⋆˚࿔ Silky𝜗𝜚˚⋆✮

✶⋆.˚ 19✶⋆.˚

[bruisedfig]

[ depression. ]

summary: it’s breaking dean’s heart to see you wilting away in his bed, suffering from a depressive episode.

cw: depression (symptoms, behaviours, thoughts, etc.), non-sexual nudity, angsty fluff, angsty/sad dean, pure comfort, loverboy!dean, depressed!reader, set in the bunker/later seasons

bf!dean winchester x gf!reader ⋮ wc: 4.28k

dean winchester had never been a stranger to letting dark feelings consume him; he knew what it was like to feel like you’re drowning from the inside with thoughts that made your soul crumble piece by piece.

he knows.

he gets it.

but with you? it was different.

you weren’t like him—you allowed yourself to wallow in your sadness, letting it suffocate you like a weighted blanket until one day it magically lifts and you’re back to being yourself. it was routine at this point, something you just accepted as part of your life.

dean, however, spent his days existing alongside his depression, running through life like a bulldozer, never allowing himself to rot in the sadness—because deep down he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back out—but instead using it as a means to keep himself going through the challenges he faced.

his heart ached as he watched you spend day after day in his bed, withering away amongst the sheets, letting your unspoken thoughts and feelings eat at you, draining the usual light in your eyes into dull lifeless voids.

each morning was the same routine.

“you want some breakfast, baby?” dean asks, sitting on the side of the bed with his hand carefully threading through your greasy unkempt hair.

you shake your head. again.

and dean sighs. it’s like clockwork.

“you sure? i can bring you something.”

“just wanna sleep,” you mutter, your quiet croaky voice barely louder than a whisper.

dean’s heart breaks in his chest. you look so sad. so broken. so absent.

he looks away, not wanting you to see his frown. “alright. i’ll– uhh… i’ll leave you be then,” he sighs and wipes a hand down his face. “i’ll be in the library with sam if you need me, okay?”

and with a creak of the mattress and another soft sigh, he’s out of the room, and you’re back in the quiet solitude of his bunker bedroom, blanketed by the dull smell and thick air that seems all-consuming.

back in it.

back in the midst of your own tired brain, spewing out things you’d never dare say aloud.

things you’d never share with dean.

but dean’s not an idiot. he knows depression like the back of his hand, and he’s seen your episodes before—though it doesn’t make it any less painful whenever you enter one.

you spend your days in and out of consciousness, swimming in the dire thoughts that plague your mind and leave you feeling empty.

and you perhaps look even worse than you feel. you should be embarrassed, you think, letting dean see you like this—the unwashed hair, the unbrushed teeth, the crinkled pyjamas you’ve been wearing for days that are starting to smell.

but you don’t care.

it’s hard to care.

you’re so wrapped up in your own brain, trying to fight the onslaught of grim thoughts, that you don’t even see the impact you’re having on dean.

he’s tried everything.

he was gentle at first—the soft-spoken words and tender touches that just made you feel worse.

guilty… maybe.

and when his soft love didn’t help, he moved onto bringing you things, like a meal or your toothbrush, but every time he tried, he was met with a grunt or hum of disinterest.

and it broke his fucking heart.

even sam could see the stress that your dynamic was having on dean. he watched his brother wallow in despair, going days without a smile and the usual bite of confidence that he walked around with. he was losing himself in worry, but yet, the pair of them were clueless when it came to helping you; they didn’t know what to do.

they’d grown up just coexisting in their shared anguish, not letting their afflictions get in the way of life. they couldn’t afford to let it get in the way, no matter how much they were struggling.

but you were different.

and to them it was different.

so as the days of you rotting in his bed went by, dean’s own light began to fade. he walked around the bunker dejected and heavy-hearted, just existing with a sad level of apathy. he didn’t care for the cases sam would bring up; he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the potential victims or the entities that were no doubt wreaking havoc.

not when he was worrying about you.

you were lying in his bed, half asleep, as you heard dean’s footsteps patter down the hallway. you pulled the blanket further up under your chin, almost shielding yourself from him and whatever he was going to say to you.

the door opened with a creak, the light from the hallway illuminating the dark room. dean popped his head in, letting his eyes land on you. “sweetheart?” he asked quietly, letting his gentle voice float through the stagnant air that reeked of you.

when you didn’t respond, he sighed, opening the door wider and stepping into the room. you felt his weight pull down the mattress as he sat, and his hand met your side over the blanket, gently rubbing, trying to coerce a response out of you.

“it’s 4 o’clock,” dean murmured, studying your face and the way you hid it in the pillow. “you don’t wanna get up? you’re not hungry?”

he knew his questions were redundant. he’d asked them every day since you’d first fallen into this depression.

you shook your head against the pillow. “m’tired,” you muttered.

“i know, sweetheart. i just–” dean sighed, “i’d just like you to eat something. it’s late… and i’m sure you’re hungry.”

he waited.

but you didn’t respond.

“i can make you a sandwich. some toast?” he offered, still rubbing your side over the sheets.

you shook your head again, silently pleading for him to give up like he usually does with these conversations.

“baby, please,” dean’s voice wavered, his usual gruff tone wobbling with emotion as he looked down at you. “please,” he begged again.

“not hungry,” you muttered, finally giving him a reply with words.

dean sighed. his hand moved up to your head, brushing some hair out of your face. his touch was gentle and reverent, like you were something that’d break if he wasn’t careful.

cause perhaps you were.

“i know you’re not, sweetheart, but i want you to eat something. you need to.”

the stale air around you felt thicker as the moments of silence grew, and you felt it suffocating you.

“please, dean,” you tried.

“no… i’m gonna make you something, and you’re gonna eat it for me, okay?”

your eyes finally fluttered open and hesitantly looked up to his. dean’s eyes immediately softened. there you were.

“baby…”

the look of hopelessness on his face made your chin tremble—it was beyond your control. the way his eyes looked sunken in was a reflection of your own misery.

he moved his hand to rest against your cheek. his touch was warm, and you found yourself swimming in the contact.

“c’mon, angel. please…” his voice was strained, tight with emotion that he was trying to keep from spilling out all over you; he didn’t need to make you feel any worse. “let me get you up. come sit in the kitchen. just you and me.”

he didn’t give you time to argue with his words. instead, he gently peeled the blanket away and slid his hands under your body.

a groan of protest left your throat, but your body melted into his as he pulled you up off the mattress.

“there we go,” dean muttered, letting you sit against him. your tired eyes blinked at him, conveying all the words you couldn’t find the energy to speak. “i know, sweetheart, i know. just for ten minutes, yeah?”

you blinked slowly, watching his face search yours. his expression was a mixture of concern and empathy, and you felt your heart lurch at the sight, knowing you were the cause.

his hand stroked your cheek as the silence grew once more. “you’re… you’re a bit ripe, baby,” dean finally spoke, his tone gentle and a little reluctant.

you swallowed. you knew those words should embarrass you, but… you couldn’t find the energy to care. “i know,” you whispered.

dean nodded. “c’mere…”

his big arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest. his hand rubbed your back, attempting to soothe away the sadness he could feel emanating off you.

you melted into his embrace, his warmth alleviating some of the tension in your body.

“i love you, baby. let me look after you… please. it kills me to see you like this,” he whispered into your hair.

you let out a soft noise, one that left your throat without your permission.

