#stick-o-challenge

[veinsfullofstars]

🍭 Kirbtober 2024 Day 31: Darkness 🍭

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Kirby - dressed as a mummy - happily dashing by and carrying Gooey - wearing a purple, star-striped witch hat - on his head, each holding an Invincible Candy and leaving a sparkly trail of other treats in their wake. END ID.)

Happy Halloween!

Previous Day | Compilation | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 10/20/24, finished on 10/21/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[aronaax]

day 1 of cringetober!!!!1!!!!!11!!! clef and meri in alice in wonderland :3

[lieutenantselnia]

I'm so exhausted but here's a recent doodle of my pookie <3

[steampunkhobo]

Everett being a third wheel (and at times active impediment) to the incredibly cringe O’Donwallops is peak comedy for me

[radiaking]

Obsessed with the idea that there’s def at least some people out there who see coop, a ghoul half a foot taller than Lucy, armed to the teeth and Lucy behind him with her big ole eyes and are still able to deduce that it is absolutely her who is actually the one with the power/is in charge

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Someone teach me how to stick to the boundaries I set instead of always caving in

[bejeweledinterludes]

touch starved.

OR dean winchester needs a damn hug! specifically from me, so of course i wrote about it! pretty much based off of my own headcanon that i wrote because this dean is canon— TO ME!

my masterlist

read part 2 here!

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 6.1 k (would y’all believe me when i say this started out as a drabble… faith be normal over dean winchester challenge level: IMPOSSIBLE!)

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons soft!dean, vulnerability to da max, emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS. no smut (for once!), starts off kinda sad BUT HAS A HAPPY(ISH) ENDING I SWEAR! PLEASE PLEASE DON’T KILL ME

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

AFTER CENTURIES IT’S FINALLY DONE! just saying once again thank you all so very much for 400 (+87 ?!?!?) followers! this fic is my gift to you! can’t believe over 400 of you want to see my bullshit (and unabashed horniness) on the daily but i love and appreciate every single one of ya! shoutout to my lovely mooties as well!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

dean winchester knew he had something called a touch problem.

and he didn’t know exactly when it started, but after years and years of the only touch he received being hits, punches, the cold feel of steel from a knife or the heat from the barrel of a gun—he craved something gentle.

he needed it.

and goddamn, he was getting desperate.

at first, he usually just sought it out with one-night stands. whether it be holding their hand during it, or sticking around for longer just to lay in bed with whoever the fuck he’d met that night— that kept him at bay. that’s how he got the touch he needed.

but then he got greedy.

it had been a particularly rough hunt. you, dean, and sam were lucky to get out alive. you’d pulled into a town that had a vamp nest terrorizing its inhabitants, and when you saw the familiar hot faces of the winchester brothers at the only decent bar in a 30-mile radius, you’d decided to work together— as you’d all done a million times before.

but still, it was rough. you three each took a floor of the abandoned farmhouse— you on the highest, dean in the middle, and sam on the ground floor. you clambered down the stairs after you had finished clearing your floor, only to be met with two snarling vampires— which you quickly ganked with a schwing of your machete.

after verifying that no threats were coming your way, you started looking for dean— and the panic that flooded through your chest when you saw him crumpled over on the floor in one of the rooms almost made you freeze.

almost.

years of experience and split-second decisions snapped you out of it, immediately falling to your knees by dean’s side, turning him over on his back.

your hands were gentle but swift as you quickly flipped out the sides of his jacket, making sure there were no large gashes or wounds— and the sigh with the feeling of pure relief you let out when you realized he was just knocked out was a little more intense than you had expected it to be.

and you told yourself that was definitely normal.

right?

right.

“dean,” your hand had gone to the side of dean’s face, the other remaining on his shoulder as you shook it gently, trying not to startle him completely as you masked your worry. “come on ya lug, rise ‘n shine.”

despite your efforts, dean still woke with a start— but you caught his arm with the hand not on his face before he could do anything.

“hey— hey,” your voice was quieter, softer. because despite being one bad mother when you were hunting, your soft side came out frequently when it was needed, without fear of judgment and with absolutely no shame. it was one of the things dean wished he could do as seamlessly as you. “it’s jus’ me, alright? come on—”

you then proceeded to stand all six feet and some change of dean up with you, keeping a hand on his back and shoulders and giving him another once over when he stood over you again.

“you all good?” you murmur quietly, your hands resting on the sides of dean’s arms as you stood back, your eyes continuing to rake over him for a moment before looking up at his face— and the expression you were met with wasn’t anger, or even frustration from being knocked out.

no.

dean looked almost… sad.

you’d never been exactly ‘close’ with dean. of course you considered him a friend— for years now, but in all honesty, even that was a stretch sometimes, too. because he was a very closed off and mistrusting person.

but hell, you respected that. especially in this line of work. he did talk to you once in a while, though— on those lulls during a hunt or a case, or when he dropped some crazy lore about himself or his childhood, then going right back to his usual behaviors afterwards.

that being said, you knew dean better than he thought you did— because he didn’t have to say much for you to know what he was going through. despite what he thought, his emotions were always kinda just… written on his face.

but now, back to the farmhouse. back to the look dean had on his face right now. it was a look you saw only after he had consumed enough alcohol to kill a baby elephant, which is why it threw you off and made your usual easygoing attitude with him falter.

“dean,” you voice had gotten quieter, even softer, “w—” but before you could say or even do anything else, sam called from the floor below that it was all clear, snapping dean out of it, his expression hardening again.

in the days coming after, you didn’t ask dean to explain himself, or push about what had happened that night. you knew if he wanted to, he’d come to you about it— maybe not right away, but when he was ready.

little did you know how soon that would be.

you’d been living in the bunker for probably only a couple months at this point after the apocalypse world had opened up, and a bunch of hunters were living in the bunker too— but less than a week later after the vamp nest, both sam and dean embarked on solo hunts, sam in maine, dean in nevada. both brothers had warned you not to ‘burn the joint down’.

come on. like you would ever do that— on accident. besides, you had the bunker all to yourself.

which was fun—

for all of five minutes.

now, almost six days after sam and dean had left, you’re sitting in the library, surrounded by a scattered array of books, papers, and weapons alike on the tables in front of you— another late night of research and catching up on lore.

because there was always lore to catch up on.

you’d been lost in the words in front of you when you heard the unmistakable noise of the bunker’s door creaking open. you stiffened slightly, instincts on alert, lifting your gaze from where you were standing— but relaxed and went back to scanning the page when you realized it was just dean.

because here’s the thing: over the years, you’ve realized that it’s not a good idea to talk to dean after he’s fresh off a hunt— and especially knowing that he’s probably just drove almost or even over 24 hours straight to come home?

yeah. no way were you about to be running up to dean as he trudged down the stairs, doting on him. to your knowledge, he hated touching people, especially other people touching him.

besides, usually after a hunt, dean would just go to his room, the infirmary, or immediately hit the showers— and not look once in your direction while he did it, much less talk to you.

it hurt, but you understood that the reason he does it wasn’t exactly anything you were doing wrong— it was just what dean did.

but tonight was different.

dean was on his way to his bedroom (or actually, maybe the infirmary might be better so he could patch himself up)—

but then he saw you.

you were still stood at one of the tables, eyes scanning through books of lore you dug up from the bookshelves, illuminated by the golden lamps lining the wooden tables. god, you were pretty. even though you weren’t looking at him, he didn’t blame you. he wasn’t exactly the most cheerful after a hunt.

especially this one.

and because of that, dean’s feet were moving before he could even think twice about what he was doing.

you’d glanced up from the book you’d been completely engulfed in— and was a little surprised to find dean looking right back at you as he walked up the few steps to the library.

you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could even register what was happening, dean had already made it to you— and without warning, wrapped you in a tight embrace, slamming against you and holding you like you were the only thing that would keep him upright.

your eyes widen slightly at the feeling of dean’s arms around you before you could register the fact that he’d even crossed the threshold of the bunker— a little ‘oof’ sound escapes you completely involuntarily.

“hey,” dean let out a shaky breath against some strands of your hair and shoulder, his voice slightly raspy with…was that relief?

despite how caught off-guard you were, you don’t reject dean’s unexpected hug, though. you let your body adjust to him and your arms wrap around him too, returning the gesture right back. the faint smell of baby’s exhaust, something earthy along with the familiar scent of dean fills your lungs as your fingers ever so slightly grasp onto the back of his jacket, keeping him against you.

the muscles in dean’s shoulders relax the second your arms gently wrap around him. and oh god, he just really missed you—

“hi,” your voice is just as quiet when you greet dean in return, chin resting on his own shoulder. “how did it—”

you’re trying to ask how his hunt went, but before you finish, dean’s pulling you closer to him and squeezing the words from you. his hands slip more around your waist to hold you against him tighter, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. he just wants to feel you. you’re so warm, so soft— and goddamn, you smelled good, too. you always did. it was a little infuriating, actually.

dean knows he should probably let go, or at least respond, but he can’t find it in himself to let go yet— so instead he just holds onto you tighter. he still doesn’t respond to your unsaid question, simply standing there, holding onto you like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.

you assumed something had happened on his hunt for dean to be acting this way— but you don’t press or force him to tell you what. you just wanted to be there for him right now.

“oh,” is what you end up softly replying with a little nod of your head against dean when he simply doesn’t answer your unfinished question. but you don’t let him go. hell no. you just pat your hand on the back of one of his shoulders, tightening your own grip on him in return. “sorry, de.”

and dean lets out a slow breath of… was that relief at your voice, at the nickname you’d had for him since the second (or was it third) hunt you’d ever worked on together? who the hell knows. he’s just so thankful you’re here, you’re hugging him, not pushing him away, you’re holding him— that you’re so close.

“no, it’s okay,” dean’s unusually soft voice, barely above a whisper, cuts through the silence.

“it— it was rough, that’s all," he mutters after a even longer while, his words tinged with a mixture of fatigue and… something else that you can't quite place.

you and dean were so close and pressed together with your combined tight grips— so much so that you swore you could almost feel his heartbeat. but it wasn’t uncomfortable. and it didn’t feel awkward. it never seemed to be with him. besides, by his (few) words, you could tell he needed this a lot more than he was letting on.

in all honesty, you were just glad dean was finally letting himself seek comfort for once in his goddamn life—

in you.

“yeah, i get it,” is what you reply with, just nodding against dean’s shoulder while tightening your own grip on him. without really thinking about it, you start to gently run one of your hands up and down his back while still wrapped up in him, palm and fingers trailing on the material of his jacket. “just glad you’re back.”

you can feel dean’s breath hitch at your touch— and for a moment, you hesitate your motions of your hand tracing along his jacket, but his grip on you unconsciously tightened, like he was clinging to you. so you continue doing it after that.

