his tone; it was flatter than usual, but at least he was trying. “... I’ll even put on your favorite dress?” 

He chuckles a bit. “Tempting, but I’ll probably have to leave after dinner.”

“Oh,” you murmur, wincing slightly at the rejection. Maybe you’ve gotten too spoiled—too accustomed to him pushing off his responsibilities all for the sake of spending a few more moments with you. Were you being too greedy?  “Are you okay? They’re not stretching you too thin, are they?”

He sighs in a carefree tone. “I'm doing fine. Same old thing, just a different day,” is all he offers, but you can tell he’s withholding. 

“I can help, y’know,” you offer gently. “If you have too many missions, I can take a few off your plate.”

“Nah,” he tells you a bit arrogantly. “It’s better if I handle it.”

Now you’re really starting to feel the distance. He usually reserves the softer parts of him for you. You suppose he just didn’t have the patience to do so right now. “You, uh, got into it with the higher-ups I heard,” you mention, trying to keep the conversation going but approaching from a different angle. “Megumi was telling me you even took his mission. I think he was a bit upset you didn’t take him with you. How come you never told me?”

“How come you never told me you were going to Osaka? Or the fact that you took him with you?”

Your stomach twists, unease bubbling in your chest. You didn’t like where this was heading. “I– it’s never bothered you before,” you manage, though your voice falters, dying down into nothing but a whisper. “And it’s not like you’ve been… wanting to speak to me recently. I haven't had the time to tell you much of anything," your trail off, your voice slowly fading before you begin again. "Did I do something to make you mad?”

The silence that follows is unbearable—longer than you ever imagined it could be. “Satoru… Please just talk to me.”

“I gotta go,” his tone is cold, clipped, and final. 

There’s a click as he hangs up, and the silence becomes deafening and threateningly absolute.

-

You realize you miss the way he used to look at you. Not the way he'd gaze at you, but in the way he would gaze into you, as though you were ever the only thing that ever really mattered.

After your last conversation with him, you were unsteady. You hated how you stayed in bed for hours, analyzing everything he's said to you recently, dissecting his every action. You hated how needy you suddenly felt, even while laying there, in his bed, in his clothes. He paused just a second too long before answering you now, as if he had to must up the courage and energy to do so. His laugh no longer came out easily. Others might miss it, but you never could. It was still rambunctious, taking up a whole room, but to you, it felt forced, brittle even. You've known Satoru at his best, and you've also known him at his worst.

When he looks at you now, you wonder if he's really seeing you. Painfully, you realize you haven't seen him; not without his eyeband on at least. Last night you did, for the first time in a while, but he seemed agitated.

The worst part was that you didn't know how to bring yourself to confront him. You struggled, unsure which pretty words and cadence would unluck the distance between you two.

Did something happen on one of his missions? Was he stressed? Had the higher-ups pushed him too far, testing his patience?

Or was it you? Was this somehow your fault?

Did you scare him away? Have you said too much, cared too deeply, loved too loudly?

You weren't sure, but you had to try something.

You were grateful you were cooking him dinner tonight on your day off. It was the least you could do, and you adored taking care of him. You choose hot pot, something you and Satoru have tried at home before. It took over a few hours to prepare, but it was worth it. You made two broths, you sliced up shabu-shabu and wagyu beef and even went to the extent of watching a video to make a dipping sauce. Unfortunately, you forgot one of the ingredients for the kikufuku mochi and didn’t want to risk making something he didn’t entirely like. Luckily, you had spare time to run down to the kikufuku store right before it closed. Of course, you grabbed all his favorite, two boxfuls, in fact. He was a big guy, so you hoped you had more than enough food for him to indulge.

You and Satoru were together. Though he never outright asked you to be his, you knew. It was an unspoken thing, and you were content with that. For as goofy and eccentric as that man could be, it was rather surprising how he was never outright with what he was actually feeling. 

He was damn good at showing it, though. In more ways than one. 

You feel it in the way he’d always reach for you after a nightmare. Shaking, needy hands tightly clasping at your waste, fearful of you disappearing and slipping to a place where he could not reach you. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow. Please. His face would nuzzle into your neck, sharply inhaling your scent. You’d hold him, whispering endless promises. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Or it's okay. Breathe, my love. I’m with you. 

You feel it on the nights he’d pin you beneath him, his grunts and moans echoing in your ears as he fills you so completely. He’d beg, no demand you—tell me you’re mine. Only mine. 

And, of course, you’d eagerly nod, overwhelmed with the pleasure only he could strum out of you so perfectly. ‘m yours. All of me—yours. 

You feel it in his protective gaze, his eagerness to hold you in the life vest of his arms. You felt it late into the night, damp bodies pressed against one another; low lighting, quiet laughter, and secrets revealed. His dreams, his wishes, his what ifs—the parts of him that no one knew or considered. Or when he handed you a silver key with a handsome and cheshire grin. What do you say? He was lovely, every bit of him, especially his gentle and selfless heart that you would never take for granted like the rest of the world seemed to. 

You feel it when he comes home from overseas and how his strong arms hold onto you just a bit longer, a bit tighter. You feel it with how he smiles into your neck or that one time at the airport when he lifted you up and spun you around, uncaring who saw. 

You feel it in the way that it was unspoken. You feel it in his cursed energy and how it perfectly intertwined with yours, reaching for you, comforting you when his hands could not. You especially feel it in the necklace he gifted you—the one your fingers were playing with now: a silver chain with cerulean sapphires, the same breathtaking shade of his eyes. His cursed energy, carefully imbued into the stones, was like carrying a piece of him with you—always, wherever you may go, and it rests directly above your beating heart. 

He might not voice it, but you feel it. He loved you. And you certainly loved him. 

So when had it become so hard to reach him? Why does he seem so intangible all of a sudden? Something deep and unsettling blooms in your stomach. 

And now that you think about it…

When was the last time you two did any of that? When was the last time his careful hands caressed you?

Only Satoru could make you this worried or make you feel this displaced. A sense of panic strikes you, and you pull out your phone to text him when you realize he’s thirty minutes late. Usually, that wouldn’t bother you, but–

After only three rings, you're sent to voicemail. When you check his location, he’s at the high school. Should you check on him? Or would that make him… mad?

He toru! Dinners ready. When do you think you’ll be home? Miss you. 

You bite your lip. He quickly read your message, but those three little bubbles never show up. 

Nothing. Just nothing. 

Maybe he’s staying up late writing the report for his latest mission? 

“eek!” Your phone pings, and after a round of hot potato, you see he’s texted you back. 

Only to be met with more disappointment. 

Dealing with something urgent. Don’t wait up. 

You frown, knowing you should drop it, but you can’t. 

Satoru…

He’s typing faster now. What?

You pause, thumbs hovering over letters you hesitate to type. What’s going on? You’ve been off lately. 

I’m fine. Just busy. 

Do you want me to bring you dinner to the High School?

Those three bubbles appear and disappear more times than you can count. No. I said don’t wait up. 

You know I don't sleep well without you.

He responds in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Your patience is wearing thin for the first time since this ordeal started. Are you saying you won’t be coming home tonight? 

You’re offered no response. He doesn’t even open your message. For the second night, you lay in a cold bed. Except, Satoru doesn’t come home. 

Only he could fracture you so completely. 

-

During your next mission, you brought the whole trio along. According to the report you were handed, you were only dealing with a grade three, but there was also an Infestation in the area. You could use the backup.

You had initially asked Megumi, but once Yuji caught wind, he was adamant that he tagged along, and, according to Nobara she had nothing else better to do. 

“Are you guys sure? It’s your day off.”

Yuji shrugs, both arms up, hands up and behind his head. “Yeah, I’m game.”

“Me too,” Nobara voices with a small glint in her eyes. “I got something new I want to try out anyway. We didn’t get to go on a mission last week as it is.”

You paused. "Huh? Gojo didn’t take you on any?”

“Nah,” Yuji shakes his head. “I think he’s been busy or something.” He looks at Kugisaki. “Hasn’t Gojo-Sensei seemed a little… off?”

Nobara nods. “Uh yeah. He hasn’t been himself at all. We figured you’d know something,” Nobara says, curious eyes scanning you. 

“Huh… I’m not sure. We haven’t gotten around to talking lately.”

Megumi hums, though it sounds more suspicious than his usual passive tone. 

Though they weren’t necessarily your students, you figured there was no harm in taking them. You've done it before and having them around was always like a breath of fresh air—reminding you of why Satoru dedicates himself so fully to his cause and being a teacher. They give you a reason to get stronger and keep fighting. You loved these kids and all their bickering. 

Except, this mission doesn’t go anything like you had expected. The report was wrong—a grade two was ambling through the abandoned schoolhouse. That was fine; the four of you were more than enough to kill it. The infestation was a bit overwhelming, but you had their backs, and they were nothing but pesky small curses lower than a grade four. 

Everything went well when the ambush happens. You all saw it: right in front of your eyes, a grade one emerging from the shadows, born into something nasty. It's skin oozed a sickly black slime that clung to its misshapen body. Its face—or lack there of—was dark and amorphous, split by a jagged maw that stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows of sharp serrated teeth, ready to cut and slash through flesh like a meat grinder. Other that is daunting appearance, the only other notable thing about it was its speed.

You told the kids to back down, but it was already too late. They were already involved, stuck in the heat of battle and fighting as a seamless unite. They were more than capable of standing on their own. 

But you needed them out of here. Your obligation was to protect them no matter how eager they were to help. However, before you could think of your next move, the curse made one last self-preserving attack. It opened in wide jaws, releasing several red beamed energy blast aimed directly at stone pillars. 

You had no time to think, only react. In an instant, you surged forward towards the trio, faster than their eyes could react. Grunting, you knocked them back, glass shattering as you kicked them through a window. You felt the impact ripple through your body, fully knowing you knocked the wind out of Megumi and Yuji. However, they recovered quickly, their instincts sharp enough to catch Nobara–

Right in time before the building collapsed. 

The building groaned like a wounded beast, its entire frame buckling from lack of support. Stone walls crumbled into clouds of dust and debris, windows shattered in explosive bursts, steel beams twisted and snaped with sickening shrieks. The ground trembled violently as the structure gave way, collapsing into a chaotic heap of concrete, rubble, and smoke, swallowing everything beneath. Including you.

You survived. Reinforcing your body with cursed energy made you strong enough to withstand the impact, and your heavenly restriction certainly helped. Nevertheless, you still took on quite a bit of damage from the tons of metal and concrete.

You woke up under the rubble with a startling gasp, choking on the dust. Were you out for a few seconds? Minutes? You were unsure, but the only thing pushing you to stand was the panic coated in Megumi’s voice. He was calling for you, and so were the others. You could hear the strain in their voices, the utter distraught. You healed your broken leg and the gash on the corner of your forehead, ceasing your gushing blood. You gathered yourself and your strength before pushing. They found you quickly after that, noticing a heap of rubble moving. They ran, rushing to help you push back concrete that threatened to suffocate you. You never did like tight spaces. 

Thankfully, you were alright. The kids were safe as well.

However, the curse had escaped. Megumi was visibly shaken, his fingernail cracked, bruised, and bleeding from digging urgently through the rubble to find you. 

Everyone was on edge. It wasn't their fault you didn't react quickly enough. You were more than capable; maybe that's why the failure stung so much.

You let yourself down. You let them down.

You were spiraling into a dark place quickly. The guilt threatened to swallow you whole. Gojo was still nowhere to be seen. You didn't have the strength to call him. You’re not sure what you could even say. You’ve fucked up before, but never to this extent. Not to where a whole building collapsed. 

“Good morning. A tragic incident occurred last night when an abandoned school collapsed around 7 pm. Authorities are currently investigating the cause, and preliminary reports suggest that the collapse could have been due to a structural weakness—one of the many reasons why the school was abandoned in the first place. We will continue to monitor the situation as more information becomes available–"

Megumi gently grabs your phone and locks your screen. Wordlessly, he shakes his head before pocketing your device. You’re too exhausted to ask for it back. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sensei?” Yuji's voice was soft, the first voice to break the ice. You look up from your hands, unsure how long you’ve been lost in thought. You force a small smile as you gaze at the three kids. You were sitting across from them in the waiting area outside the council room. 

“I’m alright. Are you guys?"

“We’re all fine,” Megumi cuts in quickly. “We’re– we’re more than okay.”

“That's good,” you trail off. “That's really good.”

Uncertainty hung dangerously in the air. What happened now? You were okay, but for how long? 

You knew you were in for a lashing with all the collateral damage you caused. It was supposed to be a simple mission. This wasn't supposed to happen. You four were fine, but did anyone else get hurt? 

You flinch at your own thought. You don't think you could live with yourself if innocent lives were lost.

“Sensei?” Yuji's soft, unsure voice cuts in once more. When your eyes make contact, he smiles brightly. You can tell it’s forced. “After this, wanna go get something to eat? There’s this great sandwich shop down the street!”

“Y–yeah!” Nobara sits up straight after being less than conspicuously nudged by Yuji. “It’s pretty good. We went the other day–”

The council room door creaked open. The higher-ups were waiting, shrouded in shadows and faces hidden. Even if you couldn't see them, the tension was palpable. Even without seeing them directly, you could sense their anger, smell it as it rolled off of them in a quiet, unspoken fury. You glance at the kids once more, this time with a gentle, reassuring smile curling at your lips. 

Everything would be okay.  

-

Everything was, in fact, not okay. 

The air was heavy as you entered your office. Your limbs ached, your head throbbed, and every breath felt like dragging glass through your lungs. You had thought the worst of it was over, and slowly, you felt your body begin to shut down, but only when there were no prying eyes to see how you compensated for your injuries. Even after using RCT, you had a limp—your bones were mended but not quite right. Your head was no longer bleeding—but still, you weren't quite right. 

You dismiss it as exhaustion; after all, you had just learned RCT not too long ago. Maybe you missed something. However, this wasn’t anything you couldn't handle on your own. You could see Shoko, but why bother her? You’ve endured far worse. Dealing with a sore body and a headache for the next few days wasn’t out of your jurisdiction. 

When you open the door, a flickering lamplight reveals a tall frame standing by your desk. Even before your eyes dance upon his sharp and still silhouette, the air shifts—your soul already knows he is there. Satoru.

But, his eyes never meet yours; you weren’t blessed enough to see them, a bright blue illuminating in the absence of light. His eyes were covered with a familiar dark cloth. However, you didn’t need to see them to know that the usual warmth they held as he gazed upon you was gone. In its place was a coldness that turned your stomach.

“Satoru–”

“I know,” he says, voice clipped as he turns to face you. “I read the reports.” Your heart sinks as he haphazardly tosses the report down to your desk. 

You’re exhausted, unsure of where to even begin. So many questions floated in your weary mind. Where were you? When did you get here? Please, don’t be mad at me. 

It’s funny how all your dignity, poise, and strength to endure are gone with him. You already took one berating from the elders, and you’re not sure you could handle another. 

Not from him. 

“But, I want to hear it from you.” He stepped closer, his height making him all the more domineering. “What happened out there? And how the hell are my students caught up in all of this?”

“The report was wrong. It was a grade two, not three, but we handled that just fine. We cleared out the area and completed the mission, but we were ambushed. A grade one appeared, destroyed the pillars, and–” You hesitate, unable to form the words. “Well, you know what happened.” He’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. “I–I did everything I could, Satoru. The students were fine, but the curse got away.”

“Everything you could?" His voice echoes. "I don’t need excuses. Certainly not from you. You endangered them—all of them. They’re not even your students!” He snapped, his voice rising in a way you’ve never heard before.

You bite back the lump forming in your throat. “I thought you, out of anyone, would understand the circumstances.”

“...Understand?” He utters back, a quiet fury rolling off him in waves. 

 “I made sure that–”

“You failed,” he snaps, voice laced with malice. “Enough. Just stop it. You were reckless and went behind my back, and you let a pathetic grade one get the best of you.”

Your chest tightened, crumbling at the weight of his tone. “Went behind your back? I did no such thing.”

“They could have been hurt because of you!” You visibly flinch, his words carrying more weight than the debris that had buried you—broken bones and all. 

“I’m recommending you be demoted to grade two.” 

What?

“You can’t do that. Satoru, you can’t–”

“I can,” he said coldly. “and I will. You failed, and not only did you fail, you went behind my back and involved my students. Your recklessness caused this,” disdain coats his voice, and he sucks his teeth. “I was gone for two fucking seconds, and you damn near ruined everything. People could have died. My students could have been injured. So stop being a nuisance and just do as you're told from here on out.”

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

You fought for years to get to grade one. A woman with a name of no renown—this society was never in favor of you; the system was set up for you only to fail time and time again. For years, you were held at grade three, then grade two, all because of your name’s sake—all because you were a woman. You didn’t have the luxury of being as good as other sorcerers; you had the burden to be better. 

Even now, at grade one, they continue to undermine you and undervalue you. You knew you didn’t have room to make mistakes, for they would tarnish every bit of good you have done. You thought Satoru understood that. You thought he viewed you as an equal, someone strong enough to stand by him. You thought he valued you, respected you. 

You never thought a mistake, a stupid mistake, would lead to this. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. 

“This has nothing to do with my rank. You don’t believe me. You don't trust me. After everything–”

Hearing his scornful laugh, your vision begins to blur. “Don’t make this personal. You fucked up, and now I have to clean up your mess.”

Your ears begin ringing. The pounding in your head becomes too much and threatens to crack your skull open once more.

“But it is, isn’t it?” You whisper. How could it not be personal with how he's been treating you for days? “You haven't been able to look at me in weeks. You speak to me as if I’ve become nothing but a burden to you—a nuisance. What did I do to deserve this?”

He remains silent, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he grits his teeth. Point proven.

Your heart painfully twists with each beat. “Do you even… care about me anymore?” You’re not sure why you say it, why the words slip past your lips, but they do.

He read the report and he hadn't even asked if you were okay. Maybe it was a selfish thought, but it makes your chest ache. You just wanted to go home, crawl in bed and hold him. However, you knew that wasn't in the cards right now.

“Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

Your voice finally wavers before him, cracking as you press on, desperate for him to understand—desperate to have him by your side as he has been for so many years.

“You’re casting me aside like I’m... worthless."

It was cruelty, a quiet and deafening insult for him to demote you of your status—but more specifically, your place beside him. That hurt runs deep, to the point that feelings of betrayal start seeping into your veins, poisoning you, antagonizing you. Belittling you. It was a sharp dagger you never expected—searing with a hatred that threatened to cripple you. This wasn’t just about your position. He was a man of unchallenged stature, of the highest status and regard, lowering you, demeaning you with his every word, every action. 