“i know,” dean murmured. he pulled back and looked down at your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his eyes softened as he met your tired gaze. “i’m gonna run you a bath, okay? i’m gonna help you.”

he nodded along with his words, almost reassuring you with his actions.

you wanted to argue. you wanted to tell him to go away, that you didn’t want a bath, that you just wanted to sleep.

but the pain in dean’s expression stopped you. the way the frown tugged down on his lips and the way his eyes silently pleaded with you had your chest tightening.

“okay.”

dean let out a shaky breath. “yeah, okay. good… that’s my girl.” he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, letting his lips stay against your skin for a few moments before pulling back. “you stay here. i’ll be right back.”

he pulled away from you, your body instantly feeling cold at the absence of his touch. he ducked out into the hallway and down to the bunker bathroom, ready to fill the tub for you and wash off your layer of grime.

you slumped back down into the mattress, your heart beating faster in resigned anticipation. you didn’t want to get up. you didn’t want a bath. you just wanted to fall back into sleep and avoid being awake, like you’d been doing all week.

but dean’s face appeared in your mind, and you knew how much this meant to him. your heart ached knowing you were the cause of his sadness, and so you sat back against the sheets, waiting with a heavy heart for him to return.

dean entered the room again only moments later. he stood beside the bed looking down at you, a cautious yet glum smile pulling at his lips. “bath’s running. you just– you just wait there.”

you watched him pull out the drawers of his dresser, grabbing an old shirt and a pair of his boxers, before dipping back out of the room in a rush.

a few minutes passed before dean returned again. he approached your sad state on the bed and loomed over you with a steady presence. “okay, sweetheart. bath’s full. c’mere.”

he bowed down and slipped his hands under your lifeless body, pulling you away from the warm sheets of the bed and into him. your head instinctively ducked into his neck, searching for closeness as he began carrying you out to the bathroom.

“it's gonna be okay, baby,” dean murmured into your hair. “i’m gonna look after you, okay?”

his gentle words made your heart flutter, the first sign of life in your chest in days. a warmth spread, and you sighed, nodding in response.

dean walked you into the bathroom, closing the door with his foot before setting you down in front of him. the tiles were cold against your feet, and the fresh air of the bathroom invaded your nose. it was a lot, after being surrounded by the stale air of his bedroom for so long, but dean’s presence somehow made it all feel okay.

you looked at him, waiting to see what he’d do, but his eyes were already on you—round and wide with that same glimmer of concern, but still full of so much love.

“let’s get you undressed,” he said softly, his hands already moving to the pyjama shirt you’d been marinating in for the past few days.

you nodded, wordlessly, and let him pull it over your head, your arms slipping out of the fabric and covering your bare chest. dean’s eyes flickered down to the covered skin, and a small smile grew on his lips. “s’nothing i haven’t seen before, baby. you’re alright.”

you felt a smile threaten to tug on your own lips at his small remark—another beat of life returning to you momentarily.

dean pulled down your pyjama shorts and underwear in another careful movement, gently lifting your feet to slip them out of the leg holes.

“there we go,” he huffed softly, throwing your soiled clothes into the laundry basket.

dean’s face softened as his gaze returned to you, and his eyes swept over your form reverently. “my beautiful girl,” he breathed out, the love seeping from his words. your sad heart soaked it up as he cupped your cheek with his palm, the contact almost electrifying for a moment, waking you up from your slightly hazy state.

“let’s get you in the tub, yeah?” he murmured once again, his green eyes flickering between yours in assurance.

you nodded.

and dean nodded in return before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “that’s my girl.”

he guided you to the bathtub. bubbles floated on top of the water, and steam plumed up into the air. the sweet scent of your body wash filled your nostrils as you stood in front of it.

dean watched your eyes take in the sight, a small smile gracing his face. “i did alright, didn’t i?” he let out a soft laugh.

you glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at his beautiful face. god, you loved him. “yeah,” you replied softly, your voice nothing more than a mere whisper.

but still, dean smiled.

he was pulling more words from you in fifteen minutes than he had been for the past week.

“hop in, baby. it’s nice and warm.”

you tentatively dipped a foot in, testing the temperature, before committing and taking a seat in the water.

the warm water surrounded you, gently lapping at your skin like gentle kisses on an ocean shore. it felt nice, and you were already feeling better than you had been all week.

“good?” dean asked as he lowered himself beside the tub, sitting on his knees.

you relaxed back against the porcelain. “good.”

dean smiled once more, taking in the sight of you. “i’m glad,” he murmured. he let his hand reach over the tub and dip under the water, meeting your knee. he gave it a gentle squeeze.

you let out a deep sigh, a long sound that seemed to escape your lungs without your consent. dean just nodded. “i know, baby,” he said, squeezing your knee again. “i'm gonna wash you and get you back to bed. i know you’re feeling rough, my baby. just let me do this for you.”

his tender words struck at your heart, your heartstrings tightening as a frown grew on your lips. as little as his words seemed at face value, they meant the world. he saw you. he saw the pain that existed within you, and yet, he was okay with it. he understood it, and you could see he was more than willing to help you shoulder it. that much was clear.

and so you nodded once more, words seeming too daunting for you to handle. dean hummed and picked up your shampoo bottle from beside the tub. “can you wet your hair for me?” he asked, his soft eyes falling over your face.

you swallowed and slipped down, dipping your head into the water.

you found yourself falling back into a hazy state as dean began washing your hair, his gentle hands massaging the suds into your scalp—the motion tender and careful, like he was touching you for the first time again, cautious that you’d pull away.

your eyes fluttered shut, your wet lashes draped over your warm cheeks as he rinsed and conditioned your hair. emotions bubbled in your chest at the feeling of being looked after, cared for like your soul had been aching for. dean took care of you with such love, and your fragile soul soaked it up, revelling in his presence for the first time in days instead of feeling repulsed by it.

the salty tears escaped your eyes while dean began scrubbing your body clean. 

dean saw them.

“oh, sweetheart,” his voice wavered. his free hand came up and cupped your cheek, almost guiding your face to meet his gaze. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

you looked at him through your blurry vision, the tears still spilling down your cheeks and your throat closing up from how much his touches were forcing up emotions that suffocated your airways.

you whimpered.

“i know, baby, i know. i’m so sorry you feel like this,” dean murmured. he leaned forward and placed a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger a few seconds longer than necessary, as if he was trying to kiss away some of the hurt from inside of you.

your lips trembled, and your chin quivered. it felt too much. it all felt too much.

you let out a sob—a quiet one, the sound broken and pained.

dean felt his heart rip. there was no other way to describe it. he felt your pain evaporate from your insides and expel itself into the air in the form of sobs.

maybe your tears were good, and maybe your sobs too.

he kept gently scrubbing your body clean, his heart twisting at every cruel sound that escaped you. “i know, angel, i know. i’m so sorry. i wish i could make it better.”

you cried.

for the first time in weeks.

you felt the floodgates open, and you had no way of closing them. the sounds were almost guttural, ravaging your insides and tearing out of your mouth.

but as painful as it all seemed, your sobs lightened it—lessened the load of what you were carrying inside, lightened the heavy feeling that had manifested itself into the dull ache in your chest.

you couldn’t see through your tears by the time dean had drained the bath and managed to wrap you in a towel and pull you into his arms.