“yeah,” he murmurs, a faint huff of something like a laugh escaping him. “me too.”

and for a long while, dean just stands there wrapped up in you, his face still buried in your hair and part of your shoulder as he lets himself lean into that touch, absorbing its comfort. he grips onto the back of your shirt— and he could feel the tension start to melt away, the warmth mixed with the scent of you filling his senses and working magic on him.

dean stays quiet for several more moments, his face still buried deep in your shoulder, as if he was trying to hide himself from the outside world. his grip on you doesn’t loosen as he stands there, his body against yours. every breath he takes is deep, steady— like he’s grounding himself in this moment with you.

his words break the silence as a whisper against you after a while, the vulnerability clear in his low voice, his words almost like a confession.

“i… missed you.”

a small exhale you didn’t know you were holding releases when dean says that— and your hand falters. dean winchester, king of bottling up feelings and keeping them to himself just said he missed you. this was completely different than how he usually acted around you, but you didn’t mind.

“i missed you, too,” your own voice also quiet when you respond. it was only a few words, but you had understood what dean meant— in more ways than most would. which is why you don’t even attempt to tease him about it, replying with something between a sigh and a laugh at the realization. “like, a lot.”

dean’s grip tightens even further at your response, as if your words had a more profound impact on him than you could've ever imagined. he pulls you closer against him, the hardness of his body against yours should’ve been more uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.

there’s a moment of silence as dean just holds you, face still hidden, his chest rising and falling right against yours. each breath he takes is deeper, almost shaky, and for a moment, you can feel the slightest tremble in his grip.

his voice are soft, vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen from him. like he almost didn’t believe you.

“really?”

and you don’t falter your own grip for one second, despite the fact that this was completely out of character for him. you return the action, tightening your arms around dean before resuming running your hand up and down his back.

“yeah, really,” you nod against dean to confirm, letting out a soft exhale into his jacket. “i dunno, it was just… quiet here without you guys. always is.”

your words seem to soothe him— almost as much as your touch, your hug does. despite being strong both physically and mentally, dean seems to need this— and he doesn’t even really know why. he relaxes even more at your words, his body slumping against yours. it’s almost like he’s seeking every bit of comfort and warmth he can get from this— from you.

dean lets out a small, soft scoff, tinged with weary amusement. “yeah, i bet it was,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your . “must’a been like a vacation for you, huh?” there's a note of sarcasm there, like he’s trying to mask the intensity of the moment with something familiar— like he always did.

and you could have played along with dean’s attempt at lightheartedness— but honestly, you were too tired to make that effort right now. so you just shake your head a little against dean, voice much quieter than before.

“first day was nice,” you admit to dean, hands grasping the back of his jacket to keep him close to you before you close your eyes. “the rest were just…”

there’s a beat of silence as you trail off, and dean’s grip on you— if possible, tightens even further at your unfinished sentence, as if he was hanging on your every word, waiting for what you were going to say.

he lets out a small, soft breath, warm against your hair. “just... what?” he asks, his voice just as low as yours. there’s a hint of subtle unease at what you were going to say.

your arms don’t loosen when you feel dean’s grip grow just that much tighter— but you weren’t about to complain. you don’t answer right away, because the rest of your sentence was almost too embarrassing to admit.

but then again, you remind yourself: this was dean who you were talking to. he didn’t judge you for a lot of things you had once assumed he would judge you for. so you just huff out a quiet laugh into his shoulder that wasn’t really one at all— containing no humor and mostly self-deprecation.

“lonely.”

your admission hangs there between you both. it’s a simple word, but it hits dean harder than any blow he’s ever taken in a fight. because you get it. there’s a hitch in his breathing— the kind that gives away more than mere words ever could. he goes still for a moment, just letting your confession sink in, the quiet of the bunker feeling even more pronounced in that moment.

“yeah,” dean finally breaks the silence with a soft exhale against you, pulling you even tighter against him. “me, too.”

you relax a little after dean says that. it meant more than he knew. you weren’t sure how to explain it, but it felt like you and him… kind of supported each other, in a way. like the burdens you both carried separately, your own issues that you had, they seemed to be less overwhelming whenever you were even near each other. even if you and him didn’t actually know each other’s burdens.

there’s always been an understanding between you, a silent knowledge that sometimes words didn’t need to be said for the other to know what that person is thinking.

the atmosphere in the room feels different now, the silence less heavy than it was before, but the intensity and weight of the moment still weighs heavily in the air between you. it must be an interesting sight from the outside looking in— a six-foot hunter clinging onto you like you were the last thing on earth. but you didn’t mind. hell, it was comfortable.

dean’s grip on you remains just as tight— almost like he’s afraid to let go, afraid that you’ll slip away like some dream he only has once in a great while. he takes a deep breath, chest rising against you as he inhales, then exhales slowly. before he’d realized it, his fingers absentmindedly fiddle with a strand of your hair.

this level of closeness between you two was unfamiliar. of course, you’d hugged each other before and spent numerous times in close proximity—whether it be in the backseat of the impala when sam had to drive that one time or when you had to hide in a not-so-big broom closet from a wraith.

but this... this was different.

and you knew the uncomfortableness of seeking comfort better than most— but somehow, you never had an issue when you were the one who was comforting others. but still, this was new territory. you certainly hadn’t expected dean to hug you for this long tonight. truth was, you didn’t really didn’t want to let go. but you couldn’t say that to him. that would be too weird.

the library is silent, only the soft tick-tock of the old clock on the wall filling the air. there’s a vulnerability, an understanding greater than words in this moment that neither of you are used to— but strangely enough, it's also the most comfortable you’ve both felt in a long time.

and then, dean breaks the silence again— his voice so low, so quiet, that you almost miss it.

“don’t wanna let go.”

your gaze softens when dean says that— but you don’t loosen your grip on him. you weren’t sure exactly why he was so adamant on not letting go, or why he’d been hugging you like you’d almost died. but you don’t ask questions.

besides, dean’s been more vulnerable with you tonight than i’d ever seen or heard in all the years you’d known him. and when he admitted that? you knew you had to be there for him, in whatever way he wanted. so when you reply back, your words are just as quiet as his.

“well, you don’t have to.”

the words feel like a weight being lifted off dean’s shoulders. he clings to you even tighter, burying his face even deeper into your shoulder, like he was ashamed. he doesn’t say anything for a moment— instead, just taking deep breaths. because he’s struggling to keep his emotions intact.

finally, he mumbles into you again, his words muffled by your shirt.

“you promise?”

“yeah,” you echo back quietly, nodding your head against dean’s buried into you. “promise. we can stay like this as long as you want to.”

there’s no malice hidden in your words, or any hint of teasing— because it was nothing but the truth. you’d stay with dean for as long as he wanted you to. and you bury your face a little more into him when he does the same to your shoulder.

there’s another long moment of silence as dean holds onto you, his face still buried in your shoulder. normally, he’d be making some smartass comment by now, acting like his usual self— but he can't seem to find the words. or the energy.

dean huffs softly against your shoulder after a moment— the closest thing to one of his usual snarky remarks. but there’s a hint of hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“what if i wanted to… all night?”

you’d half been expecting dean to brush off your words with a joke or at least something, but the tone of hesitation told you that he was being anything but that. you hesitate, but ultimately lift your head off of his shoulder— you don’t pull away fully, though.

and dean’s body visibly tenses when you pause and pull away slightly to look at him, and he’s almost immediately on the defensive— but relaxes a little when you don’t go far.

your gaze silently searches dean’s as you scrunch your eyebrows slightly. you knew that what he’d just asked you for was… different. and you didn’t have to ask him for clarification. you knew what he meant, why he was so hesitant. because this wasn’t going to be just hugging him anymore.

this would be all night.

and there’s a vulnerable look in his eyes when he lets his guard down just enough as you let your gaze linger on him. dean almost looks like a wounded dog right now, the exhaustion, the weariness making him drop his typical persona in favor of honesty— maybe even desperation, just this once.

from that look on dean’s face, he was not kidding about what he asked. the expression he had was one you hadn’t seen this intensely in a long time. you knew he wasn’t one to just ask something like this, either. not unless he needed it.

the thought of being so close to dean all night makes you a little nervous, but not as much to outright say no. so keeping his gaze, your voice is just as quiet as his was when you nod, breaking the silence of the library once again.

“then i’d say ‘get your pj’s on’.”

the way dean’s body relaxes in relief at your words is almost overwhelming. he’s still staring right into your eyes, the vulnerability almost raw. he manages to nod, searching your gaze. he’d been expecting a boatload of teasing with a side of humiliation— but he’d been proved wrong.

“yeah?” he almost whispers as he holds your gaze, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read your mind. like he’s unable to determine if this is real. if you’re real.

“yeah,” you nod in return, a pang of warmth hitting you again as you look at dean right back. you’re both still standing so close together— and the air felt different, thicker when you take another breath. “s’long as you don’t kick me.”

dean appreciated the break in seriousness, more than you would ever know. something resembling a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“no promises,” he murmurs back, something softer in his gaze as his eyes continue to rake over your face. “but i’ll try.”

“good,” you nod a little again, your own smile tugging on your face as your hands almost absentmindedly trail on dean’s arms— and his eyes literally almost flutter shut at the contact. “and you’re comin’ to my room. and you’re showering.”

dean raises an eyebrow and tries to ignore the warmth that stirred in his chest when you said that all authoritative-like— he swallows before he talks again.

“yes, ma’am.”

. • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . 𖤐

dean knocked on your door before he entered your room not twenty minutes later— don’t ask him, but he showered faster than he ever did in his entire life. he wasn’t too keen on the why.

your head perked up from your pillows when you heard the knock, already under your blankets and— well, let’s be honest here: waiting for him you’d even already moved to the left side of your bed, so dean would have a spot.

a stupid, small part of you had doubts that dean would actually ultimately show up, but it was a little embarrassing how much relief you felt when you call out a soft “yeah”, signaling him to come in.

dean stepped into your room, the only light being from your barley-lit desk lamp. it doubled as a night light, so you didn’t trip over yourself after a midnight snack break.

dean might as well have been in heaven. or something pretty damn close.

of course, he’s been in your room before— but this felt much different than all the other times. because he was going to be sleeping here tonight.

everything felt heightened, more intense— but as dean shut your door, he also had an almost overwhelming sense of comfort. of home. like this is where he was supposed to be this entire time. he pushed those recurring thoughts and feelings he always felt when he was around you, but without first reminding himself that you had agreed to do this. the thought alone was almost enough to make dean’s heart do that thing it always did whenever he was around you.

he’d been lost in his own thoughts, barely even registering the fact that he’d made it to the edge of your bed. your bed. not his, not some old, dingy motel’s. it almost made him chicken out. until—

“as much as i’d like to see you stand there all night, i think you should probably lay down.”

there it was. your incomparable capability to snap dean out of his head, back to reality. he didn’t know how you did it— and to be honest, you didn’t really know, either. but you always could, even giving sam a run for his money.

dean doesn’t hesitate again. you’d already peeled back your covers for him, so he just lifted them up and got under them. like he belonged. as if he’d done so a million times before. 

your bed, your sheets, your pillows— it was warm. and it smelled like you, tenfold. an equal blend of your fabric softener that only you used because dean said the teddy bear on the bottle looked at him weird and your shampoo that was way too expensive and you had to go to a separate store for. 

dean knew you smelled good, that was no debate— but this was like he was wrapped in it. like he’d been earlier when he hugged you. and so close to how he’d always wanted to be wrapped up in you. yet he knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

besides, when was the last time dean winchester got what he wanted?

the answer?

right now.

your eyes hadn’t left dean’s figure when he finally lays down next to you, both now facing each other— it was strange actually seeing him in your bed after years of restless nights wishing he was.

and you could smell him, too— the faint scent of the soap you’d gotten him for his birthday, along with the tea tree shampoo sam kept hidden in the back medicine cabinet (but not well enough, apparently). you decided right then and there that the pillow dean’s head was currently resting on was the one you were going to sleep on after tonight, just so you could smell him after he was gone.

“how you wanna do this?”

dean’s uncharacteristically soft voice broke your thoughts, and you met his eyes when he spoke. his expression looked softer, too— almost hesitant. like he was uncertain. it was a look you rarely ever saw on his face. to see it now, in this way, was bittersweet. then it clicked. 

he was nervous.

“however you want to,” is what you reply with, voice just as quiet as his. you reminded yourself that dean had asked for this. in your mind, it was only fair that he get a say. “whatever you need.”

whatever you need. well, dean needed to kiss you silly if it was the last thing he did, but not tonight. not here. he wouldn’t be able to take it if you rejected him in that way. 

but he had to take some sort of risk right now. he couldn’t deny himself of it— of you any longer.

so before dean can talk himself out of it, he wraps an arm around you, closing the remaining distance— and to your surprise, he buries his head right into your chest, nuzzling against your shirt.

your breath hitches, and you hope to god that he didn’t hear that. but you don’t reject him. you just wrap your own arms around him, accepting him and his touch just as you had done earlier in the library. 

dean would’ve made some joke about basically burrowing his face into your boobs. he didn’t really mean to— but his eyes had fluttered shut already, because you letting him, and you were warm, and you smelled good, and you were so soft.

he’d always loved that about you. from a distance, of course. it didn’t matter how many hardships you’d gone through; you were soft in every sense of the word, both physically and emotionally. and once when he’d taken a shower in your bathroom since sam was hogging the main one in the bunker, the whole damn place smelled like you. he found himself wanting to drown in it.

and hell. he wouldn’t even complain.

your free hand went into his hair at some point, and it took everything in him not to let out a noise. dean sighed a little into your shirt, his breath warm on your chest— he finally let himself relax. go slack.

and he was so grateful that you didn’t tease him, or point out the fact that all six feet and one inch of him was in your grasp and snuggling into you like some damn koala. like a little kid who had a bad dream. but then again, his life felt like a never-ending bad dream most of the time.

you were his one exception to that.

not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

you weren’t sure how long you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other before dean breaks the warm blanket of silence— it could’ve been hours or seconds. but his voice is so low, so soft, you almost didn’t hear it.

“thanks.”

the word was spoken against you, dean still remaining unmoving. he didn’t necessarily think himself as weak at the moment, even though he thought he should— and he dared not to say it out loud, knowing that you’d immediately shoot his insecurities down. 

but dean was finally letting himself get comfort. warmth.

something he’d had for a fleeting moment, then lost. something he had deemed too precious for a man as ragged and as sinful as him a long time ago. he didn’t deserve this. you.

he’d never be one to just take something like this, to ask this of you, without any regard for how you felt. but you showed— all you ever showed to him was the love he thought he’d never receive. the love he’d given so much away, but it never got returned back to him.

because you made him feel like he actually meant something. like he was the hero people he’d saved described him as. like he wasn’t some piece on a chessboard, a punchline in someone’s story, a puppet on a string, or a cog in some eternal machine. 

truth was? the big secret?

you made him feel normal. human. 

it was almost overwhelming, how safe, comfortable he felt right now. the last time he felt this safe, he’d been a child. the last time he felt this comfortable in himself— damn. it was before hell.

when it was just monsters of the week, the only big goal being finding his dad. staying at bobby’s. you had visited that summer. he can still remember your laugh echoing off of the wallpaper and the piles of books. it was before demons.

and the only angel he saw daily was you.

it was in the way the light shone in through the stained glass of one of bobby’s kitchen windows and hit your face, you making him coffee without being asked. when you smiled at him just because.

you treated him like a real friend. like family. like an equal.

sometimes, when everything in his head was too loud, dean missed it. when the only thought of lucifer he had was when he saw the cartoon on the bottle of the devil’s hot sauce at that barbeque place in texas. when everyone he loved and cared about was still alive. when the world wasn’t ending. when you kissed his cheek after not seeing him for a while.

you still did that last one, though.

“anytime, de.”

dean had flinched a little, but didn’t open his eyes after you replied—he had been too lost in the comfort. in you. he could die right now instead of sleeping, and honestly? it’d be a good way to go out. he’d prefer it over going down swinging any day, he decided. 

dean got most of what he wanted tonight. maybe someday he’d get it all. but for now, he’d just dream of it, like he always did.

the only difference?

he was actually in your arms this time.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have one ( 1 ) more new message from the author ! ↓

i know i said it already, but i need to hold this man so so so BADDDDD 💔💔💔 he deserves everything and more like that’s my shayla ☹️ my baby my world my everything (he’s a murderer and monsters fear him)

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bittersweetfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[kurooh]

★ MAKE HER TAPOUT ! — JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, ino takuma, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso fucking you till one of you gives out, or not!

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, creampies, gentle choking, cunnilingus, facesitting, backshots, overstimulation, jet sex, dirty talk, talking him thru it (ino), brief edging, filming.

xoxo, juno: SHES BACKKK 😝

GOJO SATORU # neither, it’s a competition

“aw, sweetheart,” satoru reaches up to thumb away an involuntary tear from your cheek, “you cryin’?”

“no,” you sniffle, and the shake of your voice betrays you. “o-of course not, satoru.”

mirth sparkles in his diamond blue eyes and he hums contentedly, as if he’s pretending to believe you. but of course he is—right now, he has to.

god, you were dumb enough to challenge him once he’d riled you up, and now you’re paying the price. a persistent burn courses through the muscles of your thighs, the exhaustion more than palpable now that you’ve been bouncing on his dick for so long. a messy puddle of cum has pooled around the base of his cock and sticks to your skin each time you sink down, serving as a constant reminder of how long it’s been.

normally, satoru would laugh in your face, then help you fuck him, but he’s choosing to be quiet because seeing you struggle is even more entertaining.

“you don’t have to lie, baby,” he squeezes your hips, allowing his eyes to trace the curves and slopes of your body, to commit them to his long term memory. “y’know, i love watching you ride me. it’s just . . oh, never mind.”

aggressively, you wipe the sweat from your forehead and glare down at him with dewy eyes. even when you’re crumbling into pieces, you manage to remain angry at him. “say it, satoru.”

an irritating smile splits across his face and he bounces his hips up just as you move down, just to punch a gasp out of your lungs. “‘s just that you were so fast earlier, now it seems like you’re struggling after all that talk.”

his cheeks are scarlet and growing darker as something triumphant basks him in its glow. you push at his chest and grind on him more insistently, even though the stimulation feels like bolts of electricity on your sensitive clit. “f-fine, is that what you want? for me to prove myself?”

“maybe.”

satoru watches smugly as you up the pace of your hips, repeatedly slamming down on his cock until you’re ready to give up. he grabs at your soft tits, and pinches at your perked nipples meanly, enjoying the way your cunt spasms around him.

a few tears race down your cheeks, and you glare weakly at him, not yet ready to admit defeat.

“my girl’s so pretty,” satoru whispers, harsh as he rolls your tender nipples between his fingers, “doesn’t she know when it’s time to give up?”

“shut up,” you groan, lower lip wobbling pathetically. this struggling is a hundred times better than being pressed into the mattress and fucked senselessly. “just be quiet, toru, stop running your mouth.”

“me? running my mouth?” he sounds taken aback, mouth agape as he regards you with a offended expression that settles across his flushed features. “sweetheart, please. look at you—”

not too firmly, you wrap your hands around his throat. just the sight has a new kind of arousal flaring inside your body, one that makes your clit feel incredibly sensitive after a single grind of it into his pelvis.

“you’re talking too much,” you hum, voice a little singsongy now that the tables have been turned, “can’t you just let me have this?”

satoru quirks an eyebrow, still challenging you despite blushing darker. “y-you’ve got some serious nerve,” he pants, voice coming out weaker than he’d like it to, “just fuckin’ wait—”

now it’s your turn to rile him up. “whatever,” you roll your eyes, the tips of your nails lightly digging into his soft skin. “maybe if you shut your mouth, i could let you go.”

“oh, you know that’ll never happen,” satoru scoffs quickly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to let go just yet. “you just focus on showin’ me what you’re made of. if you can.”

GETO SUGURU # you ‘tap’ out

when you’d invited geto to make a guest cameo on your onlyfans, you didn’t expect him to pull out all the stops to show you off . .

you wail pathetically, each and every one of your limbs feeling like jelly now. the consistent smacks of his hips into your ass bounces off the walls and only adds to the cacophony in the room—suguru has practically destroyed your pussy, his thick cock reducing it into a wet mess that squeezes him involuntarily whenever he makes noise.

“shit,” his chest heaves behind you, and he flicks his bangs away from his eyes to squint at your phone, “don’t cha look so pretty with me inside, sweetheart? come on, don’t make me lift you up.”

weakly, with as much strength as you can muster, you raise your head to blearily look at your phone screen. it’s constantly lighting up with new, colorful messages in the stream and rather generous donations—suguru has helped you pull in hundreds more than a solo live would’ve.

-> kchomo: she’s beautiful!