When did things go so wrong?

Yet, even now, you question yourself. Were you being dramatic? Were you taking this too personally? Were you being selfish?

Because he was right. Every word he's said so far was right. You failed. You put them in danger.

You stand there, a hollow feeling growing in your chest. The sting of Satoru’s words cut deeper than any blade you’ve faced. His jaw tightened, his gaze hard as steel and cold as ice. “You gave me what I never asked for.”

“Don't you dare!” You snap, finger trembling as you point his way with an accusatory jab. “Don’t you dare pretend this is nothing.  You know me better than anyone. How could I not take this personally? I’ve done nothing but stand by you, love you, trust you–”

“Like I said, I never asked for any of that,” he utters sharply, his carefully composed exterior shattering. “Whatever we were was nothing more than fucking convenience.” 

Suddenly, he stops, freezing at the onslaught of his own lethal words. His next words seemed to die in his throat. The damage was done. 

Exhausted, defeated, numb. His words hit you like a death blow. “... Convenience?” Echoing the very word that came from his lips—a sound you hardly recognize comes from your mouth, a small slip of the anguish tormenting and swelling in your body escapes. 

The necklace around your neck, the very one he had given you, seemed to pulse against your skin, warm and alive. It carried a piece of him, a piece of you, a guiding hand in the absence of light: a thread, an anchor—a way home. 

Suddenly, you hated it. Hated the way it sat so close to your heart, hated the warmth, his energy; you hated that, even now, his words cutting so deep, unraveling the fabric of your being, it comforted you, reaching for you. 

You yanked it off, the chain snapping in two as you held it in your trembling hands. 

He falters, his whole being frozen. “What are you doing?” he asked, quiet and tense, blanketed in uncertainty. 

“I don’t want it,” you say, voice quivering, threatening to fail you at any moment. His energy—the only energy that blended so perfectly with yours—reached for you, and so did his trembling hands. Reflexively, you flinched away, retreating further into the room and further from him. “Don’t,” you shake your head. “Don’t touch me. Not with your hands, not with your energy. Don’t.”

Silent tears stream down your face. You are unable to look at him, and your breathing is shallow and unsteady. You open your hand, letting the necklace drop to the floor. The faint sound of metal hitting wood echoes in the suffocating silence of the room. 

There’s a soft knock on the door. It creaks, slightly opening. “... Y/n sensei?” came an unsure voice.

You stiffen, and suddenly, you can sense them, three nervous students standing outside your door. Too caught up with Satoru, you had entirely missed them. You clear your throat and dry your cheeks with the back of your hand before turning to the door. You walk over, opening the door wide enough to see them. 

“Sorry if we’re interrupting, but we just wanted to know if you still wanted to come out for dinner with us...” 

Fuck. How much did they hear?

You take a breath, and it’s shakier than you anticipated. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice. Let me grab my jacket, okay.”

Yuji only offers an unsure smile. Norbora has a hard time even looking at you, while Megumis's eyes are solid and unyielding, glaring right past you. His hands were in his pockets, balled into tight fists.

You don’t know what to do other than quickly turning. Within a few ushered strides, you were at your desk, grabbing your coat off your desk chair; you’re careful to avoid Gojo, who manages to plaster on that big fucking grin. 

“Heard you guys were up to no good while I was away.”

“We were fine,” Megumi interjects before Yuji could open his mouth. “More than fine.” 

“Y–yeah, everything ended up being just fine. Y/n-sensei made sure of that,” Nobara awkwardly adds, shifting her weight on her feet. 

“Ah,” Gojo nods. “Well, make sure you get some rest tonight. We’ve got a long day tomorrow! You guys will be training with the second years!” 

You hated how he could act as if everything was alright while you were fighting back tears. It was another jab, a suckerpunch to the gut. 

You just needed to get out of there. 

-

After dinner with the kids, you headed out on your own the following day. You went home, stuffing some clothes in a bag before spending the night at a cheap motel. Before getting with Satoru, you always floated from place to place, never truly settling. Those days, all you carried on you was your backpack. You didn’t have a home or many possessions you could call your own. You just had yourself.  

I guess old habits die hard. 

Megumi was the first to text you: I went to Gojo's house today and didn’t see you. 

All good! I’ve been busy running errands.

Nobara text you sometime after.

Hey Sensei!! Let me know if you’re available today! Let’s go shopping!

You responded rather quickly. Sorry, I’m not around today. Maybe ask Maki? Or maybe Yuji and Megumi would like to tag along.

But guys suck :(

Then, there was Yuji: Hey, Sensei! Let me know if you want ramen! The gang and I got you since you covered for us the other night! I even got coupons! 

You weren’t sure what to say. You always covered for their meals (no exceptions), but you knew they were just trying to be kind. You double-tapped and hearted the message. 

You appreciated them more than anything, but frankly, it was a bit embarrassing. You never meant for them to overhear you and Satrou that night in your office, and you were never one for pity. If it were anyone else, you would have called them out and told them off. However, you wouldn’t dream of doing that to the kids. They were trying to support you in the only way they knew how, but it wasn’t their responsibility to worry about you. 

Surprisingly, Shoko was the next person to contact you. You never stopped by my office. I’m assuming you’re alright?  

Smiling gently, you responded. Yeah, no injuries to report. 

A building collapsed on you.

You scoff, imagining her deadpan expression. Heavenly restriction, remember?

That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Yeesh. Just meet me at the bar you like downtown. 

That’s where you are now, Shoko’s favorite bar, tossing back your third shot. ”Take it easy. I don’t feel like dragging you home tonight.”

“Ah. I’m alright, Shoko.”

“You don’t look it.” 

“Neither do you with those bags under your eyes.”

She brings her drink to her lips, mumbling “touché” before taking a swig. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vivid memories pressed to the front of your mind of the building collapsing. “Satoru is demoting me. After the elders ripped into me, I found him waiting for me in my office.”

“He– what? Jeez,” she took another sip of sake. “Out of everything, I didn’t expect that.” 

“I– we haven’t been doing too good. I’m not sure if there even is an us after last night.”

“Huh. He did seem a little out of it today.”

“Somehow, I kinda doubt that.” There’s a beat of silence, and you swirl the liquid in your cup. 

“If it means anything, he asked me about you. Asked if you were alright.” 

You smile a bit sardonically.  If Satoru really wanted to find you, you knew he could, as he had the means to do so. From here, you were only about five miles away from his estate. It’s not like you were too for his eyes to see.  Suddenly, that thought bothers you, and you find yourself almost subconsciously concealing your cursed energy.  

“Is that why you texted me?”

She gives you a weird look. “Partially. I had my own concerns.” 

“Like what?”

“If I’m being honest with you, you’re not great at RCT. I wanted to check and make sure everything was alright. It eventually catches up with you if you don’t do it correctly. I’ve seen it cause irreparable damage before.”  

“Ah. I guess that makes sense.”

“You should come to my office tomorrow so I can check–”

“I think I’m gonna quit.”

“…what?”

“I mean, that’s what they really want, right?”

“If you do that, they’ll find the easiest excuse to label you as a traitor. A cursed user.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Since day one, they’ve been trying to paint me as a villain.” 

“So don’t give them what they want,” Shoko bites back. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “Listen, I can’t stop you. You are going to do what you want to do at the end of the day, but you don’t need to do this. You made a mistake.”

“I’m just tired,” you tell her truthfully. “For months, I’ve been pretending, going through the motions. I've been miserable. Megumi hasn’t wanted me around much. He’s older now, and he doesn’t need me anymore–”

“Of course he does,” Shoko cuts you off. “He’s still a kid.”

“And I’m not his mother,” you retort bitterly. “Then, there’s Satoru. He’s been so distant.  He used to always be in my corner and make everything better, but I don’t even have that now. Now, all of the jujutsu society thinks I’m a liability. He thinks I’m a liability. Maybe it’s why he’s grown to resent me so much.”

“Please. Just stop talking,” Shoko remarks, overwhelmed with how quickly you were talking. She wasn’t necessarily a fan of conversations like these, but at least she listened. “I’m here if you ever need anyone. And please, don’t let this fester. I would rather not lose another friend.” She takes a large gulp this time, finishing her drink before gesturing for a refill. “Tsk. Satoru is complicated—I get it—but he wouldn’t want you to leave. Neither would Megumi. That kid loves you. Maybe you and Gojo just need a break.”

A break? Ha. That was one way of putting it. However, it already felt much more like a breakup, and its permanence frightened you. Like many other things in your relationship, it was never voiced but certainly felt. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, body buzzing as you down your fourth shot. “Maybe you’re right.”

-

You start walking home after having drinks with Shoko. It was a long walk, and you took your time. You weren’t in a rush to head home to potential chaos. The thought of staying at a hotel crossed your mind, but you had nothing to change into. Frankly, it didn’t matter where you went either. It’s not like you’d be able to sleep any better. 

Though, it’s not like you were going back home to anything good. You were suspended without pay; you couldn’t go near the school grounds or exercise any curses—a stipulation you rolled your eyes at. If they thought just a few measly words would stop you from exercising a curse, they would be more idiotic than you thought. 

Still, maybe it’s good to take some time off. Maybe you should stay at the hotel. If you were lucky, they’d have a washer and dryer. 

Then, your phone starts to ring—a unique ringtone that a white-haired idiot assigned to his contact one day after you let him “borrow” your phone. He even changed his contact photo; years later, you never had the heart to change it. 

Your heart aches when you see the contact photo of him, his goofy smile and gorgeous eyes peeking over his black shades. You answered hesitantly after a few rings. 

“Hello?”

“Heyyy,” you hear, his voice light and cheery yet, lacking its usual spark. “Where are you? I know I missed dinner the other night so I picked up your favorite on my way home!” 

Back to normal? Just like that?

You take a breath, reeling in your emotions. It wasn’t normal, per se, but you could tell he was trying, stepping cautiously over the ice he knew could shatter at any moment. 

“I’m not home, right now.”

“Huuuh?” You can hear the slight whine in his voice, and you can imagine him pouting like a small child. You expect him to carry on with his theatrics, but he hesitates. “When do you think you’ll be home then?”

“Uh, I don’t really know,” you trail off, unable to keep up his faux mirth and bravado. 

 “Well, if you don’t want to sleep next to me tonight, I can just take the guest bedroom!” For a moment, he sounds hopeful.

Honestly, he’s just making your head spin. 

“Honestly, I think it’s best if I stay out of the house for a little while, Gojo.”

There’s a beat of silence before you hear his nervous laughter. “Gojo?” he remarks dejectedly. “Can’t remember the last time you called me that.”

You were unsure what to say; you hadn’t even realized you initially referred to him by his last name until he pointed it out. You want to tell him sorry—for everything, but your tongue tenses in your mouth, and your throat threatens to close up. You hated it when he got like this, and typically, you’d do anything to make him smile again. 

But you’re hurt, and he caused that hurt. 

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” he adds quickly, unable to withstand your silence. 

“What’s there to talk about?” You ask softly. “What done is done. I messed up.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It can’t be undone now. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your stomach drops your heart twists and aches. Was he going to officially end things with you? A bitter, more cruel half of you whispers—you weren’t even officially together to begin with. However, none of that even matters; he has too much of you, too many pieces of your frail heart in the palm of his hands. You were irrevocably his, but was he ever yours? 

Just a few weeks ago, you thought you would have an entirely different answer than the one you have now. You're too afraid to face him or the truth. You were guilt-ridden, your pride and dignity torn to shreds. Hearing that he no longer wishes to be with you would be too much. 

Honestly? 

You’re not sure how you’d react. If you’d sob, if you’d remain stoic, or if you’d flip a table and trash every one of your possessions. You’re at wit's end, and the level of fallout threatening to break free from you was immeasurable. 

So, you finalize what you had been contemplating just five minutes ago. “I think I’m going to stay at a hotel, Gojo. I need space. Time to think.” 

“I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” he says lowly, his voice reverberating through the phone. You shiver. “It doesn’t feel right.”

You hated this. You fucking hated this. 

Your chest tightens, and your knees weaken. You wanted to give in. He always had that power over you. He ruled your heart so effortlessly. You yearned for him, your heart singing a million love songs, beckoning him back to you. 

But you couldn’t. You were too mad. You felt cast aside as if you were nothing but an afterthought—after all these years. Yet again, you feel the foundation of your home cracking, and your knees go weak yet again. You take a shuddering breath right before repeating the exact words he threw at you just a few nights prior—words that so effortlessly dismantled your spirit. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

-   

You’ve always had a habit of running. It was easier for you than most. You figured you’d go back to that cheap motel in Tokyo, but you were too restless. Too angry. Feelings of betrayal ran deep, and the guilt nipped away at you until there was only a void. 

Before you could leave, though, you call a number you knew by heart. Stepping onto the train and holding your phone to your ear, it rings. For a moment, you assume he’s asleep. It was getting late, but after the fifth ring, the line clicked. A groggy voice peaks through. 

“Sensei? What’s going on?”

“Megumi,” you breathe out. “Hi. Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Nozomi 1, departing from Tokyo and heading to Kyoto, will depart shortly. Please be careful of your footing while boarding. Please refrain from using mobile phone inside the train–“

“You’re leaving?” The tiredness in his voice is replaced by something else you can’t quite place. 

“Only for a short while. It’s not like I’ll be working anytime soon,” you chuckled nervously. “But I just wanted to let you know. It didn’t feel right leaving without speaking to you first.” 

“Oh,” is all he can muster up at first. “I– when will you be back?”

“I’m not sure,” you answer him honestly. “A few days, maybe.” 

“Well… Can we visit you? I’d go alone, but I think Yuji and Nobara would kill me if I did.” 

Oh. You hadn’t expected that. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Um, yeah. When I figure out where I’m staying, I’ll let you know.”

He sounds worried. “You don’t know where you’re staying yet?”

You snicker. “Ha, this is, uh, kinda an impromptu thing.” 

“… and you’re sure alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. I just wanted to tell you.”

You can tell he’s not exactly satisfied, but he isn’t one to stop you. “Well, text me where you’ll be staying in a few hours. You should probably hang up now, though, and figure it out.”

You smile softly to yourself. He always was a kind boy—kinder than he’d ever reveal. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Goodnight, Megumi.”

“Night.. I’ll call you later. Be safe.”

When you hang up, you feel a bit better. 

- 

The first night was hard—really hard. Sleeping away from Satoru was incredibly difficult, but so were his sharp words that relentlessly bounced around in your mind.  You found no peace by your window, watching the last of that day's sunlight slipping away behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the dead trees covered in snow.

You could almost feel his presence, like the cast of your shadow on a wall—following you, mirroring your every move. Your phone never rang with his ringtone, your phone never buzzed with a new text. Yet you stared at the shadows for a bit longer, a bit more intensely, waiting for two blue eyes to illuminate the space. They never did. 

Kyoto's stillness seemed to reflect your own, waiting for something to change, waiting for something dead and wilted to bloom once more. 

However, even all the way over in Kyoto, bad luck seems to follow you like the plague. You were walking to a small corner market to grab something to eat when you felt the disturbance in the air—tasted it on your tongue. You hoped that surge of cursed energy wasn’t what you thought it was. You would have loved to be proven wrong, but your instincts were keen like a hound trained to hunt. 

A curse womb opened right above a Kyoto High school. 

You were definitely getting fired after this. 

You knew a cursed object was most likely responsible for this. Considering it happened at a school, you were more than willing to bet a strong cursed object was placed there, most likely intended to ward off any other strong curses that might otherwise appear in the area. You assumed the seal broke, probably after hundreds of years of suppressing the power of the object. You’ve dealt with a case like that before.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Three stupid students—ghost hunting of all things—removed the seal. The decorated white cloth tightly wrapped around a black skull was torn, and its viscous cursed energy soared, tinting the sky black. 

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you hissed under your breath when you slammed open the classroom door. “This way, c’mon!” You didn’t have to tell them twice. Book it, and you stay by their side for as long as you can. You had to put up your veil, but only after they were far enough. 

You got impatient, however, especially towards the kid who had been recording everything up until now, where you crushed his phone in your hand. 

“Wha– hey! You're gonna pay for that!”

“What the hell is more important? Recording or your fucking lives? Shut up and run!” 

The air suddenly cracks with a tension that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s here. You could feel it—the dark, oppressive presence creeping across the courtyard, lurking. You yourself could see it with your eyes, but you felt it. 

Your senses were better than most. It was partially why you and Yuji got along and trained together so well. You were just like him when you were younger. Granted, he wasn’t born with cursed energy like you were, but your heavenly restrictions were nearly identical. 

You stop running when you reach the edge of the courtyard, but those three kids carry on in a scram. Holding the cursed object in your hands, you raise the skull in the air. It takes a considerable amount of force, but you crush the skull, black dust coating your hand. There’s a hollow screech, and you hope that’s the end of it. 

Of course, your bad luck persists. 

Typically, destroying the cursed object that’s created a cursed womb kills it or at least nullifies it. The exception is when the curse is an S-grade; those wombs are damn near impenetrable. 

Destroying the object seemed only to irritate the curse as it began crawling out of a bloody sac. 

You hold up your fist, index, and pointer finger together, pointing to the sky along with your thumb. A crimson veil pours down, covering the entirety of the school. However, you sense three others within your veil just as you seal off the area. 

“Yo, Y/n sensei!! What the hell are you doing here, loca!” A deep laugh echoes across the courtyard. 

Christ. You knew that voice from anywhere. 

You glance over your shoulder and see a few unexpected faces. Utahime and two other students—Miwa and Todo who looks way happier than he should be, considering the circumstances. 

The newly born curse loomed menacingly overhead, its red eyes gleaming like coals in a dying fire. It was tall, with protruding joints that snapped into place. Its black and sleek hair extended beyond its long, contorted body. Its face was painted white and cracked as if crafted of aged porcelain. Its kimono was white, stained with splashes of red and black goo. You stood firmly in place, fire crackling at your fingertips, your breath steady but sharp in the cold night air. Todo and Miwa joined your side quickly, and Utahime offered you a firm nod from the sidelines. She was entrusting you with her students.  

Quickly, the courtyard became a battlefield, filled with the crackle of burning energy and the hum of raw power. 

The curse lunged, zipping through the air. You were faster, your body twisting and moving with fluid grace. You raised your hand to strike, a jet of flame bursting forward, crackling against the air. The curse shrieked as the fire seared its back, black smoke rising from its melted skin. 

It recovered too quickly for your liking. It rolled through the flames like water through a sieve, reforming and lunging again, its claws gleaming.