“i wish i could take away your pain. i’d take all of it, every last drop, baby, just so you’d never have to feel like this again,” he whispered into your hairline. his voice was so soft, so raw, and so sincere. “i’m so sorry.”

he kept his strong arms around you, holding onto you like a vice, feeling like you’d shatter into a million pieces if he were to let go. you just collapsed into him, your body seeking his comfort after days of stubbornly rejecting it.

when really

it was all that you’d needed.

you couldn’t say how long you stood in the bathroom together, just letting him hold you. but it didn't matter. you felt your internal turmoil lessen with each second that passed, like dean alone was sucking out the oxygen that kept your pain’s flame alight.

your heart beat in your chest; a steady rhythm gently pounding under your skin. you could feel dean’s too, right under your ear as you rested your head against him, neither of you caring about soaking his shirt with your wet hair or the droplets of water that were landing on the floor.

it didn’t matter.

dean finally pulled his head back, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. his gaze flickered down to your face still buried in his chest, searching for solace in his touch, in his presence.

“i love you so much,” he muttered, his voice low and delicate, not wanting to break the moment. “i want you to get better… and i want you to talk to me, okay? i want to help with whatever’s going on in here.”

he gently poked at your temple.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat. it felt scratchy from how badly you’d sobbed your throat raw.

but you looked up at him, blinking. you nodded.

dean nodded back.

he was gentle as he pressed you against the counter, the back of your legs hitting the edge. and he was even gentler as he rubbed in your moisturiser and towel-dried your hair.

he was so beautiful. so patient. so understanding.

and though your insides were turning inside out, practically screaming at you to back away and hide in the comfort of his dark bedroom, you stayed put, allowing dean’s presence to mute the constant array of dark thoughts from bouncing around in your mind.

he soothed you. inside and out.

and part of you hated yourself for rejecting this for so long, denying yourself his comfort.

dean thought you looked vacant as he dressed you, pulling up his old boxers over your legs and covering you in one of his shirts. his chest hurt, but again, this was more from you than you’d given him in a week.

and that meant something.

he didn't let go of you the entire walk back to his bedroom. his hand was wrapped around yours, tight, almost like he was trying to remind you of the devotion he felt for you.

the smell of his bedroom air hit your nose as you walked back in. was it really this bad before? it was like your innermost thoughts were hung in the air, polluting the room with a foul stench that reeked of misery.

you frowned.

dean let his hand run up your arm, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. you let him, melting into his warm embrace.

“you hungry? don’t say no.”

you glanced up at his face, taking in his softened expression. you allowed yourself to nod. 

“okay, yeah. good,” he murmured. he pulled away, reaching over to his desk. you saw the plate in his hand. two pieces of toast sat on top of the ceramic dish.

“i texted sam…” he explained, trailing off as he passed you the plate.

you nodded again. “thank you,” you returned, a quiet muttering.

“i– i’m gonna change the sheets, sweetheart. i can’t– i can’t sleep another night in them… and that’s saying something… you know, coming from me,” he said, his humour lightening up the heavy mood of the room. he smiled gently. “you sit. eat.”

dean pulled out his desk chair and gestured for you to take a seat. you slumped down into it, letting out a soft sigh.

he kept his eyes on you as he pulled the dirty sheets off his bed, stripping it bare as he watched you take small hesitant bites of the toast that sam had made. you looked tired, practically fusing back into the chair, but at least you were up. that's what dean told himself.

“gonna grab some new sheets, okay? finish your toast, baby. i'll be back in a sec.” he spoke to you like how someone speaks to a toddler—gentle and soft like the wrong word or tone would send you spiralling back into bed for another week, but he couldn’t afford that, not when he had managed to get this far with you.

you nodded, and he left the room with the dirty sheets in hand, returning only moments later with the fresh linen that immediately lifted the room’s scent.

you had finished your toast by the time dean was done pulling the sheets onto the bed. you put the empty plate back onto his desk and looked up at him with wide tired eyes.

dean came over, standing in front of your legs. “all done?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

his hand made contact with your head, brushing some of your damp hair back and petting you. his movements were gentle, like he had to be extra delicate with you in your fragile state, but his touch sent a surge of love and affection through you—something that jolted you awake for what felt like the first time in days.

you looked up at his face, like really looked up.

“i love you,” you muttered out, no louder than a whisper.

dean’s hand paused in your hair. his face softened. “i know, baby. i love you too… more than anything in the world.”

his hand slipped down to your cheek, cupping it tenderly. his palm was warm, almost searing against your skin with unspoken words of affection. his thumb rubbed along your cheekbone.

“can i hold you?” he asked, his twinkling green eyes searching yours, rounded like he was bracing himself for you to say no.

but you nodded, leaning into his touch. “please.”

dean let out a breath. “mmkay, up you get then, angel.”

you stood up from the chair. he pulled the sheets back, helping guide you back into the warmth and safety of his bed. dean slipped in after you, the mattress dipping under his weight. his arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him.

you felt your body relax for the first time in days, releasing all the tension from your muscles and melting against him almost innately. you sighed, closing your eyes.

dean pulled you closer. “i got you, sweetheart. you know i’ve always got you.”

fig yaps: first time doing proper angst !!!!!! i hope it’s not cringe omf i’m hiding away after i post this !!!! BUT comfort fic ??? hopefully !!! i started writing this when i took my lil break bc i was sad as hell and all i wanted was for dean to look after me LMAOOO i hope u enjoyed <3

reblogs and feedback are appreciated :P

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[kissthigh]

Protectin' You ୨ৎ

Summary: you put yourself on the line during a hunt and end up getting injured. Dean doesn’t take it well. ♡ warnings: mature, no smut, fatherfigure!dean, angst, mentions of blood, bruises, and cuts, not so graphic stitching description, pet names (kid, sweetheart), daddy issues, mentions of death, no mentions of y/n, reader insert. .ᐟ.ᐟ : am i posting this at 3am because i found this deep in my docs and just wanted it out?? yess! <3 lol enjoy this random one

The motel room smelled like nothing but chemicals, a thick stench filling the small place. The bathroom door creaked open, giving you and Dean the slightest bit of privacy, all while Sam sat on one of the beds, long fingers clicking away at his laptop. He can overhear the two of you.

“I’m really not that hurt,” you protest, and Dean glares at you from between your thighs.

The sink is supporting your entire weight right now, cut-up hands gripping the edge of the ceramic dish. You swallow hard, trying to ignore your cut-up knees, the blood dripping down them, pooling at your white socks. You’re also trying to ignore the black eye forming and the cuts on your lip and forehead. God, he was pissed.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, not right now, kid,” Dean growls, rough hands somehow gently rolling up the hem of your shorts. “Could’ve got yourself fuckin’ killed, and you’re telling me you’re ‘not that hurt’. Do you think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”

You lift your head that’s been bowed for the last ten minutes, making eye contact with him; darkened green eyes that only ever appear when he’s really mad. You shake your head.

“Sure as hell seems like it,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Putting urself on the line like that, like your life doesn’t fuckin’ matter, careless, you know? Just careless.”

You look back down; his large hands move carefully, using disinfecting wipes Sam had snagged from the pharmacy, a small sewing kit that Dean was going to use to perform wonky at-home surgery, and a few other things you weren't bothering to analyze.