-> tfushoji: pussy made of steel

“s-sugu, ah—‘m still a little sensitive,” you struggle to gasp out, each deliberate plunge of his cock punching the words out of you. before you look into your reflection to confirm your suspicions, you already know he’s got a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“that’s even better,” he coos, smacking your ass and slipping his hands beneath your hips. “i’m sure everyone’s, ngh, enjoying the show . . but god, who wouldn’t, especially with a face ‘n body like that?”

suguru groans as he drags you up, positioning you to take his cock at an impossibly deeper angle. you choke on your own drool, hands slipping off of the floor as he moves you however he pleases.

“p-put me down!” you squeak awkwardly, feeling previous loads of cum race down your inner thighs in creamy rivulets, “what’re you—”

“jus’ giving them one last show before it’s time for me to take a bow,” his pierced tongue darts out to lick the sweat glistening at his cupid’s bow. “think you can take it? again?”

it’s more of a challenge rather than a request.

even though you’re spent and dizzy from the scent of sex as well as the feel of it, you’re ready to push through. after all, how long has it been since you’ve ever been fucked this good?

“bring it on, suguru,” and you don’t regret it for a second, until his nails claw at your skin when he steadies himself inside you, gearing up to go out with a bang.

“that’s my girl,” your eyes roll back into your head when he develops a pace right out of the gates, all too eager for someone who’s covered your back in cum more than a few times. “fuck, she’s so good. takes a fuckin’ dick like it’s nobody’s business.”

“‘m supposed to—oh my god, right there—be a pro..professional.”

a professional pornstar? more like a fancier way of saying you’re a hungry slut—but suguru doesn’t give a damn, not when you’re sucking him deeper and throbbing around him, almost synced up with the frantic pounding of his heart.

“riiight there, huh?” he can’t help but tease, voice taking on a mocking tone that seems to make the room burn a few degrees hotter, “is this where you want me, sweetheart? all up in this pretty lil tummy?”

oh, he even splays his fingers across your stomach and digs his heel into the soft spot above your pelvis, a move he’d familiarized himself with after combing through your account. for lack of a well formed verbal response, you nod your head, lips parting around breathless moans and pleas. “fuck yes, sugu. i need it, i need more.”

wispy black hairs cling to his forehead, held in place by sweat instead of their usual tight bun. since he’d stepped into your room and greeted your audience, suguru had become quite disheveled, and the thought of complaining never crossed his mind. no, he’d been too lost in you, his longtime porn crush whose page he checked almost daily—he feels his eyes squeeze shut when you cry out his name so loudly your throat will be sore tomorrow.

“oh god, suguru,” you’re entirely limp in his grasp and powerless to the wet squelches of your cunt as he rearranges your insides, “i think i’m gonna fuckin’ cum soon, ‘m so close.”

-> satojo: HELL YES

-> brattybunnny: the way he holds her >>

-> juiceboxbussy: im crying they’re so hot

ecstasy shoots through your veins like electricity, and suguru’s ability to hold back crumbles into nothing when you start to throw your ass back onto him. it’s something that derails the pace he’s set and the plans he had, but you deserve to be spoiled. honestly, after this live, you’ll definitely be inviting him on more often.

like a boat’s propellers, your feet kick out into the air and your toes curl as the tsunami wave of it all starts to crash over you. “i’m—sugu, ‘m gonna fucking cum!”

“all over my cock, baby,” suguru groans, too lost in your pussy to feel the beads of sweat racing down his temples or the burn of exhaustion settling into his muscles, “let—let me feel it.”

so you do, abruptly creaming all over his cock with an obscene whine that tears out of your throat and blesses the ears of every member of the audience. he’s finally able to let go as you’re coming down, pulsing cunt milking him of every drop he can possibly offer.

suguru nearly collapses on top of you once his empty balls clench, but you’re already struggling to hold yourself up without his help. the donations are much more luxurious now that the audience can get better views of your blissed out face and his matching reddened expression.

“let’s start saying goodbye,” he suggests, wincing as he pulls out of you. the air is hot, but it feels like the arctic outside of you—well, at least he can watch the deluge of cum spill out from between your thighs. you’ll be leaking for hours, and some kind of nasty pride swells in his chest at the thought of it. “honey, c’mon. gotta get cleaned up.”

-> satojo donated $150

-> thukuna donated $200 and said: js busted a nut

-> brattybunnny: i know that dick was good asf

-> juiceboxbussy: girl she’s knocked out 😭

NANAMI KENTO # you tap out

“ken,” you gasp just as the thud of a loaded suitcase resonates through the entire jet. the flight crew’s busy loading up what’s supposed to be an empty corporate jet, while kento’s associates busy themselves with odd tasks he’s doled out to them. “but the seats—”

“can be replaced,” he huffs irritably, not liking the fact that you’re busying yourself with pointless worrying over the seats. “sit down, honey.”

“i know that,” nervously, you glance toward the front of the jet, scanning your surroundings to make sure nobody’s coming in. “i, um, don’t want to make a mess before everyone comes in. i mean, what if you get fired because of it?”

as you ramble, you’re unconsciously pulling away from your seat on his face. kento’s gold wedding band catches the light of the sun as he immediately grabs your thighs, yanking you back where he wants you. his patience is wearing thin and if you don’t sit on his face right now, god help him—he’ll start thinking about devouring you in front of his co-workers.

“ah! kento, i don’t think this is a—” you’re powerless now; with his strong arms locked around your legs, there’s no way you can escape. it’s so risky, so dangerous—but the fear quickly boils into arousal that pools like magma in your belly.

happily suffocating beneath you, kento can’t help but smile when he starts to slurp at your messy cunt. it’s obscene, the noises he makes—smacking his lips like he just can’t get enough, grunting as that familiar sweetness settles on his tongue.

your breath hitches in your throat. “k-kennn, baby, you feel so good—but, oh, we don’t have a lot of time.”

for one painful moment, he lifts you up and stares at you with nothing but hunger in his eyes. “remind me about that one more time,” low and menacing, the sound of his voice makes your pussy squeeze in anticipation. “let me enjoy my meal in peace, honey.”

with that, kento firmly sits you on his face once more, and resumes his impatient lapping. his tongue is both soft and rough, forcing a stream of uncontrollable moans out of you. his nose presses into your clit and makes every sensation hit you harder, leaving you a hot mess atop his face.

“move those hips for me,” he lets out a muffled groan, and his eyes roll back once he feels you comply. desperate as ever, you start to rock your hips into him at an unsteady pace—the shaking and trembling of your body throws you off course.

“ngh, like this?” kento’s ears seem to perk once he detects that current of hesitancy in your voice. it’s so cute, the way you’re seeking his praise; his cock twitches in his pants, buried under layers of fabric.

“just like that, angel,” he gasps for breath before going back in—this time, kento starts to sloppily make out with your pussy. his tongue pushes inside and flicks around, experimentally going deeper while he kisses at your folds.

“oh my god,” the words are a euphoric exclamation, the kind that comes before an earth shattering orgasm—but then it suddenly switches into panic. “oh my god, kento! y-you’ve gotta stop now, your co-workers, they’re—fuck, they just got here!”

kento’s never been one to allow himself to be rushed. your orgasm, you falling apart on his face—it is much more important than his damn co-workers. he’s made you cum fast before and he can do it again. despite your thrashing, he holds you down against him and amps everything up until you start to sob out his name, choking on each syllable.

“they’re gonna get on the plane,” you sniffle, finally accepting your fate. the leather seats will be soaking wet by the time everyone boards, but there’s nothing else you can do but cum. “ken, ‘m really getting close, ngh.”

you nearly lock eyes with one of his coworkers when all your muscles pull taut and bliss bursts out like fireworks in your body. oh, and out of it too—before you can register what’s going on, cum gushes from your pussy and squirts like rain all over his face. of course, kento drinks in every drop, careful not to waste even one.

your jaw’s hanging open as he licks you straight through your high, greedy as ever so he can purposefully make you squeal. kento’s grip on you loosens and he smirks when you scramble off of him, squeezing your thighs together as your body heaves for breath.

“oh, look at that,” he cheerfully glances down at the leather seats, “you didn’t get anything wet, sweetheart.” except for him, of course.

then, out the window. “those aren’t my coworkers, angel. they’re marshals to guide the jet,” slowly, he turns toward you, eyeing your sticky thighs—rather, what’s between them. “no need to quit so soon, hm? tell me what you want.”

INO TAKUMA # he ultimately taps out

takuma’s more than lost in your pussy—he’s too far in to pull out even if he tried. it always happens so fast, too; from the moment you put it in he nearly goes cross-eyed and tries to think of anything that could help him not to cum. it’s so difficult, though, especially when you’re purposefully squeezing down on him and using your oh so soft hands to urge him closer.

he’s done for.

“takuma, are you—ah—are you okay?” before he could realize what was happening, takuma had instinctively begun to jackhammer his hips into yours. “oh my—mmm, you’re fucking me so well.”

“yeah?” he pants out, fingers scrabbling at your ankle to pull you closer, “g-give yourself some credit too, baby, you’re the one taking it like you were made to.”

it’s just how he is, always stuttering back a compliment whenever you talk to him. a breathy chuckle passes through your lips and is immediately followed by a saccharine moan of his name, a sound that echoes in his head and shoots straight to his twitching dick.

“it’s so hard,” he gasps, feeling an inevitable tingle in his nose and behind his eyes, “so hard to keep it together when you’re lookin’ at me like that. shit, babe, you’re gonna kill me.”

each word grows more frantic with every pleased moan that leaves your lips, and takuma’s gotta force himself to focus on something else. he’d been taught to cum with or after you, a rule ingrained into him that even applies when he’s jerking off.

the tinkling of your anklet near his ear serves as the perfect distraction, until it suddenly reminds him of the sexy position he’s fucking you in. with one leg over his shoulder and the other kicking on the bed, takuma’s cock is able to push deep, into spots you can’t even reach with your fingers.

your chest rises and falls rapidly, plump tits jiggling from all the movement, and his face crumples when you shakily press them down. “‘m gonna cum,” you wheeze, arousal burning like fire through your entire body, “you’re suuuch a good boy, takuma, feels so g-good.”

“don’t say that,” takuma’s pleading with you, shaking his head frantically as his cock starts to throb, “don’t, you’re��hah—gonna make me cum too fast.”

“why not at the same time, honey?” your free leg starts to circle around his waist, drawing him in without leaving an opening for him to escape. “c’mon, takuma, ‘m all yours. just f-fill me up.”

this is an offer he can’t refuse, a ball he absolutely cannot drop—the shakes of his head turn into frantic nods as he accepts, scooping you up to pull you just a few inches closer before he falls off the edge. he’s the cutest, trembling above you and babbling out breathless sweet nothings.

you cum hard on his cock, digging your heel into his lower back as you reach your high. it tears through you and leaves you dizzy, shaking like a leaf beneath his strong body. takuma, on the other hand, is so lost in you that he’s tucked his face into your neck and gasps into your skin. everything is inaudible until he lets out a hushed whine, “ngh, mommy.”