Your senses were on fire—every shift in the air, every sound, every movement was magnified. You could hear the heartbeat of the curse, the faintest tremor of its form as it coiled to strike. You could smell the thick, sour scent of decay that clung to it like an ancient smog. And you could feel it—the deep, heavy weight of power pressing down on you, making your muscles tighten and strain against the oncoming attack.

The curse moved to strike again, but you were already there, rolling beneath it, body twisting in a perfect arc, and feet hitting the ground in a spring-loaded motion that sent you leaping upward. Your fist, wreathed in fire, crashed into the creature’s chest.

The explosion of heat sent the curse reeling, but it was only a momentary distraction. It retaliated, slashing the air with a massive, clawed hand. Three energized strikes were headed your way. You reacted with seconds to spare, but Miwa stood directly in the line of fire. You knew her simple domain wouldn’t be summoned fast enough, but she didn’t. It would be a miscalculation that ended her life. 

The claws tore through your side, then whipped down in a sickening arc, ripping clean through your arm. The pain came in an instant—a blinding, searing agony that burned through your body. You didn't even have time to scream.

You staggered back, a cry escaping Miwa’s lips as she looked at the bloody stump where your arm used to be. Blood poured and squirted from the wound, but there was no time for that. 

"Get back!" you shouted to the blue-haired girl, voice raw. She wasn’t nearly ready for this; Utahime gravity overestimated her abilities or underestimated the cursed strength. Regardless, the girl was too distraught to do anything at this moment. 

There’s a rush, and you suddenly realize you are outside the heat of battle. Todo went in, guns blazing, but you could only waste so much time. Todo was strong, way above his current ranking, in your opinion, but it was only a matter of time before that curse cut him down, too. 

Without a second thought, you dropped to your knees. The pain was overwhelming, but you focused, drawing from the reserves settled deep within your core. Your energy surged, and tendrils of fire spiraled around the wound, filling the air with intense heat. 

“Sensei! Are you alri–" Miwa gasped, her feet coming to a haunt as she watched in awe and terror as your arm began to regenerate—pulsing with energy. The flesh knitted itself together, bone and sinew reforming in a frenzy. 

But the process wasn't easy and certainly didn’t come without a price to pay. Your body screamed, the regeneration draining your reserves. You were already weakened, and the battle had just begun. Tsk. 

Todo found his way back over to you two, panting heavily. “How are you doing over there, Sensei?”

"Clap," you say, voice strained. "Now." He looked at you, bug-eyed, but he nodded. He didn't hesitate. 

He brought his hands together in a sharp clap, and everything shifted. “Alright! Let’s dance!”

In an instant, you found yourself on the other side of the curse. You inhaled deeply, heart pounding, immediately launching yourself back into the fight.

The curse roared in confusion, disoriented, but it was too late. You were already in motion. Your feet hit the ground in a fluid motion, and with a vicious snap of your wrist, fire erupted once again. This time, it formed into a massive whip of flame that lashed through the air.

The curse hissed as the whip wrapped around its neck, and you pulled with your whole body. Never losing your grip, muscles straining, you move forward, wrapping the flames over your arm again and again, pulling tighter and tighter until you smelt the pungent odor of the burning flesh around its neck. You wrapped the whip around your arm one last time before turning your body and pulling the whip from over your shoulder, viscously yanking and slamming the curse to the ground and into submission. 

The curse struggled, its body writhing, but it was weakened. Miwa went for the opening, summoning her New Shadow Style: Simple domain. She’s gotten better since the tournament, and you acknowledge with a grave chuckle as she instantly draws her blade, slicing the curse directly across its chest cavity. She cost you an arm, but deep down, you knew she had the conviction to win and succeed. 

Todo doesn’t wait. Another clap. Another shift. You and Todo swapped places with the curse itself this time, and the curse had no time to react. He goes for a punch, cracking the curse with a quick jab, followed by a right hook. He claps again. The moment the curse materialized in front of you, disoriented, you surged forward, throwing everything you had left into one final strike.

It twisted in anguish, its body crumbling to the ground before its remains turned into ash.

Then, there was nothing.

The air grew still. The ground beneath you is scorched but calm. You sucked your teeth, silently berating yourself. 

You hated using your technique. Frankly, you opted not to unless you absolutely needed to, which was the main reason why people hardly knew about it. It wreaked havoc, leaving nothing but indomitable infernos that refused to be quenched like normal flames. They left nothing destruction in their wake—hungry to consume and spread. However, you’ve gotten better at controlling it—you’ll give yourself that. The only thing burned here today was the grass in the courtyard. 

You stood there for a moment, panting, your body trembling with exhaustion as you collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. “Y–you did it!” Miwa cheered. “I had no idea you knew RCT. Thank you for helping me back there.”

“What the– Miwa, we won! Show some conviction!” Todo cut in, flexing his biceps. 

“He’s right,” you managed a weak smile as you worked on catching your breath and easing your fast-beating heart. You collapse to the ground, still gaining your breath. "We did it."

You hear footsteps approaching from behind. Tilting your head, you see Utahime standing directly above you. 

“Oh. Hi ‘hime.” 

She smiles a bit, but her face remains hardened. You straighten up a bit, catching on to her attitude. Something wasn’t right. 

“You guys did a good job. However, another problem has arisen across the city.” 

“Huh? Another one?” Miwa asked, brows tugging inward. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other. “That's like the fifth one today...”

They continue on in their conversation as you drop your veil, sniff the air, and concentrate on your surroundings. A sense of foreboding strikes you under the dark ambiance of the sky. Even after killing that S-grade, things don’t feel right. 

“Thanks for joining us,” Utahime says, drawing back your attention. “I nearly had to call for backup.”

You scoff, glancing up at her from the ground. “Something doesn't feel right, Utahime.” She nods, agreeing with your observation. “When did the reports come flooding in?”

“About an hour ago now.”

“Hm,” you wonder, thinking back to when you first found the cursed womb. “That’s about the same time I first sensed the presence of the cursed womb. They’re most likely connected.”

“That's what I thought. The presence of the cursed womb must have irritated some of the curses in the city, most likely because they were drawn to the energy fluctuations the cursed womb caused. It's good you were here. We're stretched thin right now. If you don’t mind staying, we could use your help. The other students are out on missions across the city, and things just keep getting worse.” 

You smile up at her before pushing yourself back up on your two feet, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Sure, let’s get going–” but as you stand, it feels as if a bolt of lightning strikes you down or as if your chest has been cracked open by a sledgehammer. The agony was too great to even scream as you fell to your knees and crashed back into the ground. 

It was lights out. 

-

It was quiet. Dark—a vast, unending expanse of nothingness that swallowed you whole. An endless drift. It would have almost been peaceful if not for the faint pull at the edges of your awareness, like an anchor trying to tether to something you couldn’t see. 

But then came the first sound. 

You heard voices—muffled cries. Please wake up, said one voice. Please stay with me, came another. 

Pain began to throb somewhere in the background, dull and distant. Disembodied as if it belonged to someone else. 

Don’t you dare leave me. The voice was sharp, demanding, cracking under the weight of fear. You knew that voice and remembered all the sweet things it used to whisper to you. Your heart takes a painful lurch. You can hear its occasional beat in your ears. We need you. I need you. 

Oddly, you were cold.

You were drifting again, further and further. The anchor was slipping. You were sinking, your head hardly above water, when another muffled voice broke through—whimpering, sobbing. Your heart lurches painfully.

Mom, please don’t go.

The words pierce through the nothingness, shattering it all to bits and pieces. The words pull at you, a lifeline you hadn’t known you clung to and needed. Images begin to flash, and suddenly, the voices are no longer just voices. Your heart suddenly burns as though the memory of life itself is fighting its way back into you. 

Your eyelids were heavy, limbs weak, unresponsive—cold. You were so cold, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from crawling out of a black pit that threatened to swallow you whole. There’s a faint sensation of pressure, a hand tightly gripping yours. 

Light begins bleeding into the edges of your awareness. You sucked in a deep breath, lungs empty and greedy. 

Then, your eyes fluttered open.  

You blinked a few times, realizing how hard it was to breathe. Breathing was supposed to be an automatic response, but you had to force it, each breath dragging along the back of your throat like sandpaper. You’re weak and shivering as you use most of your energy to sit up. You were in an empty room, you realized—the sharp smell of sanitizer permeating your nose. 

You push yourself out of bed, knees buckling under your weight. You catch yourself, gathering whatever bits of strength you have left. Your teeth clattered. You were freezing. Shaking, you wrapped the white blanket over your shoulders, gripping it tight before you trudged towards the door.

The hall was mostly empty, all except for a sleeping boy slouched over in a chair beside your door. Your heart squeezes. 

“Megumi,” you whispered his name. You stare at him for a moment, unable to bite back the tears that nip at your dry eyes. 

You wrapped the blanket around him, tucking it gently around him. However, he flinches, jumping straight up in his chair. “S-Sorry,” you tell him quickly with a watery smile. “You looked cold.” 

“You…” the word was a raw and weak whisper. His eyes widened. It took a moment for recognition to settle in, but once it did, he spoke again. “You’re awake.” He stood up from his chair, and you stepped back, offering him space. “You’re awake,” he repeated again. 

Then, you start to wonder just how long you’ve been out of it. Days? Weeks? The thought of months terrifies you, but before you can even go down that loophole, he’s hugging you tightly. “You’re awake,” he says once more, his voice breaking. 

However long it was, he’s right. You’re awake. You’re here, living and breathing. You wrap your arms around his torso, patting and rubbing his back soothingly. “Yup… I’m here. I’m awake.” 

You let him be the one to pull away, letting him take however long he needs. You enjoyed it regardless. You couldn’t remember the last time you hugged him. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are red. He sniffs a bit, backing up and taking the blanket off his shoulders. This time, he’s the one wrapping the fabric around you. He’s frowning a bit as he does. “... you’re the one that’s cold,” he notes quietly. 

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” He asks softly, brows furrowing. 

You shook your head. No. Frankly, you didn’t remember much of anything right now. “I was on my way with Yuji and Nobara. We got on the train after you let me know where you were staying.” That’s right. You texted Megumi when you figured out where you’d be staying. You thought they’d come over sometime in the following days. You had no idea they were rushing to see you on the next available train. 

He places his hands awkwardly on your shoulder before gently guiding you to the chair he was sitting in moments ago. As you go to sit, your body seems to forget how to move for a moment, and you lose your balance. He catches you quickly, carefully helping you down into the chair. “When we got to Kyoto, we realized quickly how bad things were over there.   We started helping out at the Kyoto school, dealing with the curses that had been lingering in the area where the cursed womb opened up. Eventually, we ran into Todo and Miwa. They told us what happened.” He grunts, kneeling down so he’s at eye level with you. 

You’re silent for a moment. “How long was I out for?”

“Pushing four days now.” 

The memories strike you like a fright train. “Are you okay? Is everyone alright?” You hadn’t realized you had reached for his cheek. 

He grabs your wrist, thumb gently caressing the back of your hand before pulling your hand away, guiding it back to your lap. He moves the blanket until it's covering you again.  “We’re all fine. Everything’s been dealt with. Yuji and Nobara went down to the cafe to grab some lunch. They’ll be thrilled when they come back.”

You tilt your head. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

He smiles a bit. “I didn’t want to leave you unattended.”

You don’t know what to think. You’re just happy you’re back. Happy because he was happy. You always hated it when he worried about you. You never believed it was his job to do so. However, he stayed by your side and protected you when you couldn’t protect yourself. 

You wiggle your toes and roll your shoulders before standing again. “You shouldn’t be standing–”

“I’m alright, I promise,” you tell him, dismissing his concern. “I just want to walk around, okay?”

He stares at you intently, unsure, but he seems to have no energy to argue with you. “... alright,” he relents. 

He follows you closely as you drag your feet across the floor. You don’t know where you are walking, but you want to stretch your legs and regain a sense of your body. You are weak, but you need to move. 

You ask the question you were too hesitant to ask: “What about Gojo?”

He huffs. “He left a little while ago. Said he’d be back shortly,” he scoffs. “Bullshit if you ask me.”

“Megumi,” you sigh his name with a soft reprimand. 

“He should be here,” he responds disgruntledly. “He should be by your side, and he’s not."

You stay quiet. You’re not exactly sure what to say to him when you agree. Maybe Gojo was done. Whatever this was, whatever relationship you had—maybe he didn’t want you anymore. You look ahead, fighting your own body that threatened to collapse at any moment. You could feel Megumi’s eyes on you, but you didn’t have the heart to look at him right now.

You were afraid you would sob if you did. 

Though you had never walked these halls before, the hospital's layout was quite easy to catch on to. After taking a fourth right turn, you see your room in the distance. A stubborn part of you says to keep going and keep walking, but the exhaustion is catching up to you quickly. If Megumi hadn’t been by your side, cautious eyes scanning you, you might have kept going until you passed out. You realize that the strength you had was nearly depleted. Only trickles of your cursed energy remained, and it would be a long while before you gained it back. 

You hear footsteps behind you. Quick and ushered. Megumi turns before you, his whole frame tensing.  He sucks his teeth and clicks his tongue. “So he finally shows up.” He speaks in a sardonic tone, loud enough for anyone in the hallways to hear.

Satoru comes running from around the corner then, taking deep breaths. Your brows slightly pinch together in confusion. “S–Satoru,” you stutter, walking closer. “When did you get here?”  He looks disheveled. Alarmed. Was he just running? 

It was hard trying to figure out what he was feeling or experiencing when that black eyeband covered his eyes. However, you noticed the bouquet in his hands, a delicate combination of soft and tender hues: pale pink and roses, white peonies, deep pink lilies, and baby’s breath delicately wrapped along sprigs of greenery. 

You place a hand on Megumi’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go eat with the others?”

“But–”

“I’ll be alright,” you explain to him in a soft tone.

He hesitates, torn between staying and leaving.  He was unsure if he should leave you to handle this alone, but after a moment, he backed down, probably realizing he shouldn’t stand between the two of you and what needed to happen. With an irate glance shot at Gojo, he turns, pocketing his hands as he makes his way to the stairs. 

Only when the door shuts do you look at Satoru again. 

He stays unusually quiet, his face unreadable. Frankly, it was rather unsettling. You had no idea what was going through his mind. “I–I’m sorry!” you blurt out the first words that crash to the surface of your mind the moment you see him in his entirety. There was no hope of holding back. After days spent away from him, lost in his absence, and days dancing on the edge of death, the words tumble out of you before you can stop them—unbidden, unstoppable. “For everything. Y–You must have been stressed with work and other things. My fuck up only added to your plate. I get it, ya know? It's selfish of me, even now, to rely on you so much when there’s a whole world that needs you. They are not my students, and I put them in danger.” Quickly, the tears gather in your waterline again, but you blink them away. “I–I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll… I’ll go. I’ll get out of your way, and you won’t have to deal with me bothering you any longer–”

“Can I touch you?” The question comes suddenly, softly, and almost hesitantly. 

You blink a few times, puzzled, but then, you unravel, folding inward under the weight of his voice. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he still holding onto what you had said that night? Was he haunted by the barriers broken and the others so carelessly assembled? 

He still wanted you? 

You didn’t want him to let you go. Not yet. Not ever.

Like a dam breaking, you surged forward, closing the space between you two. Seconds later, you feel his resolve crumble. He crushes you to his chest, flowers falling to the floor. His arms enveloped you with a force that robbed you of breath, your feet nearly coming off the ground as you both stumble backward. Trembling, he clung to you as if you were an anchor in a world that threatened to tear him apart. There were no words—the unspoken agony and grief were far too overwhelming to put into words—if there even were words for it. 

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m glad you’re okay.  You felt it all with him. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, hear its frantic rhythm match your own.

His hands were shaking, one tangling in your hair, the other wrapping entirely around your frame and squeezing your hip. He buries his face into your neck, and his hot breath is ragged and uneven as he inhales your scent. “I thought–” he swallows, shaking his head. “I didn’t know where you were—for a second time.”

Your cursed energy was low, more depleted than it had ever been. It explains why you were so weak, so frail. When he saw your empty bed, he must’ve panicked. He ran to you, anxiously following the weak traces of your presence. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and the familiar silk of his eyeband rubs against your skin. You gently tug at the fabric with the tips of your fingers. His breath hitches, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he stills as you slip the black band from his face. He lifts his head just enough to rest it against yours. They were that same stunning shade of azure—bright and impossibly vivid, glowing softly as if they carried the remnants of a forgotten star. Captivating, otherworldly, yet achingly human—something he’d often forget from time to time. 

“You promised,” he murmurs, voice broken. “You promised.”  

“What are you talking about?” you ask just as brokenly. 

Suddenly, one of his hands grasps your neck, and you choke on your words. He doesn’t squeeze tight, but the look on his face is enough to make you gasp. “I couldn’t feel you. I couldn’t feel you anymore,” he says achingly. 

Your chest tightens, nails slightly digging into his forearm. You open your mouth to speak, failing more times than succeeding. You wanted to speak, but the words lodged in your mouth. 

“I–I don’t understand.”

“You’re not wearing it anymore,” he murmurs, his nose brushing softly against your cheek. The necklace you always wore—his gift to you, the one that held a part of him, a part of the two of you—was gone. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, an absence that gnawed at him like hunger, an emptiness he could never satisfy. 

His voice wasn’t angry, far from it. It wasn’t even harsh, but something in it—a quiet desperation—made the air between the two of you quiver. 

“You promised you’d never go where I couldn’t follow,” he whispers again. “Remember?” 

You nod in his hold, tightly pursing your lips together when a few tears escape, dripping from your eyes.  He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours again, gazing deep and unwavering into your eyes. I remember. His grip on your neck loosens until he removes his hand from your throat completely, gentle fingers pushing down your shirt's fabric. His fingers trace your skin, the empty spot where your necklace once laid. 

Then, it suddenly hits you. “Oh.”  

He could feel you as much as you felt him. If you were ever too far from him—out of the range of his sight, out from where his hands could reach for you, that necklace was a beacon, a beckoning, a lighthouse in the storm that guided you home—guided him home. 

You squeeze him tighter. You missed him. You really missed him. 

“How did you find me?” 

He takes a moment to breathe, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart. “Utahime.” He wheezes out a pained laugh. “She called me panicking once you collapsed. I got there as quickly as I could.”  

You copy his laugh, albeit coughing a bit from the pain blooming in your ribs. You hated to admit it, but the longer you stood, the more your body began to hurt. “I should just heal myself and get this over with.”

“Don’t,” his grip tightens on you again. “you’re using it wrong. There’s damage, lots of it,” he tells you, wiping at the blood that had stained your skin at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Any more and–” his eyebrows furrowed deeply, the weight of grief and guilt tugging his features. The corner of his lips tightened. “Shoko operated on you for hours. You nearly died.”