“Just tell me why you did it,” Dean asks quietly, and you can feel the silver ring around his finger on your bare, bloody skin as he wipes away the stream that’s slowing just slightly. “Tell me the stupid idea that went through your fuckin’ head, and then explain it again so I can see if you’re really that stupid,” he sneers, looking up at you again.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to lift his hand, covered in your own blood, and he grabs your face, forcing it up and against the motel mirror behind you. You grip the edge of the sink, huffing quietly as he stares at you, noticing that look in your eyes. Fear.

“Just wanted to help,” you mumble, hesitantly nodding, but his hand is keeping you from it.

“Help? You wanted to help?” he asks, purposely enunciating the help part, as if it was a completely outrageous idea.

“Yes… help, I wanted to help,” you nod, and he pulls his hand back, blinking.

“Sammy and I don’t need any fuckin’ help,” Dean growls again, his hands drifting over to the toilet lid, grabbing a damp cloth. “Your job is to sit in the car and wait. Your job is to wait.”

“Did you ever wait?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, and his jaw clicks. “Did your dad ever make you wait, Dean?”

“My father made me do shit a kid ain’t supposed to do,” he mumbles, holding the cloth in his bloody hands. “Not doin’ the same thing to you, kid,” he sighs, going back to wiping your bloody knees.

“I am not a kid,” you say, your voice firm, and his green eyes flick up to yours. 

“And I ain’t your daddy either,” Dean shoots back at you, and you curl into yourself slightly.

You don’t respond to him; you only sit there with his words; I ain’t your daddy.

He’s right; he’s not your daddy–you know this, and yet, you still wish for the things a father could provide you, and you find yourself looking for them in all of the wrong places. Like a hunter ridden in daddy issues and alcohol, like Dean Winchester.

“What you did was childish,” Dean starts, switching to your other knee. “Jumpin’ in there right when things get bad? Childish behaviour, and you know that,” he tells you, wiping the gash on your knee that still steadily drips blood.

“It wasn’t; I was being brave,” you explain, tilting your head downwards, trying to see his eyes. “I stepped in when things got bad because I’m brave, not because I’m childish,” you explain, and he scoffs.

“There’s a fine line between being brave and bein’ stupid, and you crossed it,” Dean says, eyes narrowing at the never-ending flow of blood. “Gonna have to fuckin’ stitch this, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh quietly, shifting against the sink. “Why can’t Sammy?” you ask, and Dean scowls.

“Because Sammy isn’t here to clean up your messes,” he mumbles, lifting his hand to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.

“And you are?” you ask, and he huffs, reaching to grab the sewing kit.

Dean is silent as he grabs the needle and thread, and you stay quiet too, watching his large hands carefully open the sewing kit. His movements are careful, and he’s still nudged between your legs, breathing heavier, all out of frustration.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you mumble, and silence hangs again, just the buzz of the light above the two of you.

Dean is too busy trying to thread the bullshit, cursing quietly to himself, his hands still tainted with your blood, a bitter reminder of just how bad it was out there.

You knew it was your fault; the ghoul taking a hit at Dean, Sam trapped in the abandoned house, screaming for help, and there you sat in Baby, watching the entire disaster go down in the backseat of a fucking car. You had to do it, had to jump out, completely unarmed, blindly running into a graveyard. The ghoul took a hit at you, and it sent you flying onto your knees, and unfortunately, into a headstone; it cut up your face and knees, and Dean watched it all in front of his eyes; the only other person he had in his life to protect, almost dying. 

Ever since the brothers found you a few years back, your parents tragically dying in a case the two brothers were working, they immediately took you in–your parents were hunters, well known enough for Bobby to break the news to Sam and Dean; the young kid they found scarred and scared had a little more in common with them than they expected, and it only fuelled the connection you had with them. Mostly Dean.

“This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch,” Dean suddenly murmurs to you, eyes focused on the gash on your knee that’s slightly cleared. “Deep breaths, kid,” he warns.

The pain is sharp, a burning pain rippling through your entire body as the needle pokes right through the flap of skin. You whimper loud enough for Sam to glance over his shoulder, halting the clacking of the keyboard.

“Damn it, stop movin’,” Dean grunts under his breath, your hips shifting in pain against the sink. “See what happens when you don’t fuckin’ listen?”

Your head tips back against the mirror again, and you purse your lips, eyes closing. It hurts like hell, and despite the harsh tone in Dean’s voice, his hands are incredibly tender, moving with a skill you didn’t expect him to possess.

“Dean,” you whimper, shaking your head. It hurts too much, and he knows it.

“Come on, sweetheart, just a few more seconds,” he softens, his hands working a bit quicker, and he yanks the string, immediately making you yelp.

It has to be done, though; you can’t check in to a hospital, not at this time, not where there’s probably some cop or ghoul still looming around, waiting for a moment of weakness like right now.

“Oh, my gosh,” you gasp out softly, knuckles turning white.

“Relax, relax,” Dean mumbles, giving one final yank to finish the job, and you whine again, your eyes squeezing shut and your nose scrunching in pain.

He pulls back, briefly examining the poorly done stitching that’ll probably break open the next time you bend your knee–for now, it’s fine, and he wipes his brow again, sighing heavily. You’re panting, head still tipped back.

“You good, kid?” he mumbles, one of his hands casually finding your bare thigh, and you swallow hard, nodding through the current stinging.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I told you this,” you mumble through clenched teeth, a harsh bite finding its way into your words.

“That was before I did a hack job on your skin,” he counters, eyebrows raising. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yes, Dean,” you shoot back, finally looking at him.

His eyes widen, and he looks away, sighing heavily again, looking at the other supplies he has to sift through. The bruise and scrapes on your face bother him, and he’ll start investigating them in no time.

“Your eye,” Dean starts quietly, patting your thigh with his thumb before his hand reaches over to grab another disinfectant wipe. “Cut up, bruise forming, too,” he adds.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” you nod, and he brings his free hand to grab your face, holding it still lightly.

The bright lights in the bathroom have you squinting, and the thick scent of sour medical supplies has your nose scrunching, and he almost–almost cracks a smile at the way you look right now. He still has your blood on his hands.

Dean’s thumb pushes against your cheek, drifting up the side of your face, finding the black and bruised discoloured skin, and he presses again. You wince, sucking in a breath.

“That hurt?” he asks, the wipe finding the blood stain beneath your nose, and he gently rubs the temple of your head with his other thumb instead. His large hands are all over your face.

“It’s fresh,” you tell him, the answer obvious.

“Thought you were some brave hero,” he quips, wetting his lips while focusing on getting rid of the crusting blood on the lower half of your face. 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” You squeeze the counter harder, and he’s still rubbing your temple, but drags it down to focus on your cheekbone. He’s just keeping you relaxed.

“Oh, it doesn’t?” he asks, dropping both of his hands away from you, and you roll your eyes.

“No, it doesn’t,” you shake your head, and he’s reaching back over, getting another wipe; he’s going through them like crazy, each one coming back redder than the last.

“Usually…” Dean starts, now dabbing at a cut above your eyebrow. “Heroes aren’t beaten to shit,” he prompts, and he clenches his jaw.

“What is your issue?” you finally spit out, and he instantly laughs–one of those Dean laughs that come straight from his chest, and your eyebrows furrow.