“mmm, takuma,” your nails rake down his shoulders, leaving long red stripes he’ll be proud of when he looks into the mirror. “what was that?”

takuma closes his eyes against you and swallows against the shockwaves of bliss as he empties his balls against your cervix. “h-huh, baby?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI # you will tap out

toji’s unstoppable—once you’re on all fours and throwing your ass back on him, don’t expect to be able to walk without being carried for the next two hours.

“oh my god,” you sob out desperately, voice cracking when you try to speak, “t-toji, it’s—ngh, ‘s too much, i can’t—” 

“doll, be for real,” toji snickers, almost out of breath. it’s been so long you can’t even feel your legs anymore, and he presses his large hands onto your squirming hips as if he’s trying to indent his touch into you forever. “you can take it. ya wanna cum, don’t cha?”

weakly, you look over your shoulder just in time to catch the wolfish grin on his face and the gleam of his pearly whites. his dark gaze scours your body hungrily, as if he’s on the hunt for something plump to sink his teeth into. sweat glistens on his chest, salt settled in the hard lines of muscle that define his body and showcase his strength. “if ya hadn’t been so fuckin’ impatient, i’d have made you cum earlier. but noooo, jus’ wanted to be all dumb, huh?”

“‘m sorry,” a scream nearly tears from your throat after another agonizing thrust of his powerful hips—his tip hits the soft, cushy spot deep inside of your cunt that always has you seeing stars. “toji! i didn’t mean to be a—fuck—a brat, i only wanted—”

“blah blah blah,” he groans, targeting your sweet spot with sharp, deliberate thrusts that make your eyes roll back into your skull. “jus’ shut up, baby. keep talkin’ and i’ll leave ya high ‘n dry.”

it sounds horrible—horrible enough for you to snap your mouth shut and just focus on taking his cock even though your hips occasionally jerk to the side. toji’s dick is huge, long and thick and unbelievably easy to go dumb on. your fingers twitch in the sheets, aching to scratch the lustful itch that torments your swollen clit; but toji won’t let you, not until he wants you to cum.

a long cry of frustration is released into the bed, and the corners of his lips quirk up in amusement. “aw, is it gettin’ to be too much for ya?” he croons, landing a few stinging smacks on your sore ass, “hope you’re not tapping out before i let ya cum, doll.”

“i said i was sorry,” bitterly, the words rush out. “w-why can’t i fucking cum, toji?”

a low wolf whistle trills out into the air. “because you like edging, nasty girl. did i fuck ya dumb enough for you to forget that ya asked me to do this shit to you, huh?”

that’s right. you had asked him to starve you of the euphoria briefly, but now it’s well past the limit. yes, fushiguro toji was no stranger to pushing limits—transcending physical thresholds to build his body into your favorite temple to worship—so naturally, he’s started to train you to do the same.

“that’s not fair,” you whine, feeling the tears building in your eyes, “haa, i’m so close.”

“don’t you dare,” toji hisses, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling you back easily. “you can wait one more minute.”

he’s cruel, going so far as to rub your clit with his rough fingers to make you waver as you wait for the tortuous minute to pass. heat burns across every inch of your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake—it’s impossible not to start trembling, teeth chattering as you try to fight off the unescapable high that only seems to move faster toward you. 

“please,” you’re arching all over, nearly collapsing onto your stomach, but he’s got you right where he wants you. “h-hurry up, toji, i can’t hold it anymore—shit!”

“three fuckin’ seconds,” he grunts, the clapping of skin against skin growing louder as the seconds fly by. “‘kay, princess. go ahead and cum alllll over this dick f’me.”

you fall apart on his cock before he can even finish his sentence, cunt clenching hard enough to push him out as you fall forward onto the mattress. the smallest amount of cum squirts from your pussy, and that’s when he realizes he’s not quite done with you yet. toji licks his lips as he watches you writhe, settling onto his stomach to torture you all the more. 

“toji!” you can’t help but squeal when he grabs hold of your hips and licks at your overly sensitive clit, his dark eyes rolling back when he feels your pussy twitching against his tongue. “ugh, wait, ‘m not ready for—”

“ya wanted to cum so bad, didn’t ya? so lay back for me, doll.”

KAMO CHOSO # can’t stop, won’t stop

“hah, ‘m sorry,” choso borderline sobs when he delivers another sloppy, trembling thrust deep into your cunt. you’re folded up and blurry beneath him, all because he can’t seem to control the onslaught of crystalline tears that pool in his eyes. “baby, it’s—you just feel so g-gooddd.”

rampant apologies run out from his mouth, but they never quite land, always fading into nothing by the time he finishes the sentence. it’s not like he means a single one, especially when he can’t stop rutting his hips into yours, chasing both of your highs.

“don’t—mmm, fuck,” you curse when the tip of choso’s cock kisses your cervix, sending a brief sting of both pain and pleasure through your nerves, “don’t worry about it, cho, ‘s okay.”

tears race down his pink cheeks as more build in his eyes, despite his frantic attempts to blink them away. “i jus’ can’t stop, you—you feel too fucking good.”

a wave of heat crashes through him when he sees your eyes roll back, legs squeezing around his slim waist in order to keep him inside you. you’re as eager for his cum as he is to give it to you, along with a final orgasm of your own. his cock may be purple with overstimulation by now, but how could that possibly matter when you’re on the brink of bursting at the seams all over him?

choso chokes on a moan and fucks you harder, ignoring the annoying beads of sweat that roll down his temples and paste his hair down to his skin. even in the middle of winter, just the two of you are able to heat the house up as easily as a furnace could.

“oh my—fuck,” your voice breaks when you try to speak, looking deliciously dazed when your bleary eyes finally focus on his own, “y-you’re gonna make me cum again, cho, if you keep that pace—”

“fuckin’ give it to me,” choso begs, raspy voice edged with the intensity of ecstasy roaring through him, “jus’ one more time, just one more, we can—we can cum together, baby.”

he’s hiccuping over his words and losing control faster now that your hand’s tangled in his hair and pulling the way he likes. it stings, but he’d be out of his right mind if he asked you to stop—so instead, “harder, please.. ugh, just like that.”

“you’re such a freak,” you pant out, although you sound more than pleased to yank on his hair, “don’t tell me you’ll cum just from this?”

he swallows a lump in his throat and presses a hand to your lower belly, feeling around for himself, and soon enough, he’s able to feel the distinct swell of his cock inside of you.

“only if you cum all over me,” choso’s already delirious, mind full of thoughts of another orgasm even after this one. with you, he’s learned to control his refractory period, shortening it down to a mere two minutes that he tends to spend between your thighs. “please, you have to let me feel you, baby, it’s the only way—!”

“yeah? oh, are you gonna f-fill me up again?” heat floods your cheeks as your voice becomes more breathy, growing weak now that you’re hurtling toward your own high. “oh my god, ‘s like you’re trying to knock me up.”

something wild flashes across his face and takes place as a flickering movie behind his eyes. he has to pause, momentarily caught up in the idea of getting you pregnant. there’s something about the idea of your swollen belly and babies that really ignites a flame in the half curse—perhaps it’s all the more attractive because there’s a good chance he’s infertile.

“oh, fuck,” he sobs desperately, vision blurring with tears and his thoughts, “‘m cumming—ugh, ‘s all yours, angel, ‘m only yours.”

even as choso’s spilling white inside of you, his stuttering hips don’t stop once. now, he’s got a goal and he intends to achieve it, regardless of your cries of sensitivity. “slow down,” you whine, out of breath. “ch-choso, wait a second—it’s too much!”

“it’s not enough,” he grunts, shaking as he bulldozes through his own oversensitivity, “i’m not done, i have to—i need to put a baby in you.”

“i’m sure there’s five, choso, i need to take a second to bre—”

“just one more, i need to make sure. it has to happen, ‘m almost there. hold on for me, angel, please, i just have to make sure.”

[spikeyjo]

going to group therapy with a different set of people this time is.... something. i cannot relate to these mfs.

[xhyjin]

thinking about nanami kento! (when am i not) with a s/o that is socially awkward/shy

he knew from the start that you were distant. during work parties, you never showed up, only clocking in to work and leaving once your duties were done, never lingering to chat or mingle. the rare times you did attend, you stayed in the corners, quietly observing with wide, nervous eyes and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. he couldn’t help but be intrigued, and one day, curiosity got the better of him. he approached you. your words stuttered, your face burned red, but there was something about the way you responded that made him instantly drawn to you. from that moment, you became his reason to look forward to work every day.

he began to notice the little things about you. how you stayed tucked away in your cubicle, only speaking to coworkers when necessary. how you spent your lunch breaks alone, either watching a show on your phone or quietly eating, lost in your own thoughts. and how, at the end of the day, he’d sometimes catch you smiling to yourself in the elevator, as though you’d found happiness in the smallest of things. it fascinated him how content you seemed in your own world, and after weeks of silently admiring you, he finally decided to approach you properly.

but he was careful—patient. he knew you were shy and reserved, so he didn’t want to overwhelm you. he started small, spending lunch breaks with you. at first, the silence between you both was awkward, though not unwelcome. you blushed furiously at the attention but didn’t push him away. instead, you quietly shared bits of your lunch with him, a subtle gesture that said, i’m glad you’re here. he knew you struggled with words, so he didn’t press. instead, he let his presence speak for itself, slowly building a bridge of comfort between the two of you.

when kento finally worked up the courage to ask you out, making it clear that this wasn’t just work-related but a date; you could hardly believe it. your eyes widened, and then you nodded eagerly, your happiness shining through. his heart swelled at your reaction. he had planned a simple outing, maybe a cafe, but seeing your excitement, he wanted to make it special. he made reservations at a nice restaurant, ensuring you’d have a secluded spot to enjoy your time without pressure.

the date started just as he expected. you were quiet, your voice barely above a whisper when you responded to him, sticking mostly to “yes” or “no” answers. but kento was nothing if not patient. he asked small, simple questions, easing you into a conversation, and when he mentioned something you loved, your entire demeanor changed. your eyes lit up, your voice grew stronger, and you started talking more, rambling on about your interests. you didn’t even realize how much you’d been speaking until the waitress interrupted to take your order. your face turned crimson as you sulked in embarrassment, worried you’d talked too much. but when you glanced at kento, his gaze was soft, a gentle smile on his lips, he looked utterly captivated.

ordering was its own challenge. you felt embarrassed, too shy to tell the waitress what you wanted. kento noticed your hesitation and, with a subtle nudge of his foot under the table, gave you something to focus on. you nudged him back, and it was enough to calm your nerves, allowing you to place your order. he was thoughtful like that, always finding quiet ways to make you feel at ease.

by the end of the date, you’d grown comfortable enough to start asking him questions. the two of you talked for so long that you didn’t notice the restaurant had emptied. when you finally left, the night felt far from over. kento drove you to the beach, where the two of you walked hand in hand along the shore. the sound of the waves filled the comfortable silence between you, and when you stopped to look at the moonlight reflecting on the water, he turned to you and asked, “may i kiss you?”

your heart raced, but you nodded, and when he kissed you, it was as if you were something fragile, precious. he didn’t want to rush you or make you uncomfortable, but under the glow of the moon, he couldn’t resist the beauty of the moment—or of you.

after that, the two of you continued to grow closer, going on more dates and eventually making it official. over time, you began to come out of your shell, though you still retained your social awkwardness. kento loved every part of you, from the way you stumbled over your words to the way you blushed under his gaze. to him, you were perfect exactly as you were, and he made sure you always knew it.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

She fucked with the wrong one

Modern Joel Miller x Wife!Reader

Warning: Violence, NSFW

It was supposed to be a peaceful Friday night.