He sees what others cannot, his gaze piercing the surface to something deeper, something raw. He sees the world through an entirely different lens, and right now, the sight of you seems to pain him dearly. 

For a moment, you wonder just how much damage is hidden within you and how much it must weigh on him to see it. “Shoko might have gotten you out of the woods, but she told me you’d need a few more rounds to get you back to normal.”

“That makes sense,” you murmur, allowing your entire body weight to ease into him. He accepts you with open arms. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or twenty.”

“I missed it,” he utters, voice thick with regret. “If I had just looked a bit closer, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I fucked up. I could’ve prevented this.” His careful grip on you tightens as if you’d slip away from him once more.  “But,” his tone softens. “You did so well. You took care of that cursed womb before I could even get to the scene.” Even through his pain and wallowing, his heart swells. He was proud of you. 

He bends down, grabbing the flowers he dropped before moving towards you again. “Oh gosh,” you hide your face into his neck as he reaches down, one arm hooking under your legs as he lifts you. You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m definitely fired, aren’t I?” 

He carefully guides you back into your room. He manages to toss your flowers on the counter by the window. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll handle it. ‘Kay?” He places you down on your bed, but he hesitates, not wanting to fully pull away. 

Your eyes flicker, recalling the night of your augment. You knew this was the reason behind his haunted expression. You recognized the torment because you, too, had felt it. “You’re mad,” he observes relatively quickly.

You didn’t want to bring it up. You weren't necessarily mad, not anymore, but even near death couldn’t make you forget the pain he had caused with words he so carelessly struck you down with. 

“What you said… Hurt me, Gojo,” you look down at your hands, feeling selfish for even bringing this up after nearly dying. However, you knew this conversation was inevitable.  “Even if you were right I felt cast aside. Useless. Why didn't you tell me you felt that way before?”

“No… don’t say that. I was being stupid. I over reacted. I know you'd always protect those kids and that's exactly what you did. You’re not weak or a nuisance, or... convenient.” you flinch at the word. “You’re far from that. I need you to know that.”

“...Then what am I?”

“Everything,” he shudders. “You’re everything.” His lips brush over your forehead, your cheeks, and eyelids, each kiss tender and lingering. But then he pauses, his smooth lips hovering just above yours. He’s always been so confident, so self-assured. You’re unsure how to react.

You were sitting on your bed, feet dangling just above the floor. He is leaning over you, one large and warm hand on your thigh, the other cupping your face gently. He was close, but not close enough. Even bent at the waist, his height keeps him just out of your reach unless he leans back down just a bit more…

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, giving him all the assurance you have to offer.

You were hurt, but you still wanted him.

You still loved him. 

His mouth was warm and soft—testing the waters and treading carefully. His grip on your thigh tightens until– 

He lets go. You feel the tension in his body dissipate, and finally, he allows himself to fully enjoy you—taste you. The kiss deepens, and you swear it brought life back into your frail body. He overwhelms you now in the most delicious way possible. Your toes curl, and your tight embrace eases. Your arms go weak, your hands moving to run down his chest, his taut muscles quivering in the wake of your touch.  Every moment was a promise, every brush of skin a new vow. No words were spoken, but you both heard everything that had been held back, everything that had been left unsaid. 

I’m sorry.

I love you. 

I love you.

I love you. 

He smiles against your lips, but you don’t stop or pull away, catching and nipping at his bottom lip. Then, you kiss him again, slotting his top lip between yours. “You really love me, huh? Hehe.”

Oh. You hadn’t realized you said it—whimpered murmurs against his lips. No wonder why he looked all dopey and smiley. 

“You’re not going to make me grovel for forgiveness?” He pecks your lips again. “This seems too easy. I know you’re still mad.”

You chase after his lips. “Of course, I’m still mad,” you mutter against him. “But I thought I would never see you again.” Even as he frowns, you pepper his lips with kisses. “Plus, it's not like you to grovel.”

“I would for. Only for you, of course.”

You giggle, nipping his lip a little harder. “Yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “I’d like to see that.”

Oh no. You’ve made a grave mistake. You knew you messed up again the second the words fell from your lips. There’s a glint in his eyes now. 

“Oh, my beautiful, angelic Queen! I know I have displeased you. Please accept my humble apologies!” You squeak at the suddenness of his actions. He sinks to his knees dramatically, and his palms meet the dirty floor, and so does his forehead. “I am at your mercy! I have failed you greatly, and I wish to make amends.”

You swat him on the back of his head, but it's not nearly enough to hurt him or deter him from whatever this is. “Gojo! Don’t bow like that! Get up!”

“But I can’t!” He whines. “You must forgive me! I will spend eternity on my knees if it means I can regain your favor, my perfect, beautiful, divine Queen. You alone rule this sinners heart!”  He inches forward on his knees, squeezing himself between your legs. His hands find homage on your waist as he nudges his face into your stomach.

Your eyes roll skyward. “Only you could apologize and insult me at the same time, Satoru,” you grumble, looking down at him before running your fingers through white stands. 

Suddenly, he looks up from this position, resting his chin right beneath your ribs, grinning ear to ear. “You called me Satoru~”

You feel your face flush, heat gushing to your cheeks and ears. “Shut up. You’re such an idiot. Can you get up now?”

“Nah,” he says lazily, burying his head into your stomach again. His voice comes out muffled. “I’m trying to make amends with my Queen. Let me, will ya?”

You ease, realizing you won't be able to stop him from doing what he wants. Even if it was a bit theatrical, he was doing his best—you know that because you know him. You let your nails gently graze his scalp as you continued to pat him. He hums, almost purrs, as your other hand finds his shoulder, squeezing him gently before running your fingers under his shirt, caressing his skull and the taut muscles in his back. A beat of silence passes, but you find yourself uncaring.

You had him back in your arms. That’s all that really mattered to you right now.

“Look, I know… I know I messed up,” he begins, voice so low, you nearly miss it. “I’m not great at this—saying the right things. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was stressed. I was fed up with the higher-ups and fed up with my missions, but that’s no excuse. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. You deserve better than what I was giving you. I’m gonna try to be better… for you. For us.”  His words hang in the air a bit awkwardly, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice. It couldn’t be missed. He shifts a bit, moving to kiss your belly. Then, his large hand wrap around yours, guiding your hand closer to his lips. He kisses the back of your knuckles tenderly as if the act of his apology could never be enough.

“You want me to stay?”

He squeezes you tighter. “Of course I do. What would I be without you?”

“Hm. You’d still be Gojo Satoru. Even without me.” 

“I don’t want to imagine a life without you,” he mutters. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow. I've already told you that…”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper sweetly, patting his head. He nudges his head further into you. “The world will always need you.”

“I will always need you. So please… stop talking like this.” He pinches your side, making you squeak. Finally he looks up, an unimpressed expression gracing his features. “And don’t ever leave the city to get away from me. When you told me you were going to a hotel, I thought you meant in Tokyo.”

You chuckle nervously, looking elsewhere. “Yeah… Sorry about that.” 

“Next time, take a walk or something. I dunno, go touch some grass if you get tired of me.”

A small smile escaped you, followed by a quiet laugh that shook your shoulders. You pat his back three times before kneading him softly. “Okay, humble peasant. You've groveled for long enough. Now lay with me,” you demand him. “I want you to lay with me. I’m so tired.”

“Psh. I’d hardly fit on this bed.”

“Whatever,” you tell him, scooting over. “I’ll make room. Get in, string bean.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

 It’s a bit awkward at first with his lanky form, but he makes it work. It was a tight fit, and his feet slightly dangled off the bed, but he made no objections. With your back to his chest, he held you against him securely.

“You’re cold,” he observes out loud when you start playing with his fingers. It’s a bitter realization, a deafening one on his part. You know it bothers him, especially as he wraps the blanket around you tighter.

He tries not to let it show. However, he quickly becomes restless and you know he isn’t sated. He begins to move. “Let me go get you another blanket.”

“Nooo. Stay here.”

“Huh? But you’re freezing! And you’re never cold!”

“I’m already warming up!” You intervene with a small giggle, tugging him by his jacket. “Just shut up and lay with me, already.” He hesitates before unbuttoning his black jacket. When he was determined, there wasn’t any stopping a man like him, and right now, he was determined to get you warm.

He lays his jacket over you, spreading the fabric out, smoothing away all the wrinkles, and making sure you're covered. It might as well be a blanket with how long it was over you. Bonus points because it still carried him warmth and smelled like his cologne. A blend of earth and wood with a hint of something darker—smokey and smooth. You always loved the scent. Whenever he walked by, it brushed past you like a gentle breeze over still water, warm and inviting, with subtle notes of leather, musk, and vanilla. 

He grunts a bit before easing into the bed again. “My little icicle- ow,” you shot your elbow back, getting him right in the ribs. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He chuckles, before wrapping his arms over you one more. He brushes your hair from your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. He kisses you there once, twice, three times before saying something familiar. 

“I could sense when you left Tokyo. I didn’t know what to do. Even with my eyes, I couldn’t find you. You were just gone. Don’t ever go where I can’t follow." He kisses your neck. "Please.”

You turn around, searching for his lips. He melts into you once again, squeezing your side sweetly. “I promise,” you murmur. “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” you say, voicing back the same promise he made you. He smiles faintly against your lips.  

When you woke up the next morning, your necklace was there. It was back where it belonged, sapphires resting gently over your steady beating heart—carrying Satoru’s silent promise.

Wherever you go, that’s where I follow. 

-

a/n: I honestly don't know how I feel about this but if you made it to the end I hope the nearly 18k was worth reading. If you couldn't tell its based off the song Die With A Smile. Honestly, I think I might have been happier by making this a bit longer and flushing out some of the scenes more, but I was trying new things and I was excited to post my first jjk post :) however its getting late now but if there's any typos or errors I notice later I'll edit as needed.

anyways, if you'd like to see more gojo x sorcerer!reader let me know! also I really hoped you liked the bits I added with Megumi (he's just a smol bean).

likes and reblogs are always appreciated! :p

[hoshigray]

Satoru and Suguru having a competition over who can impregnate their sweet shared lover first, please?

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh my goodness???....you got my attention.

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - canon divergence; implied geto is still a jujutsu tech sorcerer - satosugu taking turns with you - kissing; making out - lotus (geto) + eagle (gojo) positions - breeding kink - scratching - multiple orgasms - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, of get tf up) - cervix fucking - creampies - clitoral play (swiping) - pet names (angel, baby, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetheart) - humor - mention of drool + heavy depictions of come/semen.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

“Oooh—Haahh! Ohhh, God, Suguu, y’ feel so good…!”

“You feel good, too, princess...Hgghh! Shit, Y/n—“

“Yo, can you hurry it up? You know I’m not a patient guy, Suguru.”

Gojo sucks his teeth while watching you get it on with Geto. It was one of those nights when they’d come home and surprise you together. Usually, one would be assigned longer shifts or missions (that one mostly being Gojo), and the other would return home to eat dinner and sleep with you. But there would be those days when they’d arrive home in unison and try to do whatever they can to have you enjoy these rare moments with all three of you.

Sometimes, it would be Gojo taking you guys to some delicious café that sells parfaits that you’d probably like or Geto having the idea to have lunch at the park and enjoy the sun together. But, of course, there’d be those days when simply being inside the apartment, talking about each other’s day, watching a random movie, and then snoring while spooning would suffice. Because it doesn’t matter what they choose to do; all three of you being at the same place is always the best!

Tonight, however, was one of those nights where they’d pull you aside, drown you in kisses and gropes, and carry you to the bedroom for a more intimate occasion. For tonight, Geto and Gojo wanted to fuck you in the hopes you’ll be with child. And what better way for the two best friends to go about such an eventful issue than by a competition to see who can fill you up the most? 

Suguru has you propped on his crossed lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands kneading your asscheeks as you bounce on his cock and wail out his name in pretty notes. This was about the third round of the night, your cunt wet and filled with both Geto’s and Gojo’s cum. The fluids stream down with every jump of your hips from the base of his girth to his balls, the sounds of your union so filthy with the groans and moans that bounce around the bedroom walls. 

Geto sighs and burrows his chin into your shoulder. “Hahhh, oh, stop your crying, Satoru. You finished your turn and didn’t hear me heckle while you and Y/n were doing it.”

The white-haired man grunts with more complaints, to Geto’s dismay. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who takes longer to finish,” he persists, even if his raven-haired friend frowns. “I don’t want you to be the reason my dick falls asleep.”

“Tch, what you should be worrying about is finishing too quickly when it’s your turn. You act like being faster is better…Heh, maybe you can’t handle Y/n better than I do.”

“You son of a—“

“Hey now,” you’re the one who mediates the growing childish tension between your husbands, turning your face to lock Gojo in a spell with your gorgeous, hooded eyes. “Be nice, Toru; it’s Sugu’s turn now, so you can have me however you want when we’re done here, okay?”

Like a heart-struck fool, pink shades creep into the helix of Gojo’s ears as he happily complies with your request. “Okay, my princess.”

Geto rolls his eyes at his friend’s display; what a total loser. As if he has room to talk because once you turn back to face him and kiss his cheek, his breath hitches. “Come on,” you whisper. “Don’t let him ruin your fun.”

The dark-haired one chuckles before claiming your lips with his, “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”

As you two kiss, you rock your hips more to create a steady rhythm on top of Geto. His girth stretches your vagina nicely, and with his pulsing veins, you can feel them rub on the velvety texture of your inner walls. It’s good that the pace is at a respectable tempo, allowing you to feel him at your wits and pleasure truly.

But the best part of this position is how easy it is to stimulate your clitoris. Every time you rock your hips against Geto’s, the bulb rubs against his body and has your frame jolting. It feels so fucking good, having your cunt stuffed with his girth member and graze your walls deliciously while your precious button is being pressed.

The pacing soon goes in sync, his subtle thrusts as you bounce your ass on him while kissing. Your mewls are taken by his hungry lips, sucking on your tongue to evoke more cute noises, your hand coming to the back of his head to massage and grab strands of his onyx hair. He’s so romantic with you and your body, the position making this intimacy so much more personal. Your chasm frequently clamps on his cock when you pull your waist up, making the man below you hiss at the grip.

He breaks the kiss, “Shit, you tighten around me so nicely…”

“Really?” You giggle, laying more kisses on his cheek and ears. It sends shivers down his spine. 

“—Khhh, damn it, I can’t...” Suddenly, Geto thrusts upwards in a faster notion, and you scream to hold on quickly and follow his cadence. “Fuck, you feel too amazing, sweetheart…!” You can’t reply to him appropriately; your only responses are narrowed down to high-pitched whines and squeals. His hands wrap around your back to keep your body close as he chases his climax, his hot face melting with the sweat of your shoulder while he pushes his cock to meet your cervix. “Hmng! Hmmnn, I’m gonna cum, baby…!”

“Ohooo, me too, Sug’ruu, me—Tahhh! Ohhh, Jesus…!” Your clit keeps bumping onto Geto, your nerves getting activated with every rut. Shaky moans leave your puffy lips, and your hand scratches his back at every jab of your delicate cervix. You bring him in for another kiss – this one a lot more rushed and steamy – and your orgasm hits you both from the erratic speed of your hips.

You two sigh heavily into each other’s mouths, your body sinking into Geto’s gentle hold as his cock ejaculates his semen into your throbbing slit. His hands massage your back while his pelvis rolls to grind his dick and have your walls clench onto him more.

With a soft sound, you remove your lips from his, smiling gently while you brush his bangs off to view his left eye. “You love to finish strong, Sugu.”

He chuckles before kissing your nose. “Can’t help it if you drive me crazy, my love—“

“Alright, round’s over!” 

Before Geto knows it, Gojo’s already on the bed, yanking you off his best friend’s lap and laying you down with your back to the sheets. He voices his discontent, trying not to appear too upset. “Excuse you? Can’t let me have a moment?”

“Nope!” He shoves a middle finger to Geto’s face, and the black-headed one almost pops a vessel. “I practically went limp after watching you two for so long. So obverse from the side and let me have my fun.”

“So annoying,” Geto mumbles under his breath, yet the milky-haired one chooses not to listen with a huff and places all his attention on you.

“Now,” Gojo turns to you with half-lidded cerulean eyes, a smile beaming too much that his dimples show up. He spreads your legs to evince your messy chasm; Geto’s come spilling down to the crevice of your butt as he massages your inner thighs. Fuck, so fucking nasty, it had him bite his lip. “You ready for more of me, baby?”

You titter, bringing your legs up your chest and spread to a V-shape. “Yes, Toru, thank you for being patient.”

He snickers while pushing his glans to meet your soapy folds, humming when the excessive come lubes your labia sufficiently for his cock to be inserted. The hug of your walls makes him moan, and you jerk as his left curve scratches the plush itch. “Fuuuuck, so warm and tight for me, baby.” 

His arms support your legs in the air, and the position allows him to initiate with slow thrusts. Your purr at his movements; the curve has you howl with every push, stretching your pussy when he propels himself into you and rubs the upper wall of your vagina. Oh God, feels so fucking good…

You peer to where his dick is plunging into your cunt, silently awing at the mussy display of cum ringing around the base of his shaft and stringing to where your folds are. Holy shit, you chew on your bottom lip and move a hand to finger your clit, silently howling at the swipes you dance around your bud. “OhhhGod, hmmmm, right there…”

Gojo looks down and sees what you’re doing, and he chuckles, “Shit, you enjoying yourself, pretty girl? Hmm?” He ruts into you with sudden haste, and an abrupt hit to your cervix has you almost choking on air. “Like being filled up, huh?”

“Ahhh, y–yesss, I lov—Mmmph!!” He grinds his pelvis down, drilling his length deep inside to scuff your smooth walls. “I love y’r dick so much, Satoruuu…!”

“Awww, look at you playing with yourself,” the view excited him more, increasing his speed to pound into you. You cry out at the poke of your cervix, clamping onto him in response. “Ahhhh, there it is,” he coos while adding more weight onto you, making his rocks precise where he wants to hit. More shrieks fly out your lips, “Wanna be bred so bad, princess? Want me to fill you up again?”

Your head aches, ears ringing from the sloppy sounds of his dick rutting inside you, his balls smack your grundel with every push. “Ahhnn, mmoohhh, ye’sss,” you whisper.

“C’mon, angel, let me hear you.” Gojo places his forehead on your sweaty one, azure eyes examining your expression in a haze. “You want—Nnngh! Fuck…Want me to fuck a baby into you, yeah? Make you a mama? ”

“Yess, ’Toru, yesss!! Give me y’ur babiess, make me all fat and full!!”