“My issue is you,” he tells you flatly, a satisfied look sinking into his face when he notices the blood on your forehead has stopped.

“Shut the fuck up,” you dismiss, shaking your head, and he taps your cheekbone to stop you from moving too much.

“You think I’m jokin’,” Dean says, tossing the used wipes into the trash. “And I’m not,” he finishes, taking a small step back, tapping your thigh. “Good as new.” 

“What about my headache? My black eye?” you abruptly ask, still sitting on the sink, and he shrugs back on the flannel he took off when he needed to focus.

“Sam has some painkillers,” he tells you, shifting away from you. “And the bruise will go away on its own,” he explains further, his attitude suddenly distanced.

“What did I do?” you ask, noticing the shift, and you suddenly feel like a little kid again.

“What?” he asks, confusion knitting into his brows.

“You’re acting weird,” you press, and he scoffs.

“What do you want me to do? Kiss you better?” he jokes, and yeah, that’s what you want.

“No, but I’m still in pain,” you tell him, shifting on the sink again.

Dean sighs heavily, tipping his head back at the neediness. He puts both of his hands on his hips, looking over his shoulder at the bathroom door that’s still creaked open; all he can see is Sam focused on his computer. He looks at you, biting his lip for a second.

“You gotta cut this shit out,” he murmurs to you, taking a few steps closer again, boots heavy on the tile floor. “This ain’t some… daddy foster thing, between us.” he shakes his head, using his hand to gesture between your bodies.

“I… I didn’t say that,” you stutter out, shaking your head hesitantly. “You’re just… leaving me here, when I’m not even fully cleaned up, or anything.”

“You said that you weren’t that hurt,” he recalls, referencing the first words you had said to him.

“I don’t know, maybe some… comfort, something?” you explain, and you can see the look settle into his features.

“Do you remember what I told you earlier?” he mumbles slightly, a glance down at your knee–he missed a cut, and he groans at the idea of having to patch you up again.

“What? That I was stupid? That I was careless? That I basically have no reason to go on hunts because you force me to sit in the back of the car where I feel–”

Your words are cut off, and a warm, bloody palm is pressed right across your mouth. Your eyes widen; Dean is nudged between your thighs again, pressing you up into the mirror behind you, and you can smell the metallic scent on his fingers, the dirt and the grime. You blink.

“You’re gonna shut your mouth,” he tells you, nodding. “Ain’t need to say a damn thing, got it?”

You nod, breathing heavily, seeing just how serious he is.

When Dean pulls back, you instantly wipe your mouth, and he’s back to fixing up the cut he missed–just a few dabs of the wipes, but this time, he places a band-aid against the wound, and you sit there in a compliant silence, mindlessly watching him. Sam notices it, the odd quietness. You usually don’t shut up.

A few minutes pass, and you and Dean are exiting the bathroom. Sam looks up at you, blinking at how you look–a complete mess–and Dean is trailing behind, shaking his head, a sibling signal to not mention a thing.

“Things go okay?” Sam asks, slowly shutting the computer lid.

“We’re just gonna sleep,” Dean cuts in, and he shoots his brother a look, the energy in the room shifting.

“Yeah… yeah, cool,” he shakes his head, quickly standing up from the twin bed, clutching his laptop beneath his arm, lanky limbs carrying him to the small desk in the motel room where he places the computer. 

Getting ready for bed is easy; it always has been for the three of you. Dean and Sam peel out of their shirts and jeans, sliding into bed in boxers, and you just take off your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear and a t-shirt. It’s always been this way, and you’ve always shared the bed with Dean. A quiet agreement–Sam was too big anyway.

The sheets are stiff and uncomfortable after a little while, your band-aid getting caught on the flimsy covers, and there’s some couple outside arguing. Sam is already passed out, face down in his pillow, and Dean is beside you, half-asleep, but aware that your eyes are stuck open.

“Come on, kid,” Dean mumbles into the darkness, and you close your eyes, lips parting when you feel those strong arms wrapping around the middle of your abdomen. “Can’t stay awake all night,” he whispers, shifting closer to you.

You’re not sure if he was sneaking swigs of his flask, if he’s half asleep, or both, but his words aren’t syncing up with the light scolding he had with you just hours before in the bathroom. You shift.

“M’sorry, okay?” he suddenly admits, and you stay quiet, feeling his hands squeezing you in his arms. “Thought I was gonna lose you, can’t lose you,” he murmurs into the night, resting his chin onto your shoulder.

You stiffen at the odd affection, the drowsiness in his voice revealing how out of it he is, and how little he probably means what he’s saying.

“M’know… your head hurts, I know, sweetheart,” he drawls, his breath warm on your neck. “Tomorrow… you’ll be okay, ain’t gotta be up stressin’, go to sleep,” he rambles on, squeezing you against him again.

You breathe out, your eyes falling shut at the way his fingers curl into your shirt, and his thigh is sliding between your own. It’s all warm skin and sweat, and your head throbs. You silently wish Sam was awake, only so he could slip you the pills Dean had mentioned.

“Okay,” you mumble softly and nod a little bit, keeping your voice quiet in the motel room. Sam rolls over, and his bed groans, a quiet protest.

“Mmm… good,” Dean mumbles, his nose pressing into your neck from behind. “Sleep, kid, I got you.”

You squeeze your eyes even if they’re already shut, and lightly squirm into the bedsheets, and he pulls you back into him, keeping you closer than before. He even lets a hand slide down your thigh, a rough thumb rubbing over a tender bruise. 

You won’t sleep, but at least there’s the comfort part.

[wwhatlianyyy]

Summer mood🐬🐚🌊

[godmadeaterribleerror]

delicate

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: you ask dean to sleep with you, he turns you down, and you believe him. you tell him you don't care, and he believes you. eventually, one of you is going to have to tell the truth, won't they. ✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, implied age gap (20s - 40s), virgin!reader, angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love, as is my way, shameless smut (loss of virginity, praise kink, dry humping, teasing, dean's dirty talk, spanking, fingering, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, pussy slapping, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, big dick dean, mean dean, dumbification), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 8.6k✦

✦author's note: i love writing idiots in love it's my favorite kind of idiot it's for love✦

“Have sex with me.”

Dean spits his coffee out. You sigh, bracing your hands on your hips, and wait for him to collect himself. You’re patient. He’s scrambling and slamming a fist on his chest, and you pass him a napkin with a sweet smile. You don’t think it’s going to win you a spot in his bed, but it might help.

“Better?” You ask, when he no longer sputtering and choking. He grunts, holding a hand up for a few more seconds. You roll your eyes—it wasn’t that crazy a thing to say—but bounce on your toes and wait.

Dean clears his throat, ears red, and looks up at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“What?”

“Have sex with me-“

“Yeah, I- I heard you the first time, that’s not-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s eight in the fuckin’ morning-“

“It’s eight fifteen.”

That earns you a flat look, and you smile innocently.

“That’s fifteen extra minutes, it matters-“

“Not for this. And- I ain’t even showered yet-“

Your nose wrinkles. “Why haven’t you showered?”

“I shower after coffee,” Dean mutters, turning his mug in his hands. “If I don’t, Sammy’s stinkin’ up the kitchen from his run.”

“Oh- Okay.” You clasp your hands behind your back, peering at his tight jaw, his mussed, soft-looking hair. “Is that… A yes?”