Just you and Joel, out on the town. No work, no phone calls, no responsibilities just dinner at your favorite steakhouse downtown and a nightcap at a cozy little bar with vintage lighting, country music on the jukebox, and shelves lined with every whiskey bottle under the sun.

You were tucked against Joel at the bar, waiting for your drinks. His hand rested lazily on your waist, thumb brushing against your hip in slow, absent circles, while his body pressed against your back like he never wanted to let you go.

He leaned in and murmured against your ear, “You know, if I didn’t already have you, I’d be tryin’ real damn hard to get you tonight.”

You laughed, turning your head slightly. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Maybe,” he said, lips brushing your jaw. “But you’re still blushin’, darlin’.”

You smiled and gave him a playful little nudge with your elbow. He grunted, let out a quiet chuckle, and then

That’s when she showed up.

The woman appeared like a drunk stormbleach blonde hair, sky-high heels, and perfume so strong it made your nose itch. She waltzed up to Joel’s other side like you didn’t even exist, leaning one manicured hand on the bar, the other dragging a red-painted nail down his forearm.

“Well hell-o, cowboy,” she purred, eyes glued to Joel’s profile. “What’s a man like you doin’ here all alone?”

Joel barely glanced her way. “Not alone,” he said, motioning to you. “Here with my wife.”

You gave her a polite, closed-mouth smile. “Hi.”

She blinked at you, then actually scoffed, her lips curling. “That’s your wife?”

Joel’s grip on your waist tightened, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

You straightened. “Is there a problem?”

The woman cocked her head, giving you the kind of once-over you only saw in trashy high school movies. “Just surprised, is all. I mean… he’s all rugged and fine as hell, and you’re like… I don’t know. A daycare teacher.”

You blinked. “I’m gonna let that slide since you’re clearly drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, sweetheart,” she sneered, voice rising. “I’m just sayin’ what everyone else is thinkin’. You must have a great personality or somethin’, ‘cause he could do better.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, visibly holding himself back. “Ma’am, you need to back off.”

You held up a hand. “No, no, Joel. Let her keep going. I’d love to hear what else she has to say.”

The woman rolled her eyes and stepped closer, almost challenging you with her stance. “You don’t scare me, sweetheart. Women like you never do. Fake nails, Target dress, thinkin’ they’re somethin’ special ‘cause their man sticks around. You really think he’s not lookin’ at someone like me when you’re not around?”

You tilted your head, smiling wide. “Fake nails? Baby, these are real. Wanna feel ‘em up close?”

She laughed mockingly. “Oh, please. What are you gonna do? Cry?”

You took a slow step forward. “No. I’m gonna give you five seconds to walk your cheap, loud, desperate ass back to wherever you crawled out of before I make you regret ever opening your mouth.”

She tilted her head. “Or what, little girl? You gonna throw hands in a bar over some cowboy dick?”

Joel stepped between you, holding a hand out. “Alright, that’s it let’s go—”

But she swung.

Her hand came toward your face like a slap, wild and uncoordinated but she caught your jaw with her nails just enough to sting. And in that split-second?

You saw red.

You grabbed her wrist and punched her. A clean, right hook straight to the cheekbone. The woman shrieked and stumbled back into a barstool, knocking over a tray of drinks. Gasps erupted all around you.

Joel shouted something, but you weren’t listening.

She lunged, and you met her halfway.

Hair pulling. Elbows. Punches. You got her on the floor, straddling her like a woman possessed. She screeched and tried to kick you off, but you landed another hit to her nose blood this time. She called you a bitch you punched her again. She slapped you yanked her head back by her extensions.

The bartender shouted for security.

“Jesus Christ!” Joel’s voice rang above the chaos. “Y/N, ENOUGH!”

But you were seeing red. You landed one more hit for good measure before Joel lifted you off her literally throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of sugar.

“Let me go!” you shouted, still kicking. “I WARNED HER, JOEL!”

“I know you did, baby, and she’s probably got a broken nose now, so we’re good, alright?”

The bar was dead silent as Joel carried you out, wide-eyed onlookers parting like the Red Sea. The woman lay whimpering on the floor, nose bleeding, heels broken. You’d ripped a chunk of her hair out.

Outside, Joel set you down gently, his hands gripping your shoulders. “Jesus,” he muttered, chest heaving. “You good?”

You blew a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah. You see her face?”

“I did. And I think a few cameras in there did, too.”

You winced, looking at your bruised, bloody knuckles. “Shit.”

Joel ran a hand over his face. “Alright. Come on. Let’s go home before we get arrested for assault.”

Back at home, the adrenaline had worn off, and your hand was throbbing.

You were sitting on the bathroom counter while Joel rummaged through the cabinet under the sink. He came up holding a first-aid kit and a bottle of whiskey.

“For me or you?” you asked, nodding at the whiskey.

“Both,” he said, pouring two glasses.

You watched him as he knelt in front of you, gently taking your injured hand in his. He examined your knuckles with careful eyes, thumb brushing over the swelling.

“You need stitches?”

“Nah,” you muttered. “Just ice. Maybe a little pride boost.”

Joel smirked, shaking his head as he cleaned the cuts with antiseptic. “I gotta say… you scare the hell outta me sometimes.”

“Why?” you grinned. “Because I defended your honor?”

He looked up at you, eyes softening. “Because you’ll throw hands without hesitation. And because-“he kissed your scraped knuckles “-you looked damn good doin’ it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joel reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

“I wanted to,” you said. “She disrespected me. And you. And I don’t tolerate that.”

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then lingered by your lips. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

“You piss me off all the time.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t decked me yet, so I figure I’m still in the safe zone.”

You laughed, wrapping your good arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss o slow, sweet, grounding.

He pulled back, his voice low and warm. “You know what really got me?”

“What?”

“The way you said ‘mine’ when you talked about me.” He touched your cheek. “I liked that.”

You smiled. “That’s ‘cause you are mine, Joel Miller. Always.”

He stood, lifting you off the counter and into his arms. “Come on. Bed. You’ve earned it.”

You rested your head against his chest, fingers curling in his shirt.

“You’re not mad?” you mumbled.

He chuckled. “Mad? No. You defended what’s yours. I just hope that poor girl learns not to mess with a woman who throws punches like a boxer and kisses like a goddess.”

You looked up at him. “And you?”

Joel smirked. “I’m just glad I married you before someone else did.”

And with that, he carried you to bed your hand wrapped in gauze, your heart wrapped in him.

That woman may have picked the wrong one to mess with…

But Joel? He’d picked exactly right.

The house was quiet.

Joel had finished bandaging your bruised, bloodied knuckles with the kind of gentle focus that always made your chest ache. He hadn’t said much just murmured soft reassurances, kissed your temple a few times, and made you promise to ice it later.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he’d whispered once.

But now, the adrenaline had worn off. Your body ached, your knuckles throbbed, and the inside of your cheek was sore from where your teeth had bit down during the fight. It was late. You were exhausted.

You padded into the bathroom, peeled off your jacket, and reached up to unclip the gold hoops from your ears. One at a time. Slow. You stared at your reflection as you worked hair messy, makeup smudged, your lip swollen from when the other woman had managed to get a weak swing in before you took her down.

You didn’t hear Joel approach.

But you felt him.

His presence behind you was unmistakable warm and heavy like the summer heat. Then his hands were on your hips, gentle but firm, and his lips brushed the curve of your shoulder.

“You don’t even know what you did to me tonight,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

You shivered, still holding one earring in your hand.

Joel’s hands slid up your sides, under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing skin. “The second you shoved her away from me, I saw it in your face,” he continued. “That fire. That don’t-touch-what’s-mine look.”

You let your eyes flutter closed as he kissed the back of your neck, the shell of your ear.

“Got my ass hard the second you threw that first punch.”

“Joel,” you breathed, not sure if it was a protest or a plea.

“I ain’t ever been more turned on in my goddamn life,” he rasped.

You set the earring on the counter, heart thudding in your chest as Joel’s hands slid up to cup your breasts through your shirt, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until you moaned.

“I was tryin’ to let you cool down,” he said, grinding his hips against you. “But all I could think about was the way you dropped her for even lookin’ at me wrong.”

His fingers tugged your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, then his hands ghosted down your stomach and popped the button on your jeans.

“You undressin’ for bed, or undressin’ for me?” he teased, kissing the side of your throat as you leaned into his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

“Both,” you whispered.

Joel chuckled low, his hands slipping into the waistband of your jeans, dragging them and your panties down your legs in one smooth motion. You braced yourself on the bathroom counter, back arching, your bare body exposed to him.

He stepped back just long enough to undress, and you caught his reflection in the mirror shirtless, belt undone, jeans low on his hips, his eyes devouring you.

When he came back behind you, he didn’t wait. He lined himself up and slid inside you with a low groan, and your mouth fell open as your hips met the counter.

“Jesus,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips as he bottomed out. “Still so fuckin’ tight.”

You could barely breathe, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming after everything tonight. “Joel—”

His hand came around to your front, fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit as he started to thrust.

“Say it,” he growled, eyes locked on your reflection. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Always.”

He slammed into you harder, jaw clenched. “That’s right. My wife. My girl. My fighter.”

You moaned, hands scrambling for purchase on the slick marble counter as Joel buried his face in your neck, lips brushing your skin with every thrust.

“You fuckin’ own me, darlin’,” he groaned. “There ain’t a man alive who could look at you and not know I’d burn the world down for you.”