“Heh, good, pretty girl; so good for—Khhckk!! Shit, shit, I’m gonna cum…” He brings his lips to yours, moaning to the kiss with you while his hips turn up to a volatile rate. Your whimpers are sucked and drunk by him, your eyebrows furrowed from the cyclical hits to your cervix and rubbing on your silky tunnel.  

Your arms come around to his shoulders, beckoning him to deepen the kiss as your body gets ready for the orgasm that hits you like a train. Trembles climb up your frame, whines muffled, and drool slips out your mouth down to your chin. Your cunt contracts around his length, milking him into his own release and filling you with his essence, adding to the pile that squelches and trickles down to the sheets beneath you. 

Gojo nibbles on your lip as he pumps every last bit of his load into you, his tongue twirling with yours until he removes his face from yours. He smiles, dimples greeting you with disheveled strands of snow-white hair sticking to his forehead. Too distracted by his charm for him to sneak in more harsh thrusts to your aching frame. 

You gasp aloud, “—Ohooo! Satoru, nooo! I’m too sensitive nowww..!!”

“Mmmm, sorry, princess,” an apology with a smile doesn’t match, placing a kiss on your forehead as you wail for him while he ruts into your vulnerable slit. “You just feel too good, can never get enou—Owwww!!”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Witness to the entire thing, Geto smacks Gojo with a house slipper before pulling him off you and throwing him to the side. The blue-eyed man looks at the other with an annoyed face. “I should be asking you the same thing, you psycho; what’s with the assault!?”

“Did you forget? Your turn is up,” indigo eyes narrow with a dark glint. “So why are you still moving?”

“Oh, quit yapping, giant earlobes! Can’t a guy squeeze in a few more before I get off…Or what, you scared I’d make them pregnant first? Your frail soldiers can’t compete with mine, is that it?” 

“Hah, you tell me, blue-eyed snowflake; you’re the one still trying to fuck into them like you’re afraid your load isn’t enough. Poor guy; can’t be a sore loser too early, now.”

“Choke on my dick!”

“You first.”

The two bicker back and forth while you observe, unable to find the right cue to intervene as you’re still in a daze. You sit on your side, feeling the liquids inside you exit your frame and slide down your thighs.

As they fight, you remember that you had forgotten to tell them that you took a birth control pill earlier today after they texted about returning home together. It wasn’t until after dinner that they said they wanted to try and fuck and fill you to the brim, practically dragging you to the room before you could utter a word to them about the contraceptive.

…Oh well, surely they don’t mean to have a baby right this moment. Plus, there will be other times! So, for now, you watch your husbands argue before you while shaking your head with a smile.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Just read your telling the LADS Men you're pregnant hcs and AAAA I loved it so muchhh. the boys r so silly. SOOO May I request LADS men when reader goes into labour when they're away? Sorry I just love chaos 🤭

The Baby is Coming!

Giving your lads man a call when you're going into labor while he's not with you. A/N: Hey nonnie I bet you thought I forgot about this request huh? I didn't sorry I took so long to finish it. Love you 🩵

Zayne

Calling Zaynes' office

Zayne: Dr. Zayne speaking Tara: It’s coming Zayne: What’s coming?

Fumbling noises from you snatching the phone from Tara

MC: Your big headed child Zayne my water just broke

Loud clattering noises on Zaynes' end

Zayne: I’m on my way home now MC: Tara is bringing me to the hospital just stay there Zayne: Right right … I'll report to labor and delivery MC: *groans in pain* Zayne: How bad is the pain MC: I’ll punch you in the nuts so you can experience it firsthand Zayne: I’ll let that one slide because I know it’s the contractions talking

Rafayel

MC: The twins are coming Rafayel: WHAT!? MC: YEA! Rafayel: They’re 3 weeks early MC: No shit sherlock *groans in pain* Rafayel: Tell them I said stop hurting mommy MC: Mommy is gonna curb stomp daddy if he isn’t here within the next 5 minutes Rafayel: Don’t worry your savior is on the way MC: You’re not funny hurry up Rafayel: Can’t you just cross your legs? MC: Nvm I’ll drive myself Rafayel: Okay okay I’m sorry I’m just freaking out MC: I have not one but two crotch goblins trying to rip me in half I need you to lock in or so help me God I will fry you up and serve you with a side of fries and extra tartar sauce you hear me? Rafayel: Yes ma’am

Xavier

Xavier: I have everything ready to read to your tummy tonight MC: You’ll be reading to our son instead Xavier: What do you mean? MC: My water broke while I was at Philos Xavier: Why are you there? MC: I was picking out the flowers I want in my hospital room *groans in pain* Xavier: I’m coming don't worry MC: You coming is what caused all of this but it's fine Jeremiah is driving me to the hospital now Xavier: ……does he drive better than me? MC: Xav please don’t piss me off right now……. Xavier: Right heading there now MC: Make sure you bring the baby bag Xavier: I have it ... unlike Jeremiah MC: NOT NOW!

Sylus

Sylus: I'm getting a distress call from Mephisto what's wrong? MC: The baby is coming Sylus: Is this another case of Braxton Hicks? MC: No its a case of amniotic fluid all over the damn kitchen floor Sylus: I'm on my way don’t move MC: *groaning in pain* I can barely do anything right now Sylus: Remember the breathing techniques MC: This is all your fault Sylus: I know Princess you can squeeze my hand as hard as you want MC: I’m gonna break it Sylus: Good luck with that MC: What did you just say? Sylus: I said I’m sure of that

Caleb

MC: Hey dumbass your big headed child is trying to tear me in two Caleb: Aww are they kicking too hard? MC: Caleb….. Caleb: Don’t tell me MC: Yes my water broke Caleb: Okay don’t worry I’m on my way stay on the phone with me MC: Gideon is already driving me to the hospital meet us there Caleb: ….. MC: You there? Caleb: Is he driving safe? MC: CALEB! Caleb: Right on my way! Uh real quick did you grab the baby bag? MC: Yes Caleb: Do you remember the breathing techniques? MC: Yes Caleb: Did you- MC: STOP WITH THE TWENTY ONE QUESTIONS BEFORE I HANG UP Caleb: Alright I'm done but just so you know you can scream at me all you want I don't mind MC: *Hangs up*

[belovedmusings]

Am I Playing All Right Now?

Kento Nanami x You

Explicit Smut 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Kento Nanami has been your respectful, loving boyfriend for two months now. All you’ve done so far is kiss, and you want more with him. He refuses for your sake, warning of his roughness. So, you take matters into your own hands and convince him to put in ‘just the tip’. 

Relevant tags: just the tip challenge, dom! Kento Nanami, clothed sex, couch sex, clit slapping, brief use of leather belt, hard and rough sex, doggy-style, hair pulling, manhandling, big dick-Nanami <3, dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex, creampie, I don't use "y/n" for immersion

Music recommended while reading: Dollhouse (The Weekend, Lily Rose Depp, …baby one more time (The Marias), Like U (Rosenfeld)

A/N: this is filthy and I love it, my first Nanami piece <3 enjoy!! (Read on Ao3 if you prefer!)

Read below cut:

The night had gone great. You two had a fantastic dinner at a fine restaurant, and now you’re at his house, getting hot and heavy on the couch. You’re sat in his lap, straddling his waist, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs as the fabric gives to accommodate him between your legs. Your hands are running over the muscles of his chest, only the thin layer of his dress shirt between your touch and his skin. His palms are on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you so firmly against him that you can feel the blunt heat of his hard cock beneath the confines of his slacks. 

You can feel adrenaline pumping through your veins–tonight is the night. Every time you two get close to having sex, he pulls away, saying he isn’t ready, but right now it feels so different, so electric–

He hums, punctuating the kiss and pulling back, giving you room to breathe. Your stomach sinks, no, this isn’t what you want, you want–

“We should stop here for the night,” He murmurs, and you look into his eyes, a frown tugging your lips down at their corners. 

“But you’re hard,” You protest, “Kento, please…we’ve waited long enough, and you clearly want this…”

His jaw tightens as he takes a breath. “I do…but we can’t.”

Now you’re just confused. “...can’t?”

He sighs heavily, giving you no explanation, but nodding. “Now, let’s m–”

“No, hold on,” You interrupt him, “Kento, tell me why? I-is it me? Do you…not want…?”

“It’s definitely not you,” He dispels quickly, “It’s me, okay?”

“What about you?” You press, searching his eyes. “Is it…are you…worried about your performance?”

That gets him to widen his eyes a fraction in surprise. “N-no, it’s not that. It’s…alright, look, it’s…it’s that I don’t want to hurt you.”

It isn’t enough of an answer for you. “And…what do you mean by that?”

“You…you know me to be this nice, gentlemanly man, don’t you?” He asks, a sort of resigned weight to his eyes. “Which, I am. But not when it comes to sex.”

The wheels turn in your head. “So…you’re…?”

“I’m rough,” He finally states, “And it’s…it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m afraid to hurt you or scare you away. Of course I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want, but…you just seem so sweet and–”

“Woah,” You stop him in the middle of his sentence. “Do you think you’re the only one with duality? You don’t think I can be different in bed? Do you think I’m some porcelain doll you’ll break if you’re not careful?”

He considers this for a moment before sighing. “You don’t understand.”

“So then make me understand,” You challenge him, running your hands up his chest. “Please, Kento. I can take it.”

“No,” He denies, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Seeing his hesitance, you decide to switch tactics. You reach for his hands on your waist, taking his wrists and raising his palms up to the front of your dress. You guide them to rest over your breasts, allowing him to touch them through the thin cloth. You’d decided not to wear a bra for the night since the article had thin straps, and he immediately can feel that, a flash of desire flitting within his eyes.

Riding the wave of his interest, you tell him, “I want you bad, Kento.”

He inhales forcefully, allowing himself to knead the soft flesh beneath his hands. His thumbs graze over your hardening nipples, your teeth dragging over your bottom lip instinctively. To drive your point home, you grind down on him, the only thing on beneath your dress being the panties you’d hoped he’d see when you had put them on earlier in the day.

“You’re playing dangerous,” He warns, voice thin and strained. 

“Maybe I want dangerous.”

He finally lets out a groan, surging forward and capturing your lips in another kiss. It’s more forceful this time, and all you can do is give complete control to him. 

He flips your positions so smoothly, you hardly feel it; you just suddenly feel your back hit the cushion of his couch, a gasp pushed from your mouth. His hands make quick work sliding up your dress, fingers hooking underneath your waistband.

Kento speaks against your mouth lowly. “Lace?”

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Expensive?”

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, no, not r–”

A swift, harsh tug and the sound of fabric ripping later, he holds the scrap lace in his hand, now mangled and unusable. He just tore them clean off.

“Holy shit,” You breathe, now suddenly aware of how bare you are beneath your dress. He must become aware of that fact too, because without a moment to spare, he’s pushing the article up to your waist, exposing you to his eyes. A rosy flush spreads over the bridge of your nose as he looks at your naked lower half unabashedly, a type of hunger you have never seen before nor known he was capable of in his eyes.

He tosses your ruined panties to the floor and fiddles with his belt, undoing the buckle. Your gaze follows his movements, watching his hands expertly tug the leather strap from its loops in his pants.

Then, he surprises you by holding the edge without the buckle and running it along your inner thigh. You shiver, observing him and wondering what his next move will be. He runs it all the way up, reaching the apex of your leg and placing it right over your mound. The cool leather feels unfamiliar there.

“Can I?”

Your attention is pulled to his voice, and for a moment you aren’t sure what he means. Then it dawns on you.

Oh.

No one’s ever done that to you. But…you aren’t opposed. You’re curious.

You nod.

“Words.”

Oh, damn.

“Yes, you can.”

“Good girl.”

You don’t have time to pay attention to the rush of hormones that praise gives you, because a harsh sting of pleasure suddenly hits your senses as he brings the end of the belt down, slapping your clit with it.

“Ah!” You jump slightly, shock, arousal, and fascination flooding you all at once.

“How was that?” He asks, watching you carefully. You take stock of yourself…and are intrigued to find that you liked it. As soon as you realize that, you understand that Kento is about to show you an entire new world previously unexplored to you.

Your eyes lock with his. “It was good.”

A mixture of relief and desire swarm his gaze. “You liked that?”

“Yeah.”

Without warning, he does it again, a little harder, and you cry out this time, unused to the strangely welcome sensation.

“Still good?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Your next breath is shaky. “More.”

He wastes no time in delivering exactly what you want. Over and over again, until your pearl is red and swollen and the folds beneath are glistening with need, belt shiny with a bit of it. He stops once you reach this state, making sure you see as he licks it off the belt. Your lips part, entranced, and he drops the accessory, instead moving to undo the front of his slacks. Your heart begins racing–but then he pauses, seeming to deflate slightly.

“I’m not gonna go all the way,” He states, “I don’t have condoms.”

“What?” Your voice is more than a little indignant. “But…how?”

“I wasn’t planning to do this tonight.”

He pulls his cock from its restriction in his briefs, pushing his waistbands down to the tops of his thighs, and the sight of the thick, red shaft as your mouth watering and your core pulsing around nothing. 

You think he’s changed his mind as he lines it up, but then he just glides it against your folds, coating it in your essence and using it to rub against you, the feeling intense due to the sensitivity of your previously abused clit, but not what you crave.

“Kento,” You whimper, watching him rub himself off as he plays with you using his cock. “Please…”

“We’re not risking a pregnancy,” He maintains, “It’s not wise.”

You are beyond frustrated at this point, entrance weeping for attention, and you swear the desire is so bad you can feel your entire core sore and empty, vying to be filled and stretched.

What can you say that will get him to do it, even just a little bit?

Wait. Just a little bit.

“What about just the tip?”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“Just the tip,” it comes out needier than you had intended, but god damn it you’re horny and all out of shame twice over.

Kento takes a good look at you, at himself and the position you’re in, sucking in a controlled breath for the umpth time that night.

Then, he lines up again, cockhead pressing against your entrance. “You’re going to regret asking for it.”

Is he challenging you? Whatever. What. Ever. You’ve reached a point where if you don’t get his cock soon your heart may actually give out. 

“Let me decide that.”

His jaw sets tightly before finally, finally, he cants his hips forward, pushing the tip of his shaft inside of you. 

As soon as it’s in, your head falls back on the couch, hips starting to roll without your permission. Your body wants him all on its own, and you’re no longer in command of it. He groans, pulling out and then pushing it back in, only the tip again, and you whimper in half bliss and half frustration.

You want more. 

You understand the true meaning of temptation now. You’ve had the first bite of the proverbial apple, and it’s shocking how eager you are to devour the rest to its core.

Everytime he pushes in, never going past the smooth head of his cock, you moan, wordlessly begging for more. There’s a worry in his brow and a tenseness to his jaw that indicates just how much self-control he’s exercising, and as you look up at him, you realize he’s still pretty much fully clothed—his tie is pristine around his neck, shirt fully buttoned up, only his dick out and vulnerable to your eyes. 

It’s unfair, and you seek to change that.

Your hand loops into his tie and yanks him down by it, taking him by surprise. He has to catch himself on his hands to avoid falling on you, a grunt escaping his lips as it causes him to slide further into you.

In a lowered hiss, he asks you, “what do you think you’re doing?”

The tone is so vindictive it has any words dying on your tongue. All it takes is a moment before he’s forcefully breathing out and lifting himself off of you, cock withdrawing from between your legs.

You open your mouth to protest, and that’s when your world spins. 

You were face up, but now you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, having to brace yourself as he manhandles you silently. There’s not even a moment for you to acclimate to your new position before you feel his fingers loop through your hair as you’d done to his belt, and in one motion, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams all the way into you, pulling your hair back hard to make you arch for him.

A loud cry splits through the air and it’s only when he starts repeatedly fucking hard and fast into you with the entirety of his monstrous size that you realize the sound was from you.

“See what happens when you push me?” His voice is hoarse and gritty, more like a growl than a whisper, a dull ache inside of you where he’s currently remolding the shape of your walls.

All you can do is make incoherent noises, and you aren’t sure whether they’re from pain, pleasure, or a mixture of both. His grip on your hair isn’t letting up and it hurts, but you’ve also never felt so completely out of control of yourself and somehow it just feels freeing to you. 

“Huh?” He asks, and it’s then you realize you never replies to him verbally. You muster up the strength to speak.

“Y-yeah…” it sounds breathy and whiney, completely foreign in the contours of your voice.

“You happy now? Happy you got me to fuck you like the greedy whore you are?”

The harsh word ripples through you hotly and you moan, nodding as good as you can. “Yes…”

“Yes?” He asks, breathless, and he lets go of your hair in favor of wrapping his hand around your neck from behind. “You like being screwed like a whore?”

Apparently, you do. This is new information to you as well. You nod, gasping as he grabs your hand and presses it over your abdomen, where you can feel the flesh rising and falling in tandem with his thrusts. 

“Feel that?” He asks, “that’s me inside of you.”

“Oh god,” You rasp, the knowledge of him so deep inside your body going right to your head. You can feel your mound weeping all over yours and his thighs, the wet slap tell-tale of just how much you’re enjoying this. Just the realization has you fluttering around him, a sensation that isn’t lost on him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “You really do like this, huh?”

You nod. “Yes, yes, Kento…”

He groans, leaning forward and kissing the juncture of your neck and shoulder, brushing your hair out of the way. 

“Such a good girl for me…my good little slut.”

You shudder, eyes squeezing shut as he speeds his movements up, the hand that was pressing yours to your stomach moving down to the slippery mess that is your swollen clit.

The big palm of his on your neck slides the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders and dips into the neckline of it, grasping your breast as if to claim ownership of it. 

“Oh my god,” You breathe again, hips twitching at all of the stimulation, face hot, entrance thoroughly fucked open and sloppy, debauched by Kento like a destructive form of artwork.

His middle finger massages circles into your sensitive pearl as he continues the grueling pace of his hips, lips pressed to the back of your neck, and all at once it becomes too much.

It crashes into you like the unforgiving wave of the raging ocean, sweeping you into the depths of pleasure.

You cum so hard on his cock he physically has to stop moving, your hold on him so tight he’s locked inside of you. That’s the moment that he follows, spilling his pent up, heavy load into you with a hiss of pleasure. 

Your arms and knees feel like jelly. Your walls are sore and throbbing, completely exhausted from his ravaging. But all you feel is feather-light. Finally, finally you did it. And it was better than your wildest imagination.

Lips place a tender kiss on your shoulder, his labored breaths slowing back to regulation. You feel his cheek rest upon the skin of your upper back. Both of his hands massaging along the sides of your hips.