Dean’s eyes widen on yours. You’re worried he’s going to choke on the air this time. “Yes?”

“Are you going to have sex with me,” you clarify, and his mouth falls open.

“I- I’m- You’re-“ His throat bobs, and he starts to look around the room with a worried squint. “Are you fuckin’ with me?”

You frown. “Why would I be fucking with you?”

“’Cause, sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He lets out a sharp breath. “Is it Sam? Did he put you up to this? ‘Cause I told him- That kinda prank, it’s off the table-“

“What kind of prank?” You’re a little lost, and there’s shame starting to burn up your neck.

A prank. He thinks it’s a prank.

It’s not. You’re so serious it’s almost embarrassing. You wouldn’t have asked him if you weren’t. You’d almost talked yourself out of it, after spending too much time convincing yourself into it. Nights of tossing and turning in bed, an insatiable and aching heat between your legs and the sheets bunched around you in a mockery of a body. Weeks of watching the boys slip out of bars with women that seemed to fall into them like magnets while you spun around, alone on a barstool without any prospects.

Months, of watching Dean with a flush he never saw. An adoration written all over your face he didn’t seem capable of noticing. You’d tried to stomp it out. Your stupid, useless little crush. Dean was older. Seasoned and desirable in the way that made you wonder if he was even real sometimes. Out of your reach, tantalizing, and impossible to just forget about. 

You’d neglect your feelings in the hope they’d die, but he’d water them until they were in full bloom and overtaking your heart and mouth and head. He’d buy the snacks you like and let you chose the movie. He’d open doors and let his hand linger on your lower back, he’d smile at you in the dim light of the Impala and make you feel like the only person in the world, he’d call you when he was away on a separate hunt every single night, just to update you. He’d play wrestle you for the remote, and somehow never manage to wonder why he always won when he’d see you take down men closer to Sam’s size with barely a grunt of effort.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he’d whisper in your ear, when he had you pinned on the floor beneath him, and you’d have to swallow down your moan.

He’d get up, turn on the TV, and leave you on the couch while he went to the bathroom. You’d sit with your knees to your chest and your breathing uneven, unable to focus on anything but the ghost of his body over yours. The heat of him, the way his arms had caged you in, his knee pressed far too close to your neglected core.

If Dean knew how you dreamed about him—how those moments followed you into bed, every single night—you’re so sure he’d never look at you again. He doesn’t see you like that, you’re sure. You’re the kid they took in, the annoying girl who’s got too much mouth on her and not enough experience, in every possible way.

You’ve never done sex. You sort of just missed the window, where it’s supposed to happen, and then it became too big a deal, then you met Dean and you were lost. What was the point of being with anyone else, when you had his shoulder bumping yours in the hallway. When you were so hopelessly in love with him, you think your heart might beat out of your chest like a cartoon every time you see him.

So you made a choice, a few weeks ago. A choice it took a lot of courage to work yourself up to following through on

You just need to have sex. With someone. Anyone. Preferably Dean. It just needs to be done and over with—one time, where he doesn’t know he’s taking your virginity, where he’s peacefully oblivious of your worship of his very existence—and then you can try to move on. Once you’ve had sex, it won’t be this big monster you shy away from anymore. It’ll just be another thing.

So you’re asking Dean. Outside of your alternate motivations, it’s a sound strategic call. You know about his prowess. He’s bragged to you about all his five-star reviews. And maybe that always made you gag over a toilet bowl after, but if it did, that’s none of his fucking business.

Maybe you’re not up to par with his usual partners, but you can do your makeup, or he can turn off the lights, or whatever else makes it easier for him. Anything that makes him touch you. You won’t even cry about it in front of him.

But he thinks it’s a prank. Why would he think it’s a prank.

“You know,” he says, watching you wearily. “Sammy gives you a tenner, you come and ask me for sex, everyone gets a good laugh at Dean. Good joke. Classy.”

You wrap your arms around your stomach, shrinking slightly into yourself. “It’s not a joke,” you mumble. “I- I was serious.”

“You were serious?”

He says it like it’s insane. You shrug, fixing your gaze on the floor. A joke. He thinks fucking you would be a joke.

“Sweetheart-“

“You don’t have to,” you take a step back, trying to sound casual. Like your heart isn’t being torn to ribbons.

You really hadn’t expected him to leap at the opportunity, but this is so close to cruel it hurts. Tears are threatening your eyes, and a lump is forming in your throat. Pathetic, a voice spits in your head. Why the fuck would he ever want to fuck you.

“Wait, just- Hold on-“

You look up, faster than you want to admit. Dean staring at you with pale face and slack jaw, throat working like he’s swallowing his own words every second. You wait, because you’re a fucking useless idiot. Bouncing nervously on your feet—they’re smarter than the rest of you, they want to run—and trying not to melt under his gaze.

“You’re actually askin’ me to fuck you?” He rasps, and you nod.

It’s the tiniest motion of your head. Dean shifts in his seat, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

“Why?”

“Why?” You frown, saying the first, easiest, least embarrassing reason that pops into your head. “Because- You- You’re good at it?”

“I’m good at it,” Dean repeats. “You wanna fuck me ‘cause you think I’d be good at it?”

You wish he’d stop saying fuck like that. With a harsh ending and low drawl. “I don’t think,” you offer. “You’re the one who said you would be.”

Dean’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look amused. “I could be lying, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He stares at you. His eyes flick up to the ceiling—maybe he still thinks he’s on a prank show—and he lets out a sharp, slow breath from his nose.

Then he shakes his head, and you feel the echo of your heart as it howls in pain.

“No,” he mutters. “I ain’t- Doin’ that. Not just ‘cause you- No.”

You blink at him, the world blurring a little. You stumble back, and Dean says your name, moving to his feet. You shake your head, moving back another step. Your eyes are stinging with tears, but that’s not his problem. He’s allowed to reject you. You’re also allowed to cry about it.

“Sweetheart-“

“It’s fine.” Your voice is too high. Too wobbly. “It’s- That’s okay.”

“No, just- Fuck-“ He rubs his jaw. “Listen to me, alright-“

“You don’t have to explain,” you shrug weakly. “It’s okay.”

Dean gives you a disbelieving look, but you move further back before he can try to make you feel better about the rejection. It’s not going to help.

“I’ll just-“ You look over your shoulder. To the door, just one more step back.

Dean says your name again. When you look back, he’s reaching to you, trying to beckon you back into the kitchen. You smile, tight and watery.

“Thank you for your consideration.” You say, because you’re a fucking idiot. Dean certainly looks at you like you’re one.

You flee the kitchen. He calls your name again, but this time you don’t look back.

Rejection is fine. You’re fine. You’re so fine, you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day and eat so much ice cream your stomach hurts. Because it’s fun. It’s fun to cry over something you never even had.

At least you anticipated this. You have a very solid plan B.

If Dean won’t sleep with you, you’re going to find someone who will. You’re going to get it over with. This week.

You’re learning something about yourself.

You are not good at flirting.

The first thing you try is the bars. Sam and Dean slide into a booth, and you go to get the drinks. A guy makes eyes at you, and you smile sweetly in return. When you bring the drinks back, you set the beers down in front of the boys and turn back on your heels to give the bar-guy a shot.