Your climax built like a wave hot, sharp, and inevitable. You cried out as it tore through you, your body clenching around him, and Joel followed with a broken moan, thrusting deep one last time as he spilled inside you.

He stayed there for a moment chest pressed to your back, his arms wrapped around your middle, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured into your skin, voice raw. “So fuckin’ much.”

You turned in his arms, breathless, and pulled his face to yours. “I’d fight ten more girls for you.”

Joel laughed, holding you tight. “Please don’t.”

He kissed your swollen knuckles, then your mouth, then scooped you into his arms and carried you to bed.

And there, in the soft cotton sheets, with the moonlight spilling in through the curtains and the weight of the night still humming in your bones, you curled up in his arms safe, sore, loved, and his.

Always his.

[vssail]

player two | damian wayne x reader

summary: you become damian's second player. suddenly, he can't stop losing

a/n: 1k words // english is not my first language // maybe a bit ooc

After what felt like thirty eternal minutes, you turned off the computer. It was your turn to do the report of that night’s mission, and while you were doing that task on the cave, Damian and Jon went up to the manor.

You headed up too to say goodbye and go to your home, finally. It wasn’t hard to find them – just as you got into the hall, you heard them cursing the other. They were at the manor’s living room, spread on the couch and playing some videogame. You were curious of what they were playing, so you approached them, staying behind of the couch.

It was the typical fighting game, like Mortal Kombat or Street Fighter. The only difference was that the characters were heroes. Damian was playing with Batman and Jon with Superman. Not very surprising, but you were startled by how competitive they were. You arrived just in time to see Batman clear Superman.

“I told you Batman’s attacks were better,” a very smug Damian said.

Damian sensed you behind him (well, he probably heard you padding on the hall but he was invested on his game) and turned around to look at you. He had a second sense to read your thoughts. Maybe it was part of league training.

“Do you want to play?” He asked you with a challenging look. His voice was sharp, like always, but those graced with good hearing (like a certain half-kryptonian with superhearing in the room) could notice an unusual fondness in his voice.

“I don’t know how to play,” you muttered. You weren’t really into videogames, for starters. And Animal Crossing didn’t look like it had much in common with the game they were playing. You had zero experience.

Since Jon was lying flat on the couch and out of your view, you missed the knowing look he gave to Damian. And also the kick he gave him with his foot to wake him up – his dear friend was slow when it came to you.

“I can teach you,” he offered, as he looked down to Jon with a murderous glare.

You thought about it. You didn’t really have anything better to do at home – well, you should be sleeping, but one night staying up late wouldn’t kill you. So you turned around the couch and plopped beside Damian, in the little space left, because Jon was occupying more than half of the couch.

“Here,” Jon gave you his controller while he got up. “Gonna grab something at the kitchen, be right back.”

But while you stared at the controller, again, you missed the glaring battle between your two friends. One amused, the other plotting a murder.

(“It’s your chance, loverboy.”)

(“I will kill you.”)

When Damian returned to look at you, you had moved to the selection screen, looking at the characters.

Jon really didn’t care about the threat. He left the room, humming, clearly amused.

“Wonder Woman, Nightwing, Flash… there are so many league members,” you noticed. “Look, there’s even a Robin! Why aren’t you using him?”

Damian growled. “That’s Drake’s suit.”

You chuckled.

“Well, I want to use him.”

Damian snapped at you with a betrayed look. But when he met with your playful and amused gaze, he lost. He hated how easy you could soften him. Defeated, but a frown still in his face, he showed you the controls.

“Jump with the triangle, dodge with the square and hit with the O,” he explained, his matter-of-fact voice shining. “To use an special attack, press down both sticks.”

“The bottons that roll? Press them down?” you wondered.

“Yes, like this.” His hands covered yours, guiding your grip, and his calloused thumbs pressed down gently over yours. You felt a click under your fingers and let out an oh. He felt a click too, just as he looked up and met your eyes way too much close than he expected. He stepped back quickly and kept explaining like nothing happened.

The controller was pretty easy to understand. Almost too easy. That’s when the Fire Nation attacked, and Damian showed you a table with combos. Way too much movements, and too much buttons to use in less than 2 seconds. You looked at the list. Then at him, wide lost dear eyes.

He held back a laugh. You fought crime at night alongside him, even got into multiversal messes. But what defeated you were videogame combos.

Jon came back with a pizza and a very entertained look. Of course, he had superheard everything.

“Let’s start,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “I promise I’ll go as easy as I can on you.”

“How’s the game going, YN?”

He asked you, but he looked at Damian. The little Wayne looked back, glaring at him for dear life.

“Amazing!” You beamed with excitment, oblivious – for the third time of the night – to the murdering gazes your friends were exchanging. “I lost like 20 times at the start, but then I won one round, and I’m on a streak of five wins now!”

Damian turned the other way, avoiding Jon’s knowing and smug eyes. He clearly knew what happened.

Damian, after 20 hilarious defeatings and feeling bad for you, let you win one round to cheer you up. That alone was weird coming from him. You exploited with joy, praising your Robin and hugging Damian – again, something he barely allowed anyone to do. After this, either Damian wanted to keep your mood up so he’s been losing on purpose, or – Jon’s favorite theory – he died in real life when you jumped in his arms, talking about your Robin (even if you were talking to your character in the game). And since then, Damian has been unable to concentrate back into the game – that, or he wanted you to jump on his arms again.

Damian didn’t dare to look at Jon. He didn’t need to. The smirk on that bastard that he called friend was practically audible. But for once, he couldn’t bring himself to care – not when your laughter filled the room and you were urging him to start another round. And definitely not when you leaned into him after every “victory”, praising his Robin (he didn’t care that it was Drake’s suit anymore). Game over, indeed.

[gamblersdoll]

thinking abt Izuku & Bakugou giving their s/o their first creampie 🫢 like it’s their VERY first creampie and they’re squirming and whining from how warm it feels inside their belly

- 🍷

double stuffing heroes, creampie, a little mean izuku

they cant even believe that they were able to do this, your creamy essence snapping them back to reality and izuku groans from katsuki’s veins rubbing against his.

“t—oo much! cant—!” you gasp, izuku reaching a newer depth from his old one. “zuukuu!”

“thats some bull,” katsuki scoffs, his eyes rolling with sarcasm laced arousal. “ya dont feel how heavy my balls are, princess? or are you ball blind?” he asks, a huff against your neck and he licks sloppily.

“heavy balls dont come close when it comes to having such a heavier dick pressing up to her stomach, right pumpkin? hm? tell kacchan thats what you really want.”

again, with the goddamn challenging for the both of them.

“oh yeah? how about whoever comes first— and the most, gets to eat her ass tonight. how ‘bout that?” he taunts, a glare from izuku and then suddenly, youre squeezed indefinitely between them. “thats the spirit,number three.”

a light switch goes off in izuku, him grabbing your hair from behind and he pants against your ear. mean, wind knocking thrusts force your air to leave your body, feeling lightheaded. “make me come, thats all yer’ good for right now.”

a coo comes from the blonde, and a chuckle. “d’aww, thats not fair to her, maybe she’ll have me coming—“ he gasps, feeling your walls spasm on him, “have me coming.. soon.”

“talk alot of shit for a man who cant last an hour.” izuku spits at him, venom in his voice. they glare at each other, eyes rolling when their balls lurch. “ohfuck—“

“yeah, you fucking— dumbass!” katsuki grunts, both men pressing themselves against your frame to empty their sacks from pentness.

it feels hot, your walls feeling like they were stuffed with the thickest of creams there was.. it made you want to crumble, legs flailing and you try to leave their grips. but they just stare in awe.

“oh, you poor thing.” katsuki cooed faux, kissing your head as he stayed inside of you. “ferget thats yer first creampie.” he snickers, biting your cheek.

“yeah, well..” izuku mumbles, green and black hair sticking to his forehead and he pulls away slightly, a hiss from both of the men. “fuck.. we knotted her.”

“seems like i get to eat ass tonight then.” katsuki shrugs, watching his rival’s expression. “what? i know you came five seconds after mine.”

“if you can unknot her, then fine. but she has to agree to it.”

why cant they drop that rivalry shit and get you a drink.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to overhearing their s/o call them their “current boyfriend”

Request: hiii could i request svt overhearing their s/o calling them “current boyfriend” and seeing how they react? thank you!!

A/N: I loved this request so much 😭 please keep them coming. It was so fun 😭😭😭

Absolutely offended [and dramatic about it] — Seungcheol, Mingyu, Seungkwan

Excuse you? current?! He stops whatever he’s doing and just stares at you like you committed treason. “Current?? Like there’s a lineup? A waiting list??” He’s not mad… just very wounded [and milking it]. Cue the arms crossed, pouty stare, and “I guess I’ll go pack my things then 🧳😔” energy. You’ll have to smother him with smooches and assurances like, “I meant only boyfriend!!” before he forgives you, still with a sulky pout ofc.

Pretends to be chill but is very much not — Joshua, Jun, Woozi

He hears it, blinks, and doesn’t say anything… at first. But suddenly, he’s weirdly formal. “So… current, huh? Should I… schedule a date for next week or something?” He’s calm on the surface but is lowkey spiraling inside. You’ll catch him being unusually attentive for the rest of the day; kissing your forehead more, complimenting you randomly, and making sure you know he’s husband material BAHAHSSEFVTVYTYVTEAHAH YES. It’s giving ‘this job isn’t open for applications.’

Immediately starts competing with imaginary boyfriends — Hoshi, Dokyeom, Dino

“Oh? Current? Then tell your future boyfriends to level up because they’ll never top this.” He takes it as a challenge and starts flexing all his boyfriend perks. “Did your next boyfriend buy you flowers/snacks/[or add whatever boyfriends buys] today? No? Tragic. I did.” He’ll go extra out of his way to do cute stuff e.g., suddenly becoming clingier, cuter, louder [than he already is] and he’ll keep calling himself ‘the best boyfriend you’ll ever have’ for a week straight even after you admit it was a joke.

Actually concerned and needs reassurance — Wonwoo, Vernon

You said it so casually, but it sticks with him. Later, he weakly brings it up, almost like he’s afraid to ask. “You said… ‘current boyfriend.’ Did you mean something by that?” He’s not upset, just a little worried, because he treasures you too much to not take it seriously. Once you reassure him that it was a joke, he softens, lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and says, “Okay. Just… didn’t want to lose you, you know?”