“I’m sorry we waited so long. I just figured it would be too intense for you.”

You shake your head, turning it to look back at him as he straightens up and carefully pulls out. 

“Don’t do that again.”

The corner of his lips turns up slightly. “Oh no, I won’t make that mistake twice. In fact…there’s something else I want to do now.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to test your limits.”

__

A/N: here's my Nanami masterlist :) this is the first piece but lmk what else you want me to write for him! Hope you enjoyed.

[astars-things]

Private argument turned public

based on the comment Lando wrote on the Mclaren Instagram page 

Y/n Hughes x Lando Norris

"Lando seriously," You said trying to film a challenge video between him and Oscar, but Lando was refusing to cooperate, you both had a strict rule that when you both are at work you guys are just colleagues, especially when it came to filming content for the team

"It’s literally just a ‘Who Knows Me Better’ challenge between you and Oscar. All you have to do is sit down, smile, and pretend you like each other for ten minutes." you explained, you were stressed, trying to film this, get pictures done and everything else and Lando wasn't making it any easier for you

Oscar sat on the orange McLaren beanbag, already mic’d up and ready, casually scrolling through his phone. He looked up, raising his eyebrows as Lando continued pacing behind the cameras, hands on his hips, lips pressed into a frown.

“I’m just not in the mood,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This whole thing is stupid.” You stood there trying not to snap, this was your job at the end of the day, you weren't his girlfriend right now you were a part of the social media team. You both knew to keep relationship drama outside of work, "give us a minute" You said to the team and Oscar as you grabbed Lando's hand and walked over to a small area

"You going to tell me what the fuck is going on?" you questioned looking into Lando's eyes, "I just don’t feel like being fake today. This stuff is dumb, and you’re being bossy about it." Lando whispered his tone full of attitude, you stood there trying to figure out what to do, at the end of the day this was your job, "Stop being a fucking toddler do this video and we will talk later" You whispered your tone full of anger, you walked away and went back to where the team and Oscar was

Lando walked back a minute after you grabbing his mic with a dramatic sigh. Once he sat down on the other beanbag, you gave them their cards, which had questions for the other person, the environment was tense, Lando barely smiled and Oscar was trying to keep the banter going, once the video was done you took the sd card out of the camera and gave it to the editors while you work on the promotion post of Instagram 

@.McLaren who knows who better is it @.Landonorris or @.oscarpiastri 

To find out who won on our YouTube 

View comments 

@.Landonorris  Next time maybe film with someone who actually likes being on camera 😅 

 →@.user2 Someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight 

→@.user3 Maybe you should keep this private 

you felt your work phone buzz, so you checked the notifications and when you saw Lando's comment you saw red, now he decided to embarrass you on social media which was a new low for him. You just decided to ignore him and just let him throw a temper tantrum, when you felt your personal phone buzz you were worried but seeing your brothers had messaged you made you anxious 

Jack Jack you and Lando okay? saw his Instagram comment

Lukey🐀  Did you and Lando break up?!! 

Huggy bear🧸 give me a call when you can 

you didn't know how to react, Lando had dragged an argument publicly for fans, your family, friends and many others to see. You put on a brave face and picked up your bag and camera and went to take photos. You headed out to the paddock, pretending your hands weren’t shaking and your eyes weren’t burning with unshed tears. You snapped photos of cars rolling out, of Oscar chatting with mechanics, of the orange blur that was your job and your world. You didn’t trust yourself to go near Lando’s side of the garage.

by the time you got to the hotel room the environment felt toxic, you felt like you couldn't breathe "So that’s it?" Lando snapped. "You're just gonna act like I’m the villain in all this?"

You froze. "You posted that comment, Lando. I have my brothers messaging me if you and I have broken up, you took a private argument and made it public for everyone to see" You snapped. The fight escalated fast. Words flew faster than thoughts. Every buried frustration, every jab you hadn’t said earlier, came tumbling out in raised voices and sharp edges.

"Do you even understand how hard it is for me to be taken seriously when I’m dating a driver? Do you know how many people think I only have this job because of you?!" You shouted your voice cracking trying not to cry, trying to seem weak Lando went quiet. His jaw clenched, eyes cold. "Maybe we’re just better when we’re not working together."

That one stung.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, your breath short and uneven. The walls of the hotel room felt like they were closing in. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe past the anxiety gripping your ribs like a vice. “I can’t do this right now,” you whispered, trembling.

Lando was silent for once, watching as you backed away from him, blinking hard to keep from breaking down completely. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket finding the contact you needed, you pressed your phone to your ear and slowly walked to the bathroom "Who are you calling?" he asked quietly. You ignored him, once you were in the bathroom you locked the door slid down the cooling tiles and just sat there 

"Hey, Zak... I have a family emergency I need to leave tonight."

He didn’t ask questions just told you to take whatever time you needed.

Fifteen minutes later, you had your suitcase packed and a one-way ticket booked to New Jersey. You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t trust yourself to. 

You Knocked on Jack's door, and as soon as he opened it you were in his arms crying. Jack didn’t ask questions. He just held you tighter. 

please reblog and like 🫶

Part two -> here

[loveluvrs]

the slip up l lando norris x reader

request/summary – lando and reader are in a secret established relationship, until lando accidentally slips up on stream

author's notes – first piece of writing, feedback appreciated!!! this is just my thoughts written down honestly, i didn’t have much idea where i was going with it so enjoy.

Max was streaming with Lando at his place. Lando drags his feet over to the stream room, sitting on a chair next to Max. He was scrolling on his phone, trying to pass the time. 

“Mate, I’m gonna leave, you’re being so boring,” Lando joked under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll make things more interesting then. Chat, wanna know something really interesting about Lando?” Max asked with a mischievous smile as he looked back at Lando. Lando watched with suspicion of what max could say next. 

“Lando’s got a secret girlfriend,” Max sings to annoy Lando. Lando’s eyes shot up, his heart pounding as he turned off his phone, the same phone he was using to text you, his girlfriend. “I don’t, chat, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to piss me off,” Lando says as he shoots Max a glare. 

—————

A few months later, everyone has chalked up that interaction to Max simply trying to annoy and rile up Lando, and no one thought much of it. On a miracle of a night in spring, Lando was in Monaco and decided to stream. He had a hoodie on, his hair all messy, but a smile on his face. About an hour into the stream, I knock on the door of his stream room quietly. Lando immediately turned off his video and mic, telling chat to give him a minute. 

I walk in, a black slip dress on with a cropped white cardigan, my hair and makeup done all fancy. “Hi, baby,” Lando says as he pulls me in by the waist, onto his lap. “Girls night tonight, right?” He says with a soft smile. He always makes sure to pay attention to anything I’ve mentioned to him, including my plans to hang out with Lily and Carmen tonight, Alex and George’s girlfriends. 

I hum in response. “Yeah, we’re gonna get dinner and then take some Instagram photos,” I say as I stand up from his lap, “you like the dress? It’s new.” I give him a little twirl to show off the dress. 

Lando smiles brightly. “I love it, baby, you look gorgeous. Like always,” he says as he leans in for a kiss. “Text me when you’re done and need me to pick you up, yeah?” I nod and smile. 

Once I leave, Lando puts his headset back on, turning his mic and camera back on. He scrunches up his face as he’s met by shouting from Max into his headset. “What’s your problem, man?” Lando asks with confusion. Max sighs. “Lando, you had your mic on the whole time. People heard that whole conversation and I was trying to tell you but as always, you ignored me,” Max says with some frustration in his voice, but mostly amusement. 

“Oh,” Lando says as he realizes what has happened. Not knowing what to do, Lando panics and ends stream. 

When my friends and I reach the restaurant, we find it pouring rain, which was the most of our worries since the restaurant was outdoor. With frowns, we all pile back into the car and drive ourselves home. I arrive home only twenty minutes after I left, my dress soaked. My brows furrow in confusion to see Lando on the couch on his phone when i come back, and not on stream. 

I slip off my shoes. “I thought you were streaming?” I ask softly as I make my way over to him. “What happened to you? You’re all soaked! Here, let me get you a towel and you can get dressed into some of my hoodie and sweats to get comfy,” Lando says, trying to avoid the fact that he had just live streamed his whole conversation with his girlfriend. 

I saw the panic in Lando’s eyes. “Stop,” I say as I stood in front of him, “what did you do?” Lando shoots me a bright grin. “I love you, babe. So so much. And you know I’d do anything for you.” This made me even more suspicious. “Lan,” I say as my eyes narrowed.

“Okay, okay. I might have forgotten to mute my mic when we were talking right before you left. I swear I thought I had turned it off!” He says as he panics before beginning to ramble. “And I called you baby, and gorgeous, and your voice was heard too. And Max was telling me the whole time through my headset, but it was off and even if it were on, you know I don’t think about anything else when I’m with you. And there were thousands of people on the stream and you specifically told me you wanted to keep it private because you didn’t want to get hate crimed by the fans and you wouldn’t be able to handle it and I mean, I wanted to but it just slipped and im so so sorry but-“ He stops in confusion when a giggle escapes my lips. “Why aren’t you upset?” He asks slowly.

I smile as I slip my arms around his neck, his hands instinctively wrapping around my waist. “Well. Number one, you’re cute when you panic. Number two, no one saw me, so it’s okay. I mean, considering how in love you are with me, they were bound to find out at some point that you had a girlfriend,” I tease with a smile tugging at my lips. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully at me. “Okay, yeah. I am absolutely in love with you. Still, you’re not bothered by this?” he asks slowly, hesitation lacing his voice.

“I promise I’m not. It was a mistake. Plus, that just means it’s gonna be all the more fun trying to watch them figure out who it is you’re dating,” I say playfully with a giggle. 

“That’s true,” Lando says softly with a hum, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Although, don’t make me have to have you on adult supervision every time you stream now to make sure nothing else slips out of your mouth,” I tease as I playfully poke his side. 

“Ah! Okay okay, promise,” he says with a giggle as he leans in for a gentle and loving kiss.

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[cloneboywonder]

I’m so sleepy but I love talking I’m sorry here’s my car ghast btw

[loxoels]

coming home to your gf

drunk!reader x gf!ellie

a/n: this is a work of fiction. the events and characters in this story are all made up. remember to separate fiction from reality

tw: alcohol consumption, intoxication/being drunk, slurred speech/loss of coordination, and slight mention of undressing (non-sexual, caretaking context.)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

it’s been five hours since you left the condo you share with ellie to go drink with some friends. and the entire time, she never stopped checking in on you.

baby?

what time are you coming home?

lmk if you want me to pick you up.

you made sure to reply each time, reassuring her with things like, “don’t worry,” and “i’ll be fine,” because you really thought you would be. you even told her your friends would drop you off.

but you definitely didn’t plan to drink that much tonight. blame your friends and their stupid charm—now you’re slurring words and giggling at nothing.

it’s 2am when you finally fumble with the keys and push the door open, practically wobbling into the condo. your steps are all over the place, and you nearly trip over your own feet.

you glance up and see a silhouette by the window, quiet and still, watching the sleeping city—and of course, it’s ellie.

she turns the second she hears the door. her eyes meet yours, and in a blink, she’s already walking toward you. you barely manage a smile before you’re tossing all your weight onto her.

she catches you like muscle memory, arms wrapped around you as she chuckles softly. “how much did you drink, hm?” her tone is amused but gentle.

“baby~ i missed you,” you mumble, slurring like you’ve just woken up from a dream. you grab the collar of her shirt and tug her down, wanting a kiss. she dodges it with a laugh, pressing her palm against your cheek.

“not yet. gotta clean you up first.”

you groan dramatically, dropping your head against her chest. your body’s so limp she has to shift her grip just to keep you from sliding down.

she leads you to the couch like she’s done this a hundred times, setting you down carefully before heading back to lock the door.

when she returns, she kneels in front of you with that same amused smile.

“what are you doing, huhhh? are you taking advantage of me?” you slur, swaying where you sit.

ellie laughs, shaking her head. “i’m taking your shoes off, idiot.”

“that’s so intimatee!”

she sighs playfully but there’s this look on her face—like she’s totally, helplessly in love with you, even when you’re like this. especially when you’re like this.

once your shoes are off, she pulls you up by the waist again, guiding you to the bathroom like it’s second nature. she sits you down on the toilet lid and lets out a soft, amused sigh.

“you’re a lot of work, you know that?”

you pout, already looking offended. “you’re tired of me, aren’t you?”

“never said that.”

“but that’s what you’re implying!”

ellie groans dramatically, placing her hand on your cheek and gently rubbing her thumb against it. “i love you, okay? so shut up.” she leans down and kisses your forehead, slow and warm.

she glances around the sink, scanning your skincare products. she’s watched you do it every night, so it’s muscle memory by now.

you’re already dozing off, head slowly tipping forward—until ellie catches it in her hands, steadying you gently.

she wets her hands and grabs your cleanser, lathering it between her fingers before rubbing it onto your face. her touch is so soft it’s almost ticklish.

“close your eyes,” she says sweetly. you try, but they only half-close. she snorts and keeps going anyway.

once she’s done lathering, she helps you stand, holding you up with an arm around your waist. she tilts your head forward a bit, guiding you toward the sink.

“okay, lean in.”

you do, half-asleep and humming nonsense. she carefully rinses your face with warm water, cupping it in her hands and being so, so gentle. then she pats your skin dry with a towel.

you lean into her touch like a sleepy cat.

“you’re so dramatic,” she mutters, grabbing your toner and dabbing it on your face. “if i wasn’t here, you’d be snoring in full makeup right now.”

“but you are here,” you grin, lips lazy, eyes barely open. “you always are.”

she pauses, then tucks some hair behind your ear. “yeah. always.”

after she finishes, she helps you shuffle into the bedroom. she lays you down softly, tucking you under the blanket like you’re the most fragile thing she’s ever held.

she heads to your closet and picks out fresh clothes—comfy, easy, soft. no effort required from you.

she returns to your nearly-asleep body, moving gently as she lifts your shirt off. then she grabs the warm towel she had waiting, wiping down your skin slowly, carefully, making sure you feel clean and warm.

she slips a fresh tee over your head, and your eyes flutter open, still groggy. “pervert,” you murmur with a smirk.

ellie just chuckles and scrunches her nose. “weirdo.”

next are your jeans. clearly, there’s no way you’re sleeping in those. she wrestles them off of you, muttering under her breath the whole time. once she finally gets them off, she rinses your legs gently with the towel too.

she pulls on a pair of shorts for you, adjusting them with care before helping you sit up again.

“hey, baby,” she says sweetly, “drink some water for me, yeah?”

you blink up at her, and she brings the glass to your lips, holding it steady as you take slow sips.

“that’s it… good,” she coos softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

once you’re done, she lays you back down again, tucking you in just right.

her eyes drift to your lips, gaze soft—like she’s genuinely happy to be doing this. to be the one taking care of you.

she places her thumb lightly on your lips, tracing them for a second. then she leans in and gives you a quick, soft kiss. just enough to say “i’m here.”

then she lays down beside you, pulling you into her arms, your body instantly melting into hers.

“i love you,” she whispers, like it’s just between the two of you. even if you don’t hear it, she says it anyway.

and she stays there, holding you close, like that love will carry you both through the night.

a/n: hi, guys! lmk what you think about this :3 im trying to improve my writing but i really enjoyed doing this one!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

The Flood Brings Clearer Days

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, smut (p in v sex, fingering, face sitting), the light angst, light fluff too, love confession, no-filter curse

Summary/Warnings: You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want.

And most of what you want is Dean.

Author's Note: Request from @deans-yn! This one was very silly and horny (the sweet spot). Enjoy!!!

Word Count: 8.2k

“Are you sure-“

“I’m fine.” You shoot Sam a glare over the table. “I’m not dead, or dying, and if you ask one more time if I feel okay, I’m going to throw you out the fucking window.”

Sam raises his hands in surrender, a wide look of shock on his face, and Dean snorts.

“You’re violent today, kid-“

“Stop calling me kid.” You snap, glaring at the papers in front of you. “Or you’ll get windowed too.”

“Defenestrated.” 

“Bless you, dude.”

Sam sighs, giving Dean a flat glare. “No, it means-“

“To be thrown out a window.” You grumble. “I know. I like saying windowed, because Dean won’t know what defenestrated means, and I’m trying to threaten him, not give him a fucking English lesson.”

“The threat might be the English lesson,” Sam drawls your name, and Dean scowls.

“Hey-“

“Don’t be a dickhead, Sam.” You snap, and Dean grins.

“Yeah, Sammy, don’t be a dickhead-“

“And you.” The look you shoot Dean is withering, and it immediately makes something whine and coil in your chest. “I- Sorry.”

Dean frowns. “You didn’t do anything, sweetheart-“

“I yelled at you.” Now you’re mumbling. This is a weird day. “Made me feel bad. Sorry.”

“Do I get an apology too-“

“No. Read.” 

There’s a stretch of silence, the guilt twists again—though now in your stomach—and you let out a long, slow breath.

“Sorry, Sam.”

“It’s fine.” He mumbles, but you don’t miss the look he exchanges with Dean.

One of those looks. Where they’re having a silent conversation or argument about something, and you usually have to guess who’s winning, or what it’s about, or why this has to be a silent conversation you can’t participate in.

But you don’t have to guess tonight. 

They’re talking about you. 

And you’re fine. You are. You feel great, and no amount of Sam and Dean worrying and flocking around you is going to change that. The curse didn’t work, simple as that. It missed you, or it had been cast wrong, or you’ve simply built up an immunity—that’s not really a thing, but it could be—and that’s it. You’re good. 

Some sort of odd weight feels like it’s been lifted from your head and tongue, but if anything it’s good. A little like being drunk, where the colors of the world are brighter and everything a little blurred, and Dean’s somehow prettier and Sam is somehow taller-

Sam says your name carefully, and it’s falling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“You’re really tall.”

Dean snorts, and Sam lets out a heavy sigh. 

“Yeah, uh, I know-“

“Did you grow?”

“I’m in my thirties, I’ve been done growing for a while-“

You shake your head. “No, you grew. You’re taller. Just like Dean’s prettier.”

There’s a gagging and spitting sound from the couch, and when you glance back to Dean, he’s gaping at you, his whole face red.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean gives Sam another look. “I’m fine, just- Got caught off guard. Sam-“

“I heard it.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair and watching you with a cautious expression. “You’re sure you’re-“

“Sam.” You hiss. “Windowed. I’m fucking serious.”

He drops it. Smart choice. 

You don’t think you’re strong enough to defenestrate him at all. And you wouldn’t defenestrate Dean. It would make him too sad. Which would make you too sad.