Dean says your name, and you freeze. You always do that for him. It’s a habit you don’t think you’re able to break.

“Where’re you going?” He frowns at you, one arm slung around the back of the seat. Around where you’d usually sit.

“Bar,” you say lamely, and the lines on his face deepen.

“Why, you forget something?”

“No.”

“Then what-“

Dean cuts himself off, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. To the bar. To the man, waiting for you with a smirk, because you promised you’d be back.

Dean grunts your name, low and rough, and if he asked you to stay, you don’t think you’d be able to tell him no.

Things have been strange, since the kitchen. Neither of you have brought it up, and Dean hasn’t stopped treating you the way he always has, but there’s something charged beneath it. A live wire that frays and crackles, every time your fingers brush or your eyes meet. You’ve caught him staring at you with an open mouth a few times. Last week he tried to talk to you, alone in the Impala while Sam got snacks from a gas station. You announced that you had to shit, and scrambled out of the car.

You don’t want to talk about it, and Dean has no right to make you. He’s not the one who got his heart broken. He’s not the one who sort of wants to cry, whenever your eyes meet.

He certainly has no right to glare at you, when he puts together what you’re doing. He said he wasn’t going to sleep with you, and you’re a grown woman. You can, if you so please, have casual sex with a stranger. It is your right.

“You can’t be for real, sweetheart-“

“Dean.” Sam stares at his own beer, looking like he wants to vanish into the floor, and Dean scowls.

“C’mon, Sammy- Tell her she’s being crazy-“

“Crazy?” You snap, and Dean leans back in surprise. “You fuck around all the time, how is it crazy that I’d do the same thing?”

“It’s not- You just- You don’t-“ He swallows. “You don’t do this-“

“I do now.”

“Sweetheart, just- Sit down-“

You flip him off, and march back to the bar before he can ask with a little more conviction. You just need to break out of his orbit. To force yourself to realize that there are plenty of other men, and not having Dean isn’t the end of the universe.

Unfortunately, you sort of just keep proving the opposite.

“What’s a pretty little thing doin’ in a place like this?” The first guy at the bar asks, and you fumble.

You have no idea. You giggle nervously and spin in your chair, speaking words you can’t really hear. He seems into it—no matter how pathetic you must be coming off—until his fingers brush your arm, and you flinch back because his skin is cold. It sends a shiver up your spine that’s not the hot rush of Dean’s touch, but the sliver of a snake.

You go home alone that night, and you don’t look Dean in the eyes. He tries to talk to you, before you retreat to your room. You ignore him, because that’s the only way this is going to work. 

But you try again and again and again, and you never get anywhere. They always touch you, and it all falls apart. You look at them too long, and you can’t manage to squeeze them into a Dean shaped hole in your heart, and there’s no way forward. You try dating apps. That goes worse. Every dick pic you get sent just makes you wonder if sex is even something you want. They’re all worm-shaped and ugly. At least dildos come in nice colors. Maybe you should just buy a dildo.

No. You’ll just pretend it’s Dean all the time, and that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing here.

So you keep trying. And you keep failing. And Dean’s been looking at you weird—brow pinched and jaw set, every single night—and you’re getting desperate and fuck it.

“Sam.”

Sam hums, not looking up from his book. You clear your throat, leaning further over the table.

“Sam.”

“I’m listening, what’s-“

“Have sex with me.”

Sam, to his credit, doesn’t choke. He just goes very, very still, and looks up at you with an expression close to horror. He says your name slowly, and you shake your head, holding up a single hand.

“Just- Listen-“

“No?” Sam gapes at you. “I’m not- I’m not going to listen to that- Jesus Christ-“

“Come on, we could turn off the lights, and- I wouldn’t make it weird-“

“It’s already weird-“

“You’d be doing me a favor-“

“I’d be making a death wish!” Sam’s voice drops to a hiss. “Dean would fucking kill me.”

 You roll your eyes. “Then don’t tell him, dumbass.”

“No, I- I’m not doing that.” Sam shakes his head, like he’s trying to jolt the image free. “To you. Or him.”

“To him?” You narrow your eyes. “I- What the fuck would this do to Dean?”

Sam gives you a puppy-eyed, hopeless look. “I… Can’t say.”

“Sam Winchester-“

“Why are you asking me?” Sam whines. “I’m not- You’re not even into me-“

“Exactly, there would be no strings attached-“

“That’s not healthy-“

“Fuck off, like you don’t have casual sex-“

“I mean, I do, but I’m not-“ Sam cuts himself off, sighing dramatically. “Just- Why would you even want to have sex with me?”

You flush, but shrug. It’s just Sam. It’s easier to tell him than Dean. “I want to get it over with.”

“Get it over with?” Sam echoes. “It- You mean sex?”

You nod, and Sam blinks.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Maybe.”

“You- You’re-“

“Don’t be an asshole-“

“No, I’m not- I mean- It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. It actually-“ Sam frowns at the air. “It makes sense, I guess.”

That makes you scowl. “It makes sense?”

Sam shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile, and you can’t even think of an argument. You sigh, your shoulders slumping, and Sam clears his throat.

“You know I’m not going to sleep with you, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, and he nods slowly.

“Does Dean-“

“No.” You point a stern finger at him, and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“I think you should-“

“Sam. I’ll cut your balls off.”

“I- Okay.”

You give him one last glare, and go to leave. But before you can go, the question scratches up your throat. You turn around, hands tucked behind your back, and speak softly. “Would you?”

Sam blinks. “What?”

“If you didn’t- Know me,” you mumble. “If we weren’t like- Friends. And you just met me, and I asked you- Would you?”

Sam snorts, and you scowl.

“I’m serious-“

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s lips twitch. “It’s just- Yeah. I would. Of course I would.”

You stand a little taller. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean- You know you’re attractive, right? If you just didn’t, like, annoy me. I’d be in.”

“I do not annoy you-“

“You’re annoying me right now.”

You laugh despite yourself. Sam smiles, his voice dropping to something gentler.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he says your name slowly. “I just- Don’t want to be lucky.”

You huff in amusement—if Sam isn’t lying, aversion to luck is a family trait—but dip your head. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome. And-“ Sam pauses, looking you up and down with a strange expression. “I’m sure the whole- Thing will work out for you. There are… People. I think you’re going to figure it out.”

“You need to sleep with her.”

Dean needed to stop drinking coffee when people walked into the kitchen. This was the second shirt he’d ruined in as many months, and it was because everyone kept saying crazy fucking shit.

“Sammy, what the fuck-“

Sam said your name, and Dean’s hands fisted on the table.

Again. Son of a bitch, he was about to go through this again. The first time had been bad enough. You’d looked at him with glossy, hopeful eyes, practically begged for him to fuck you, and Dean had wondered if he’d died in his sleep last night and been dragged back to hell. Forced to experience some new kind of torture Crowley was developing, where everything he’d ever wanted was just a stretch away from his fingertips, and he wasn’t allowed to take it.

He had to be the noble one here. The wise, old asshole who didn’t take advantage of you. Taking you up on that offer would be one of the worst things he’d ever done. It would be selfish, and cruel, and a worse fate than anything else. To get what he wanted, for one night, then never fucking have it again. To get hooked—because he would, he fucking knew he’d never be able to kiss and touch you once then go back to just living—and turn into an addict willing to do anything to get another hit.