Already planning to upgrade the title — Jeonghan, Minghao

I think y'all saw this duo coming, right? XD He raises an eyebrow, smirks, and doesn’t say anything for a minute, but you know he heard. Later, he casually drops, “Current boyfriend. Hmmmm, guess I’ll just have to fix that.” Cue the most unexpected but intense period of flowers, forehead kisses, and ‘accidental’ hints at marriage. “What’s your ring size again?” he’ll ask like it’s nothing. He’s going to make sure the next time you introduce him, it’s as your forever person [but likely it's gonna be husband since he will upgrade].

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

It means so much when you realize that Soma is o!Ciel’s first real friend.

When our earl was a little kid, he was sheltered due to his asthma, which prevented him to make genuine social connections beyond his familial ones.

Even with his brother by his side, there was still a sense of isolation, like the world around him, intentionally or not, kept pushing him to the side. He was present, but never quite part of things.

And then, after the tragedy, when he returns under his brother’s name, things become even more complicated. Elizabeth still loves him deeply and tends to him with all the care in the world, but she doesn’t realize he isn’t truly Ciel. That unspoken truth becomes an invisible barrier between them.

Even in her affection, he’s alone, carrying a secret that keeps him at a distance from the only people left who still care for him.

Then there are the servants, utterly loyal, unwavering in their devotion. Their respect for our earl goes above and beyond, but it isn’t friendship. Their bond is bound by the roles they play. They serve him not out of companionship, but because they feel indebted to him—because they owe him their lives. That sense of duty creates another kind of distance.

But Prince Soma is a different case, he was a wildcard in o!Ciel's life. He didn’t tiptoe around the earl’s walls; he barged right through them. Uninvited and unstoppable, Soma didn’t just enter o!Ciel’s home, he settled in, pulling him into a rhythm that felt disarmingly normal.

He annoyed his way into o!Ciel's life, treating him like the kid he was, falling into playfull rythms and a routine that contrasted o!Ciel's usual darkness.

In a life shaped by shadows, Soma became a burst of color the earl never saw coming.

Soma doesn't owe o!Ciel his life, he didn't stick by because of his title or name either. He simply befriended the earl because o!Ciel challenged him, inspired him, gave him a different lens through which to see the world.

Through their clashes and contrasts, Soma grew, not because he was forced to, but because their dynamic naturally pushed him to mature.

The prince is probably the first person in o!Ciel's entire life that considered him a friend, a best friend. Our earl, once a quiet, sheltered boy, so unsure of his own worth that he felt the need to live behind someone else’s name, somehow gained a friend simply by being himself.

No masks, no manipulation, just the reluctant honesty that came from being seen and chosen anyway.

o!Ciel could be harsh, distant, even cruel: pushing people away again and again. But Soma didn’t give up. He kept showing up, kept breaking through the walls, because he saw who o!Ciel truly was beneath it all, and he genuinely cared.

And what makes this so soft is how the earl grew so accustomed to the prince's antics.

He got used to playing games with him the way friends do: competitive, yet always teasing and playful.

He got used to getting embraced (even though he despises physical touch, he slowly accepted and allowed this affection from the prince.)

It's so important to highlight the safety he feels around Soma, even when he's all over his personal space. The prince isn't just anybody anymore, he became someone the earl grew familiar and comfortable around.

That kind of vulnerability isn’t in his nature. But beneath the pride and distance, there’s a quiet care that runs deep. It’s subtle and unspoken, born from a platonic bond that means more than words can express.

Before Soma, o!Ciel had never truly known what it meant to have a friend of his own.

And that’s why the fact that r!Ciel deliberately jeopardized that friendship, by killing Agni and making Soma believe it was our earl’s doing, showing us how this act was made to knock o!Ciel off his feet and shake the fragile bonds he’d built.

r!Ciel’s possessiveness over our earl runs deeper than mere jealousy, it’s rooted in an intense, almost pathological need for control. It’s as if he can’t tolerate the idea of o!Ciel forming bonds outside of himself, because those connections threaten his fragile sense of identity and power.

But I’m sure that if Soma could weather o!Ciel’s calculated, harsh, and sometimes manipulative moments, he’ll still find a way to come around, and stand by his best friend.

For true friendship is not the absence of flaws, but the quiet courage to remain, even when shadows fall.

[pandapetals]

Sunlight & Sawdust

Chapter Seven: Hyacinths & Hacksaws previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop for free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

Content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst, and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. There is some angst in this chapter. Also, thank you all for the support and love. It means so much.

Update: There were only going to be 11 chapters, but now there will be 12. I like even numbers and decided to add a chapter while also rewriting the next one, so the update may take longer. Trust me, the angst won't last long, and smut will be happening.

Monday.

Joel hadn’t been looking forward to the day since he’d left the flower shop on Saturday evening.

Or at least, that’s what he’d been telling himself.

Now, nearing lunchtime, he was almost done with the floor. The final boards were in place, everything sanded smooth, looking damn good if he said so himself.

Which meant today was probably his last day here.

The thought should’ve brought him relief.

He wouldn’t have to keep showing up. Wouldn’t have to keep feeling that ridiculous pull toward you. He wouldn’t have to keep catching himself watching—the way you laughed with customers, the way your fingers skimmed delicately over petals, the way you always ensured Ellie had everything she needed before thinking of yourself.

Wouldn’t have to keep feeling like some part of him wanted to be here.

And yet.

His mind spiraled, reaching for any excuse to keep showing up.

So, as usual, when you insisted he take a break for lunch, Joel sat on the stool by the counter, eating the sandwich you’d made him, and quietly started scoping out the shop.

There had to be something else that needed fixing.

He was a handyman. He could fix anything, and then—there. His gaze landed on the back door, the way it didn’t quite sit right in its frame, slightly uneven.

Bingo.

"Y’know, this door’s got a bit of a lean to it," Joel mused, chewing thoughtfully before nodding toward it. "Probably swells in the summer, right? Sticks a little when you try to open it?"

You paused from where you were cleaning up, glancing over your shoulder at the door before narrowing your eyes at him.

"Maybe a little," you admitted hesitantly.

Joel nodded like he had already made up his mind. "I’ll fix it for you. Ain’t a big deal."

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Joel, you’ve already done enough. I can’t let you keep fixing everything for free."

"Ain’t about money."

"Then what’s it about?" you challenged, tilting your head.

Joel didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one he was willing to say out loud.

Instead, he just shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I like keepin’ busy."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I bet you do." Then, after a beat, your smile faltered slightly, curiosity flickering in your eyes."Don’t you have, like, a real job? Pretty sure Tommy’s tired of covering for you."

Joel paused mid-bite, chewing a little slower before swallowing. He wiped his hands on a napkin, taking his time as if thinking about how to answer. Then, he stood, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his flannel.

"I do." His voice was casual, gruff. "But Tommy won’t mind. He owes me, anyway."

You raised a brow. "For what?"

Joel smirked, shaking his head. "Long list, sweetheart."

Your lips parted slightly, the nickname catching you off guard, but you pushed it away, rolling your eyes. "You just won’t take no for an answer, will you?"

Joel smirked. "Nope."

You exhaled through your nose, muttering something under your breath before finally throwing your hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Do whatever you want, Miller."

Joel bit back a victorious grin. That should buy him at least another day.

But you weren’t stupid. Joel could see how you watched him like you were trying to figure him out. 

After Joel finished up the last of the flooring, he should’ve been done. Should’ve packed up his tools, dusted off his hands, and left.

Instead, he found himself noticing other things.

The back door didn’t sit right in its frame, the cabinet hinge behind the counter was loose, and the flickering light in the storage room needed replacing.

He made a mental list, adding more and more to it—grasping at any excuse to keep coming back.

So, when he finally stood, wiping his hands on his jeans, he told you about them.

"That back door swells in the summer—oughta get it shaved down. The cabinet hinge in the back is about to come loose. And that light in storage? It could be a wiring issue."

You just stared at him, expression unreadable, before exhaling through your nose. "Joel," you said softly. There was something in your tone—something careful that made his stomach tighten. "It’s really sweet of you to list off all sorts of things wrong with my shop—"

"No, I ain’t mean it like that, honey."

Your lips parted slightly, and Joel could see it—when your breath hitched, and the endearment made your heart stutter, even if you didn’t want it to.

Instead of softening, you tilted your head, eyes searching his face.

"I meant I could fix it for you," Joel clarified, shifting his weight, suddenly feeling too exposed. And that’s when you really stared at him like you were trying to solve a puzzle.

"Why?"

Joel frowned. "What?"

"Why are you suddenly being nice to me?" Your voice was even, but there was something beneath it. Something close to hurt. "For two years, all you did was glare at me and grunt whenever I spoke. Now you’re fixing my shop for free? Eating lunch with me and Ellie? Acting like—" 

You hesitated. "Like you actually care."

Joel stiffened. He should’ve had an answer. Should’ve been able to shrug it off, crack a joke, something. Instead, his mouth opened—and the wrong damn thing came out.

"I didn’t like how you were always so goddamn kind."

The second the words left his lips, he regretted them.

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" You said the words slowly like they didn’t make sense—like you were trying to process and fit them into some reality where they could make sense.

But they didn’t. They never would.

"I—" Joel started, voice rough, but you were already shaking your head, arms crossing tightly over your chest like you were holding yourself together.

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" you repeated, quieter this time, but there was nothing soft about it. "That’s what bothered you?"

Joel’s jaw tensed. "That ain’t—"

"No, I get it now."

The way you said it—it wasn’t some quiet revelation, it wasn’t soft understanding. It was sharp, edged with something that dug under his skin.

Your voice wavered slightly, but you masked it with another shake of your head. "You couldn’t stand me because I was kind? Because I was trying to be good to you?"

Joel flinched.

"Because it made you feel something, didn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t because you were right.

Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

"You—" You let out a short, breathless laugh with no humor. "Do you even remember the shit you’ve said to me, Joel?"

His stomach twisted. Because yes, he remembered.

Every glare. Every cold shoulder. Every muttered, irritated, "You never quit, do you?" when you tried to be nice to him. Every time, he made you feel like you were too much for existing the way you did.

"Do you remember telling Tommy I was ‘too damn cheerful’ and you didn’t know how he put up with me?"

Joel swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"Or how about the time I offered you coffee, and you looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t want anything from you’?"

Fuck.

"You spent years making it clear you didn’t want me around. You hated how nice I was, right? But now—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "Now, all of a sudden, you care?"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and Joel felt it.

Because you weren’t just confused; you weren’t just angry. You were hurt.

And that did something to him worse than guilt or regret.

"I ain’t—" His voice was hoarse, useless. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to find the words and fix them.

But there was no fixing this.

"You should go, Joel."

It wasn’t a request.

It was final.

You turned away from him, shoulders stiff, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Joel stood there for a long moment, his body locked in place, his heart pounding with something too big, too loud, too late.

Then, finally, with a heavy exhale, he walked out.

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