And you tell him that later, while Sam is out getting dinner, just so he knows. 

All you get is a blank stare in return.

“Dean, did you-“

“I heard you,” he mutters your name, shaking his head slightly. “I- Stay here.”

“Where are you going-“

“Out.”

“Out where-“

He sidesteps, blocking you from the door. “I gotta call Sammy. Stay.”

You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “I am not a dog, Dean Winchester. Although I do like doggy style, in bed-“

“Jesus fucking-“ Dean covers your mouth with a hand, and you freeze.

His hand is big. And warm. And it fits really well over your mouth, and would probably fit in it as well. Along with other parts of his body.

You’d tell him that, if he’d just fucking move his hand.

“You need to stay here.” He snaps, scanning over your face carefully. “No following me, no going outside, no talking to anyone else. Okay, kid?”

You raise your brows at him, your gaze flicking down to his hand—still over your mouth—and he sighs, moving it away.

“I really don’t like it when you call me kid.” You blurt, the moment you can. He needs to stop doing that, because it makes you feel small and sad and like a wet, pathetic fucking burden, and he should know that. “It makes me feel bad. I’m not even that much younger than you.”

“You- Alright.” Dean gives you an odd look, his jaw clenched. “Are you going to stay here?”

You shrug. “I’d do anything you told me to.”

That makes his face red again, but Dean just nods and—with one last odd look over his shoulder—walks away.

You miss him the moment he walks away.

And you tell the air, because there’s no one else around to hear.

You’re fine. You really are fine. You still feel a little high, a little strange, but nothing hurts. You aren’t forgetting who you are, or being someone you aren’t, or doing anything you normally wouldn’t-

Shit.

No. 

You’re fine. You have to be fine.

In the car, you’d told Dean his hands were hot, but that was just so he knew. And you’d told Sam his hair was too long, but it needed a cut. And you’d been complaining more than you’ve ever complained in your life, and you’ve been more forward than you reasonably should be, but maybe it was just the drunk feeling. Courage, flowing through your body and making you bold.

You were being bold.

But that shouldn’t be something to worry about. So you’re fine.

Dean comes back after an hour, and drives you both to the diner. Apparently, whatever talk he had with Sam was done, and-

“Why’d you leave?”

He glances over at you from the driver’s seat, a slight frown on his pretty face. “I had to call Sammy.”

“But you left. The motel.” You cross your arms, holding his gaze with a glare. “Why.”

“It’s-“ He sighs. “Look, I can’t tell you right now. Drop it.”

You might be pouting at him. You don’t really care. “Why.”

Dean grunts your name. “I told you, I can’t-“

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because explaining why I can’t tell you would be freakin’ telling you, sweetheart-“

You’re certainly pouting now. “But I tell you everything.”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes- Well, almost everything.” You frown at the air. “I don’t tell you about all my dreams. I lie about those, when you ask how I slept, because usually it’s a dream about you fucking me and-“

Dean’s covering your mouth again, scowling at the road like it’s personally offended him.

“Dean-“

Your snap is muffled in his palm, and he lets out a long, slow breath, shaking his head. Still not saying anything.

“Dea-“

“Not like this,” he mutters, and it’s mostly under his breath, but you can still-

“I can hear you-“

Dean grunts your name, his grip tightening. “Whatever you’re saying, I can’t understand you. And I’m just going to keep this right here ‘till we get to the bar, alright?”

He squeezes your jaw, you moan–it feels nice, and he’s very handsome when he glaring at things—and Dean’s eyes widen slightly.

He heard.

You should probably care about that, but the weight is gone, so you don’t. You don’t really care about anything but Dean knowing things. All your lives are darkness and secrets and stress, and he should fucking know that you’re here, and you’re not leaving, and that you keep secrets, but they’re dumb, emotional secrets, so he doesn’t ever have worry about you. About you getting hurt, because you refuse to be a person he adds to the tally of people he failed to save. About ever failing you at all—he couldn’t if he tried—or you leaving him like so many other people have.

He should know that those people are idiots. That God himself would have to drag you away from him, and you’d still go kicking and screaming. That you love Dean, and you’ve never told him because he’s too good for you—too strong, and important, and there’s already so much pressing down on his chest without adding yourself to the burden—but he should now know, while the weight from your own mind is gone.

You would tell him, here, in the car, if he wasn’t covering your mouth. If the moment he removed it, he didn’t sprint out of the car and across the parking lot.

Away from you.

Maybe he’s-

“Are you mad at me?” You ask him as you drop in the booth, and Dean just shakes his head, refusing to meet your eyes.

Sam says your name—carefully again, and it’s getting really annoying, because you’re fragile but like a bird, not fucking glass—and watches you carefully as he continues. “Why do you think Dean is mad at you?”

“Because he ran away from me.” You grumble, fidgeting with the paper napkin on the table. “And he covered my mouth the whole drive, and he vanished earlier, and he won’t-“

“We get it, ki- Sweetheart.” Dean mutters, still not meeting your eyes. “See, Sam? There’s nothing.”

“Nothing where?”

Sam shakes his head, ignoring you entirely. “I don’t know, dude, she took a pretty bad hit on the head too, maybe it’s that instead of-“ He shoots you a careful look. “The other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“It’s never just an injury. It’s always the fucking witches-“

You sink back into your seat as they continue to argue, never once even looking at you.

Dean’s not looking at you, and he’s mad at you, and you’ve obviously done something wrong, but you don’t have a single clue what. And he hates you. He must hate you, and if Dean hates you, Sam is going to hate you too, and you don’t want anyone to hate you, and the air is too thin and your heart and eyes and tongue sting-

“Shit,” Dean says your name like he cares, and a weak, strangled sound leaves your throat. “Fuck, what’s-“

“You hate me.” You whisper, shredding the napkin even further. “You hate me, and you won’t even say why-“

“Sweetheart, I don’t- Fuck, Sam-“

Sam shakes his head, raising his hands in a motion of surrender. “You made her cry, dude, not me.”

“I didn’t- Son of a bitch.” Dean reaches over the table, grabbing your chin and tilting it up until you’re meeting his gaze, and you’re still crying.

Which is odd.

You don’t really cry that much, most of the time.

But that weight is gone, and with it, so is your ability to care about being strong. If Dean hates you, he should just-

“Just say it.” You’re sniffling, but Dean’s still not moving his hand. “Say you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Dean mutters your name, scanning over your features with a frown. “I promise, kid, you’d know if I hated you.”

“Then why are you ignoring me.”

“I-“ He looks over to Sam for help, and only gets a shrug in response.

“Does Sam know?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, he does.”

“So why won’t you tell me-“

“I will.”

“But-“

“Later, baby, okay? How about I tell you tonight?”

You swallow, and he’s never called you that before. It’s strange. Spreading a warm, buzzing feeling through your whole body, taking you higher.

“I’d like that.” You whisper, and there’s nothing in the world to look at but Dean. Looking at you. Grinning at you. Not hating you. “I love you.”

Sam goes rigid, and Dean swallows, something flashing over his face that you don’t understand.

“Sure, sweetheart. Sammy, can you-“

“On it.” Sam stands up, grabbing your arm and pulling you with him. “Let’s go.”

You frown up at him. “Go where?”

“Sammy’s gonna take you back to the motel.” Dean pulls his keys out his pocket, but holds them back, out of Sam’s grip. “If I see one scratch-“

“You’ll kill me, Dean, I’ve heard the speech before-“

Dean raises his hand, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “I’m not done. If I see one scratch on either of them, I’m putting your number on a sex crisis hotline for grandmas.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That’s gross, Dean. I don’t even think that’s a real thing-“

Dean shoots you a wink, and it lights you on fire. “It’s not for you and me, sweetheart, but Sammy here’s probably got some-“

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam makes to snatch the keys, and Dean jerks the back with a frown.”

“I gotta hear it, Sammy-“

“They’ll be fine.” Sam snaps your name, still glaring at Dean. “It’s- She’s an adult, Dean, and this obviously isn’t killing her-“

“What’s not killing me-“

“And, I can drive. It’ll be fine.”

If Sam ignores you one more time, you’re going to-

“I’m going to punch you, Sam.”

Dean snorts, and tosses the keys into Sam’s indignant face. “Not a scratch. On either.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon,” Sam mutters your name, grabbing your arm.

“But Dean-“

“He’ll be fine.” Sam mutters, dragging you towards the exit. “He’s got some work to do, because you- Never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

“You’re cursed.”

You roll your eyes. “For the last time, Sam, I’m not cursed-“

Sam gives you a flat look, but just shrugs. “Alright. Keep walking.”

“But I want to go back to Dean-“

“I know. But you can’t.”

“Why-“

“Because if you tell him you love him again, he’s going to have a stroke.”

You frown, letting Sam herd you into the car. “Why? I- I know he doesn’t love me back, but I just wanted him to know. Is he-“

“He’s not mad at you.”

“So I should be able to stay-“

“It’s- Look, I promise Dean’s not mad at you, but we need to focus on fixing you right now, okay?“

“Nothing wrong with me.”

“Sure.” Sam sighs. Again. “How long have you been in love with Dean?”

“Since the vamp hunt in the swamp.” You shrug. “He picked me up, and he was really strong, and I thought that I wanted him to keep holding me forever. Then I cut off a vamp head and he laughed, and I wanted to hear that forever. Then he took his shirt off at the motel and I wanted to lick his abs.”

Sam clears his throat. “And that was love?”

“Love was the decapitation. The abs were a bonus.” You pause, tilting your head at the air. “And when he covered in blood and sweat. That was hot. I wanted to make him look like that because I gave him a blowjob, because I’m actually really good at that, Sam-“

Sam shakes his head, almost frantically. “I- That’s good. Uh, for you. I think. Can you think, just try to figure out why you’re telling him now?”

“Because he should know.”

“But if you’ve been in love with him for that long-“

You cut Sam off with a shrug. “I don’t know, I just- I love him, and he should know that. I really don’t expect anything Sam, I promise. If he wants to fuck me until the bed breaks, I won’t say no, but I mostly just want him to know.”

“I- Fine.” Sam runs a hand over his face, shaking his head at the road. “Can we just listen to the radio?”

You nod, leaning your head on the glass, and yesterday Dean was listening to the radio, and-

“Sam?”

He grunts in acknowledgment, and you make a soft, almost dreamy noise that you don’t really recognize from your own body. 

“You know when Dean drums on the wheel during songs.”

“Yeah, I drive with him literally every-“

“I wish he’d do that to me.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when Sam break it, his voice is cautious again. “Drum on you?”

“Use his fingers on me during a song.”

“Oh my- You’re not going to be able to stop, are you?”

You blink at him. “Stop what?”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, just, uh-“

You yelp as he pulls a sharp U-turn, the Impala’s tires skidding on the pavement.

“Dean’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah, I know. But,” Sam lets out a long breath, frowning at the road. “I need a beer.”

A beer means eight beers. And when you ask him at checkout if he’s okay, Sam just shrugs and mutters something about a long night, and Dean owing him one.

But something is off with Sam. And the more you ask—you want to know, and there’s nothing stopping you from asking—the more he just shakes his head, his expression growing blanker and blanker as the night progresses.

And you can’t stop talking. You should. Reasonably, you know you should. It’s rare for you to speak out of turn at all—let alone this fucking much—but that high feeling is still strong all over your body, and you can’t stop. You tell Sam every thought that passes through you head, about the show, or the takeout Chinese, or how you’ve never been to China, but you’d like to go, if only because it’s historically interesting. That gets you half of Sam’s attention, for about fifteen minutes.

“I wouldn’t want to go without Dean.” You mumble, picking at the label on your own beer bottle. “I never want to go anywhere without Dean. I love him.”

Sam shoots you an unreadable, almost soft expression, scratching something in his notebook. “I know you do. But he can’t fly, he hates it.”

You hum. “Would it help if I gave him a hand job on the plane?”

Sam sighs, dropping his gaze back to his laptop. “Yeah. It probably would.”

“That’s good.” The label chips off onto the couch, and you kick your feet up on the coffee table. “I like it when he’s happy.”

“I know.”

“He’s really pretty when he’s happy.” There’s that breathy sigh again. You’d be worried about it, if it didn’t fall so easily out of your body. “I love him.”

Sam makes another note. “Yep.”

“He’s pretty all the time. Do you think he knows that he’s pretty all the time?”

Sam just shrugs, and you’re already talking again before he can answer your question. 

“I just- I love him, and I want him to be happy. And I really don’t care if it’s not with me, Sam, I don’t,” you sit up, twisting over the couch to give Sam a pleading look. “I promise. But I love him, and I want him to know, and that’s kind of selfish-“

“That’s not selfish.” Sam gives you an odd look. “Loving people is the opposite of selfish.”

You shake your head. “No, it is.”

“Why do you think loving people is selfish?”

“I don’t know, because then you’re expecting something of them. Depending on them. And that’s-“

“Depending on people isn’t selfish.” Sam’s voice is careful again, and this is the first time he’s cut you off since the car. “I mean, expecting them to be something they’re not is, I think, but I depend on Dean all the time.”

“That’s different. You’re his family, and he loves you, and I’m-“

“He-“ Sam cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, he better be back soon.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Will he? Be-“

“I don’t know. Watch the TV.”

You don’t move. You just frown into the now dark motel room, and you don’t know where Dean is, and there’s something stinging at your eyes again, and-

“I miss him.” You whisper. “I love him.”

Sam makes another little note. “I know.”

It takes a second of heavy breathing, but you turn back to the TV, and the pattern resumes. You talk, Sam—sort of—listens, and then night creeps on without Dean.

“I love him.”

Sam grunts, and you hear the pencil scratching.

“If he was here, he’d love this.” You tilt your head at the TV, watching the grainy old Western on the already poor-quality screen. “Dean loves Cowboys.”

“I know.”

“I love him.”

Pencil scratch. “Uh huh.”

You point to the TV, twisting over your shoulder to look at Sam with big eyes. It’s important that he hears this, so he understands your intentions with his brother. “I’d ride his face like that.”

Sam drops his head to the table with a long groan, and you frown.

“Are you-“

“I got it!” The door bangs open, and Dean marches through, turning something in his hand. “I’m gonna stab Rowena later, but shit, Sammy, this should work-“

“Thank God.” Sam mutters, pushing out of his seat. “Are you sure this will-“

“Pretty sure.”

“I can’t take pretty sure, Dean, I- Man, I’m gonna jump off a bridge if I have to put up with another day of this.”

“Hey.” You scowl at him. “That’s rude, Sam-“

“I’m sorry,” Sam sighs your name, desperation written all over his features. “You’re like a sister to me, I promise, but I’ve also had to listen to you talk about how you want to be bent over the table by my brother for four hours-“

“Sam.” Dean grunts, and his grip on whatever’s in his hand is suddenly white-knuckled. “Shut it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just- I’ll see you guys in the morning-“

Dean’s eyes widen. “Wait, where the fuck are you going-“

“I’m giving you two privacy, Dean. I’m already gonna have to put bleach in my ears-“

“We don’t need privacy-“

“You-“ Sam cuts himself off, his eyes narrowing, flicking quickly between you—still blinking at the from the couch—and Dean. “Dude, you can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But-“

“I’m not talking about this, Sam-“

“No, we need to talk about this-“

“Talk about what?” You cut in with a frown, looking between Dean’s set, unreadable expression, and Sam’s exhausted on. “What’s going on?”

Dean sighs, running a hand over his face. “You’re sick, sweetheart, don’t-“

“Don’t tell me not to worry, Dean!” 

Your words are spat out, and you push up onto your knees to glare at him.

It’s been a long, strange day. And they’ve both been ignoring you, and you understand that—you’d ignore you too, if you could—but they’re talking about you, and the weight is gone, and that means that there’s nothing to stop the sudden burst of white-hot rage through your body. 

“Neither of you telling me what the fuck is happening, and I’m not sick, I just- I feel weird but that’s not your problem, and it’s not even that bad, but I just want you to look at me and talk to me and I love you-“

“Stop saying that.” Dean snaps, and Sam punches him in the shoulder. “Fuck, what the-“

“She can’t stop saying it, you idiot. You know that, and thinking that you shouldn’t talk about this is insane, even for you-“

“Talk about what-“

“Sam, I swear to god-“

Sam ignores Dean, holding your gaze as he says your name. “Tell me when you fell in love with Dean-“

“I told you earlier, on the vamp hunt-“

“The one in Louisiana, right?”

“Yeah? I don’t know I’m not good at geography-“

“See?” Sam raises his brows at Dean. “That was four years ago.”

“But I was in love with him longer.” You snap, raising your voice so they can’t ignore you. “I’ve loved him since I met him, I think. I’m pretty sure. No, I know, I remember you walked into the bar, Dean, and I thought oh I want him to fuck me until I can’t walk-“

Sam tips his head up like he’s praying, and Dean grunts your name, but you ignore them both. You’re done being ignoring, because Dean should know this.

“And then we started talking and you were the most amazing person I ever met, and I never, ever wanted to leave you. Ever.”

There’s a long moment of heavy, long silence as Dean just stares at you, and Sam clears his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Sam, shut it-“

You shrug, talking over Dean’s hissed words. “Because that’s manipulative. And mean. And I can take care of myself, and Dean shouldn’t feel like he ever needs to do anything for me.”

Dean gives you an odd, strained look. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Now you know how it feels.” You stick your tongue out at him, and Sam sighs, running a hand over his face.

“And why are you telling Dean now? If it’s been so-“

“Because I love him.” Your answer is quick. You know it better than your own heart. “And he deserves to know.”

“Twenty-two.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve said you love him-“ Sam leans over, checking his notepad. “Twenty-two times, if you count that one.”

“Oh?” You pause, turning over Sam’s words, trying to work out why Dean looks like he’s been shot. “Why were you counting that?”

“Because Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

Dean’s dumb, blank expression falls into a scowl. “I’m not an idiot, Sammy, she just doesn’t know what the hell she’s saying-“

“No, but she knows what she’s thinking.” Sam shrugs, grabbing his wallet from the table. “Spell didn’t mess with her actual, you know, thoughts. Fix her and she’ll feel the same thing.”

Dean shakes his head, almost frantically. “Sam, I can’t-“

“No. You can.” Sam snaps, and he’s definitely taller now. Glaring down at Dean with a narrowed gaze, like he’s imaging slamming his brother into a wall. 

“You’re taller, Sam.”

He sighs, giving you another odd look. “I know. See you tomorrow.”

Dean still tries to block Sam’s path to the door. “Sammy, I’m serious-=

“So am I. Fix this. And not just that,” he points to you, still glowering at Dean. “All of it. For once in your fucking life, Dean, let someone want you.”

Then he’s gone. 

And Dean’s just fucking staring at you from the doorway, and he thinks you’re sick, but-

“I’m not sick. And I do love you.”

“Yeah. I know.” he sighs, glancing down at-

“What’s in your hand?”

He gives you a strange look, then shakes his head. “It’s for you. To help you.”

You feel yourself almost physically wince at the words. Help. You’ve become something Dean needs to help.

“I really do feel fine.” You whisper. “I do. You don’t need to- To worry about me-

“But I’m gonna.” He shrugs, and you swallow, watching him cross the room.

“I’m sorry I got angry-“

“’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.” 

Those words sound heavier than they should be, and Dean looks… weighed. Like whatever’s been set free from you is still crushing him by his temple down.

“Dean?”

He grunts, dropping down on the couch at your side. 

“I love-“

“Just- Don’t.” Dean passes a little vial into your hands with a sigh. “Drink it. You’ll feel better after you drink it.”

“But-“

He mutters your name, staring at his hands. “Please. Drink.”

You glance down at the vial. It’s green. A nice green, like-

“It looks like your eyes.”

Dean just leans back, staring at the ceiling, so you keep going.

“I love your eyes. They’re a really pretty color, and they’re always- You’re always watching people.” You tilt your head at him, he lets out another long breath. “I watch you, though. Someone has to, and I love you.”

Dean rubs his brow, shaking his head at nothing at all. “Alright. Here’s how this is gonna go down.”

“Wha-“

“Just listen,” he mutters your name, finally meeting your eyes, and you’d do anything he asked. 

So you nod. There’s a moment as Dean scans over your features, seems to decide you’re telling the truth, and then he gives a tight nod.

“Alright. You’re gonna drink that, and you’ll probably feel like shit after, but I’m going to be talking. Just- Let me talk, and then you can jump in with whatever you want. But you just need to drink, and listen. Okay?”

You hum, and glance down to the vial. “Do I just-“

“Yeah. Go.”

You down the liquid in one swig, and it’s fucking instant.

You messed up. You fucked up. You destroyed everything, because you had been cursed, and the weight that’s supposed to be there—that you need, that protects you from yourself and your stupid fucking feelings—crashes back down with a new, iron-clad ton of what the fuck did you do.

You told Dean you loved him. You were never supposed to do that, never supposed to be another person he was responsible for, that wanted something from him when the world took too much, and you had no right, you had no fucking right-

But Dean told you to listen. And even though the filter is back, you’d meant it. You’d do anything he asked.

Even sit in the vile toxin of your own, stupid fucking actions all day, being rude and crass and vulgar and telling Sam—poor fucking Sam, you’re surprised he didn’t throw you out the window—about how much you wanted to fuck Dean, and-

Dean mutters your name, and it snaps you just a little out of your rotting guilt.

“I- Uh- I’m not good at this.” He’s still staring at his hands. “I’m trying to be better at it, I’ve been trying, but it’s still. I’m not. I- Uh-“ He coughs, shaking his head slightly. “I feel it too. What you feel. I want you, want you all the freakin’ time, baby, and it drives me insane. You’re smart, and funny, and mean but in a really hot way, and I- Shit-“

“Dean-“

“No, I’ve got it, just-“ He takes a slow long breath, finally looking up at you, and it’s like once he’s there he’s trapped. His eyes widen, and he leans forward, and this is it.

The moment.

The one you’ve only allowed in dreams, where Dean is leaning in so close and if you reach out, you’d be allowed to touch him without it being a newer, worse weight.

“I need you.” He mutters, one hand slowly moving to cup your cheek. “I really need you, so much it scares me.”

“Dean-“

“I like needing you,” his words are growing a little firmer, and you can’t look away either. “I do. Fucking love it. And if it was the spell talking, all the stuff you said about me-“

“It wasn’t.” You whisper, and it’s not forced through anything. It just is. “I love you. And you don’t need to say that, Dean. I- If you mean it-“

“I do.” He grunts. “Son of a bitch, I mean it more than anything.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

You swallow. He’s still touching you, and if you’re not careful, you think you’ll melt all the way into him with no way out. 

You don’t really want one.

There’s no way to know who moves first. Dean fully grabbing your face between his hands and pulling you closer, the exact same moment your fingers fist in his shirt and you yank him down over you. It’s a rough, furious, bruising kiss made of spit and teeth, but you’ve both been starved. You know you’ve been dying of it—the need to fucking touch Dean, to tug at his short hair, to let your lips part for him and moan when his tongue moved against yours, to bite his lip and feel fire spark in your blood at his groan—but you can feel that Dean’s been burying it just as deep.

His hands are grabbing at every single part of you. Palming your breasts and ripping off your clothing as he hauls you over his lap. He swallows your every moan and throws it right back when you grind down onto where he’s pressing through his jeans, and fuck-

You’re already missing your shirt, when his kisses fall down your chest and full, firm lips start to suck at your nipples. 

“Dean-“

He growls against you, squeezing your hips as you roll against him, and the sound rolls through your whole body.

“Shirt.” You gasp, trying to peel it off his body. “Dean- Off-“

It’s only a second, when he leans back to help you, but then you’re gasping as he pulls you back down into a wet, sloppy kiss, and God, if this is what being cursed gets you, you should let it happen more often-

“I’ve got a game for you,” Dean mutters against your lips, and you lean back to frown at him.

But he’s grinning. Bright eyes, mussed hair, and an almost primal grin. “Dean, I just want to, you know-“

“I know.” He winks at you, and your nails scrape at his chest as he ruts up into you. “Trust me, we will, but c’mon. It’ll be fun.”

You sigh, nodding, and drop your mouth down to his neck. He hisses right in your ear, as you start to suck and kiss around his throat, but it quickly turns into a deep chuckle.

“That’s how we’re playing this, baby girl?” 

You can’t control the whine that escapes you, and Dean moans again. Big, warm hands rub all over your back, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Baby girl, and hands, and moaning-

“Son of a- Alright-“ Dean’s grip on your hips tightens, until you’re pinned right to his knee. “Can’t think while you’re doin’ that-“

You bite him, and the sound that leaves him should be considered a sin, or virtue, or fucking hymn.

“Shit-“ Dean tugs you back by your hair, and this kiss is no different from the last ones. Long and desperate, until you’re a little dizzy and looking at Dean with an open, needy expression when he pulls away. 

“You- Dean-“

“I know,” he mutters, watching you with an expression that’s dangerously close to adoration. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart, I promise, you just gotta be a good girl and listen for ten freakin’ seconds, okay?”

You nod a little stupidly, and the facts that you’re a little dazed from the taste of Dean still on your tongue and the way that your aching core is pressed right against the muscles of his thighs are the only reasons that smug grin doesn’t get punched off his face. 

“I want you to tell me everything you want me to do you.” Dean’s voice is deep and rough, and you would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t holding you up. “In detail. Then I’m gonna do it.”

You cough, already sounding breathless from nothing but his attention. “Everything?”

“Everything.” 

“I, um, I-“

“And don’t get all fuckin’ shy on me now, baby.” He nips at your lower lip, and you swallow. “You can do it.”

He’s teasing you. You know he’s teasing you, so you whack at his chest, and he laughs, and it helps.

He wants you. To make you feel good. 

And you really would do anything he asked you, because he’s Dean, and you trust him with a little more than your life.

“It’s- I-“ You let out a breathy laugh. “This is a lot harder when I’m not cursed.”

“C’mon.” Dean starts to press soft kisses over your shoulder, just enough to make your nails dig into his forearms. “Try.”

“You- Your hands.” You might be leaving indents on his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve always- You have really good hands, and I’ve always imagined- you know.”

He leans back, the smug somehow only growing. “I don’t know. You gotta tell me.”

“Dean-“

“Ah.” He catches your hand as you slap his arm, kissing your knuckles before he continues. “Detail, baby. Please.”

You swallow, and something softens in his gaze.

“If you don’t wanna-“

“I do.” You whisper, shaking your head. “It’s just- It’s embarrassing. I might need a second.”

Dean just shrugs. “I got time, sweetheart. I’ll wait as long as you need-“

“I want you to finger me.” You let the words fall out of your mouth, grabbing Dean’s face between your hands. “Then I- If you want- I like your mouth, and I want it down there too, and then I want you to fuck me, hard. Maybe raw, if you’re clean, because I’m clean and I’m on birth control, and you know I- If it’s okay, I like it.”

You might be burning alive, from your center up, but Dean-

Dean looks like he’s going to try and eat you alive.

You’d really like to see him try.

“De- Fuck-“

You’re moving before you know what’s happening. Dean stands up, holding you tight against his body as he moves to the bed, dropping you down so you’re sat at the edge of the mattress.

“I-“

“I’ve got you.” He mutters, giving you another, heavy kiss before dropping to his knees between your legs. “God, you’re so fucking pretty-“

“Dean-“

Another, longer kiss, and you can feel his hands trailing up your thighs, right to-

“Fuck-“

“This wet for me?” Dean grins, running two fingers between the lips of your pussy, your underwear discarded somewhere on the floor. “You want me, baby girl?”

“You know I-“ Two fingers press right of your entrance, and you drop your brow to Dean’s with a shaking breath. “Please.”

He hums, flicking his thumb over your clit, swallowing your gasp with a kiss. “You gonna let me finally take care of you?”

“Yes-“

“You love me?”

There’s something more fragile in that question. As if he really is unsure of the answer, and this is your last out. Your last chance to tell him it really was all just the curse, and you want him to stop.

But he really fucking couldn’t drag you away.

“I do.” You smile at him, tracing his jawline with a gentle hand. “I love you-“

That’s it.

It’s like a switch flip in Dean’s brain, his eyes growing only darker and his whole body relaxing, and words seem to be useless. Those two fingers slam into your pussy, pumping and twisting and scissoring, driving you into a mess of whines and gasps of his name. And Dean doesn’t let up for a second. Any noise is devoured with deeper and deeper kisses, your grinding onto his hand is only met with fingers crooking deep in your cunt, right against-

“Dean-“ You grasp, tension building right in your gut, white-hot and readying to burst. “Dean, please-“

He only groans, tugging at your hair to mark and suck on your neck, and his thumb presses right over your clit. 

The tension breaks, and the sound that leaves you is almost unrecognizable. High and desperate as something falls out from between your thighs, and Dean pulls back with wide eyes.

His fingers are shining. Covered in-

Shit.

“I-“

Your words die in your throat as Dean brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean and holding your gaze and you’re going to cum again, if he doesn’t look away-

“I didn’t know I could do that.” You mumble, fixing your gaze on his bare chest, and he chuckles, squeezing your thigh.

“Well, you’re doing it again.”

That makes your eyes dart back to his face. “Wha-“

“On my face this time.” He pauses, pouting like he’s trying to work something out, then nods. “Yeah. On my face.”

“Dean-“

“Hold on.” He rises to his feet, pulling off his jeans and boxers in quick movements, and your mouth falls open.

You’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing about this. More than you’ll ever admit to him. 

But he’s still better, and thicker, and bigger than you’d guessed. And he’s fully hard, and stroking himself with a wide, lazy grin, and-

“Nope.” Dean swats your hand away when you reach for him. “Not about me tonight, sweetheart.”

You give him your best, sweetest, doe-eyes, and he just laughs, leaning down to pull you into another kiss.

“Asshole.” You mumble against his lip, and he smirks.

“You want it that bad?”

“You know I do-“

“Yeah, but I still got some things on our list to take care of.” Dean pulls your lower lips between his teeth as he draws away, and then he’s gone.

Moving to lay on his back, pulling you with him by your wrist and grinning at you as he sprawls on the mattress.

“Dean, what-“

“Sit on my face.”

You might be drooling, He’s just there, just muscles and softness in all the right places, and looking more like a god than a human in the soft motel lights, and looking at you, only you, and-

“I’ll crush you-“

“Nah, you won’t.” He tugs you a little closer, pressing a kiss to your inner wrist. “Trust me, baby, I’ve survived a lot worse than a hot lady sitting on me.”

“But-“

“You said you wanted my mouth down here.” He rolls his thumb over your clit, and you almost collapse over his chest. “This is how you’re getting it.”

You take a long, slow breath and nod, straddling Dean’s face until his subtle is rubbing on your thighs, and if you’re careful-

Dean doesn’t seem to care about careful. He grabs your hips, slams you down over his face, and you’re gone.

This has only ever been a fantasy. Never a thing you thought you’d actually get.

But Dean seems to have no interest in doing anything but surpassing every dream you’ve ever had, and you think you might be ascending, or falling, or just bursting into a million, perfect pieces.

His tongue plunges in and out of your cunt without relent, and that same stubble is burning so perfectly along the most sensitive parts of your body, and his fucking hands keep kneading your ass and holding your right against his mouth. Keeping your still as he takes your clit between his lips and suck and bites and flicks his tongue until you’re in a frenzy-

You might be swearing, or cursing, or praying, or just repeating Dean over and over like a long, desperate plea, but whatever sounds are leaving your body only seem to spur him on.

He rises without warning, right when you’re on the edge of release. Keeping his hold on your thighs firm and his head buried between your legs, Dean sits up until you’re fallen back against the mattress, grabbing at the sheets as his nose bumps your clit and his tongue never slows and fuck-

You cum with a scream of something, the coil snapping once more and soaking down your thighs, and when Dean pulls back his eyes are shining.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” He mutters, bowing over you for another, almost gentle kiss that you only whine into, your whole body only putty from his work. “Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart?”

You feel raw. Impossibly sensitive and fucked out, wrecked and spent and burning from every nerve point perfectly, as if you’re high and dissipated into nothing but a light, happy mist of Dean.

You nod a little stupidly anyway.

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Sorry, baby, I need wor-“

“Fuck me.” Your voice is only a breath. Based on the way Dean tenses above you, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Please, Dean, fuck-“

This kiss is deeper. Rougher. Almost feral, pressing you all the way into the mattress until you’re scratching at his back, and then-

You whine as Dean rises back up, but it turns into another gasp as he flips you onto your stomach, grabbing your ass up into the air and running fingers between the mess he’s left between your thighs.

“Son of a bitch, you’re amazing.” He mutters, and you don’t get the time to come up with something to say back before he’s pinching your clit, rolling it between broad, calloused fingers. “Ready?”

“Ye- Dean!”

He slams into you with one firm movement, your hands fist in the sheets, and the moment when he lets you adjust—hanging over your body, kissing over your shoulders and neck as he just sits in your cunt—is the longest in the world.

“Move.” You gasp, twisting around to try and meet his gaze. “Dean, move, please-“

His growl rolls through your whole body, and your hips jerk back into his. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t hold back. There’s one moment after Dean rises back up where he gives a slow, experimental thrust, but you moan his name and grind your ass up into the air, and he’s gone. Whatever he’d been controlling in himself vanishes, and he fucks you. Fully, properly fucks you, the mattress squeaking and his balls slapping over your clit and god, he’s too good at this. You’ve never been this full, this dazed, dragged right to the edge only by Dean slamming in and out of your pussy, his cock is hitting so deep in your body you’re certain you’ll feel it in a month. And his hands are pulling and rubbing at your skin, and his thrusts are measured but they’re quickly growing feral as you squeeze around him, and he’s moaning again-

“Fuck-“ He grunts your name, bumping right against that impossibly deep spot in your cunt. “So fucking tight, baby girl, taking me so good-“

“Dean-“ You bury your face in the bed, writhing below him. “Fuck- I- I need-“

“I know.” He lowers himself back over you, never once breaking pace and angling your face to crash his lips into yours, swallowing every needy, high plea of his name. “So fuckin’ close, sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me, being such a good girl-“

“Jesus-“

“One more,” he grunts down your throat, a hand snaking around your stomach to rub at your clit. “Just one more for me, baby, c’mon-“

That’s all it takes. Your orgasm bursts and washes through your whole body, leaving the world spinning and everything lost in a daze of pleasure and good, and you can only really hear Dean moaning your name as you squeeze around his cock, fucking you through your orgasm.

He pulls out when you’re shaking below him—hot shivers still running through your body in the aftermath of your release—and second later his cum is staining over your back, one gentle hand still holding your ass in the air.

He cleans you up. Of course he does. He’s Dean. 

He kisses the base of your spine before crawling off the bed, grabs a shirt instead of a rag—because he cleaned the shirt at the bunker but you’re both smarter than using a motel towel to clean anything down there—and wipes your thighs and back clean, before collapsing over your body and burying his face in your shoulder.

“You think Sammy’ll be back tonight.” He mutters, his words slightly muffled against your body, and you sigh.

“I’m worried he’s never coming back.”

You feel Dean’s frown against your skin. “Why-“

“Remember how he said I mentioned wanting you to, um, bend me over a table?”

Dean hums. “Shit, I forgot to do that-“

“Later, I kind of-“

You squeak as Dean grabs you by your hips, flipping you over until you’re nose to nose, and his boyish, smug grin is right where you could bite it off his face, if you wanted.

And you really do.

“We’re having a later, baby?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course we are, Dean, focus-“

His fingers start to trail up your inner thigh, and it takes all the self-control in your body to whack them away.

“I’m still sensitive-“

He shrugs. “I can work with that, sweetheart-“

“I know, but Sam.”

“You said he’s not comin’ back-“

“Yeah, but I need to send him like a fucking fruit basket or something.”

Dean frowns at that. “Why, what-“

“I told him everything, Dean. All the stuff I told you, and some, uh, other stuff.“

“What other stuff?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it does,” Dean catches your hand before you can cover your face, pinning it above your head with a smirk. “I need to know what that smart brain is coming up with, how I need to be fucking you-“

“But-“

Dean drawls your name, raising his brows. “Look, that is far from the worst shit Sam’s heard. When I was heading to hell, he had to sleep in the car just so I could get laid. He’ll walk it off, then we’ll drop him at Eileen’s to get some of his own ass.”

You snort. “I’m sure he’ll be very thankful-“

“He better. I saw the marks on my fucking tires. Lucky I’m not defesternating him.”

“Defenestrating.” You hum, smiling as Dean settles back over your body, burying his head in your chest. “Close, though.”

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” You comb your fingers through his hair, unable to stop the final, soft statement from escaping your lips. “I love you, Dean.”

“Good.” He squeezes his hold on your body. “Same.”

You smile. He won’t say it back, but not because he doesn’t feel it. His weight is heavier than yours, and you know that, because you know him.

And love him.

And he does love you, but for now, that’s the best he can do.

It’s still better than you ever dreamed. 

But then again, so is Dean.

End Note: We've hit new peaks of torment for Sam Winchester. Sorry my king.

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