Dean would’ve turned into a bigger creep than he already was. Instead of stares and long, shameful showers with his cock in his hand and your name on his lips, he’d stuff your panties in his pocket and press them to his nose while he fucked himself raw. He’d get possessive, he’d snarl at anyone else who got to close, he’d fall to his knees and beg you to stay if you ever decided you had enough of him.

And he knew that last thing was going to happen eventually. You had a whole life ahead of you, and he was stuck here. In this dim bunker with blood on his hands and under his feet and staining his past and future all at once. He swam in a river of it. In front of him, behind him, washing over him all the time, there was just fucking blood. You deserved better than that. Better than Dean. You deserved the fucking world.

So he’d told you no, and you’d looked at him like a wet fucking kitten he’d kicked into the rain, but it had been for your own good. You’d get over it. Dean was the one who had to watch you flirt with douchebags at the bar. Who couldn’t get in another bed anymore, because he kept getting kicked out for moaning your name.

He was the one who was rooted here forever. You’d find something softer. Something good.  He’d accepted that, with a lot of beer pushing it down. You’d find something better, and that was what he wanted.

Sammy knew all that. Dean had gotten drunk once and confessed his stupid, undying feelings, then sworn Sam to secrecy in the morning. He’d kept his word, only shooting Dean sad looks whenever you went off to flirt and smirking whenever Dean called you on a hunt.

But now he was asking Dean to sleep with you. Like he’d lost his damn mind.

“No,” he grunted, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Look, Dean, I get that you’re being cool and righteous and whatever-“

“I’m not fuckin’ her, Sammy- I shouldn’t.” He shot Sam a glare. “You know why I shouldn’t.“

“Yeah, well, I think your why is pretty stupid.” Sam said flatly. “You’ve never even asked her if she’d be- You know. Open to it-“

“I know she’d be open to it,” Dean scowled at his coffee. “But that’s- I ain’t doing it, Sammy. Never.” Not like that.

Sam was silent for a moment. When Dean looked up, he was staring at him with wide eyes. “She asked you first, didn’t she.”

Dean frowned. “What’d you mean, asked me first-“

“To take her virginity.”

He hadn’t taken a sip of coffee again. This time, he managed to choke on nothing at all. “To- What?”

Sam leaned back slightly. “Did she not ask you to sleep with her?”

“No, she did, I just didn’t fuckin’- She’s a virgin?”

“I guess,” Sam shrugged. “You know that’s not a big deal, right?”

Dean grunted. His head was spinning. Of course it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t care. He’d wanted you before, he wanted you now, that wasn’t the fucking issue.

But you’d asked him.

You’d asked him to fuck you. You’d wanted him to- Do it. Take it. Pop it, whatever. You’d chosen Dean, to be the guy, and he’d told you no, and then you’d started flirting around with other people, and you could’ve ended up with someone dangerous, someone who took advantage of you, who thought your inexperience was hot for all the wrong reasons and hurt you and-

Dean paused. He looked at Sam. Sam blinked, and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“How the fuck do you know that.”

Sam swallowed, taking a small step back. “Uh…”

“Sam-“

“She might’ve… Asked me.”

“She what-“

“I said no!” Sam said quickly. “I told her I wouldn’t. But- You know.” Sam cleared his throat. “If you’d said yes to her the first time…”

Sam gave him a pointed look. He was asking to get punched in the fucking face.

“No.”

“Dean, just-“

“No. I’m not takin’ advantage of her, Sammy, I’m not-“

 “It’s not taking advantage of her if she wants it!”

“She doesn’t want it-“

Sam snorted. “Oh, fuck off.”

Dean blinked, leaning back in his chair. Sam turned a little red, wincing at himself, but didn’t back down.

“Wow, Sammy. Big claws, huh.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “Dean… Just- Think about her, okay?”

Dean almost laughed. “All I fuckin’ do is think about her-“

“Then think a little harder.” Sam said flatly. “Before both of you get actually hurt.”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that. Sam didn’t seem to be asking for one. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone. With only his coffee mug and thoughts for company. A dangerous thing to do. Dean could talk himself into and out of almost anything, if the logic police weren’t there to stop him.

He was going to do something really fucking stupid and selfish, and it was all Sam’s fault.

“Come in!” You call to the knock on your door, glancing up from your laptop as the door creaks open.

Dean shuffles into your room with his head bowed. Your face heats, and you slam the laptop closed. He doesn’t need to see you scrolling through hookup websites and think any lower of you. You’re already losing sleep over the worry you’ve fractured something between you beyond repair.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he swallows.

“Uh- Hey.”

“Hi.” What the fuck is wrong with you.

Dean’s lips twitch. “Hey.”

You start to pull the sheets between your fingers, trying not to ogle him too obviously. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and it’s sexier than all the profile pics you’ve spent hours staring at. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to climb over him more.

“You, uh-“ He glances at your computer. “You busy?”

“No- No.” Never for him. You shove your computer onto your bedstand, moving to sit on your knees. “What’s up?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing something close to a laugh, and shakes his head. “Jesus.”

“What-“

“Nothin’.” He clears his throat, giving you a strange look. “Did you ask Sam to sleep with you?”

Your mouth falls open. You almost trip sitting down. “I- I didn’t-“

“You didn’t?”

“No, I mean- I- He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” you whine, avoiding Dean’s stare. “I didn’t- Fuck-“

“Hey- It’s- Woah-“

Dean crosses the room in a few strides, grabbing your wrists with firm, warm hands. You’d started to pick at your nails with the anxiety. You hadn’t even realized it.

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart,” he mutters, his thumb dragging a circle on your wrist.

You nod, your voice only a breath. “Okay.”

He’s so close. You can count all his crow’s feet, map his stubble, trace his lips with just your eyes. He’s still frowning at your wrist, so you allow yourself to stare.

Then he looks up. And you freeze in panic, but don’t manage to look away.

Dean’s tongue flicks over his lips. Your breath catches. Neither of you move, and you let yourself have it. For a single second, you imagine that Dean is here, in your room, on your bed, and that means something. You get lost in the warmth of his proximity, the calloused but soft feeling of his touch.

“Sammy told me something else,” Dean mutters, scanning over your slack, flushed features.

“Yeah?” You whisper, and he nods tightly.

“Yeah. Said you’re, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Said you’ve never- You know.” He cringes. “Been fucked.”

Your mouth falls open. You think you’d like to die now. “Dean-“

“Is that why you asked me?” His grip tightens on your wrist. Not allowing you to pull away. “’Cause you just wanted someone to take it?”

You drop your gaze to his crotch. There’s a soft bulge there. You’d drool over it, if you didn’t think you were going to explode any second now. 

Dean says your name, and you shake your head.

“Don’t,” you mumble. “Don’t just- Feel bad for me- You said no, that’s- It’s fine-“

“What if it’s not.”

Your eyes shoot up. You’d think he was joking, if he didn’t look so fucking serious. His jaw is set. His eyes are blown out and fixed on yours. Your mouth hangs stupidly open, and Dean smiles softly.

“Huh?” You manage to choke out, and he almost chuckles.

“What if I wanted to. Help you.”

“But-“ You blink. “You don’t.”

Dean shakes his head. “Wrong, sweetheart. I do-“

“You said you didn’t-“

“I lied.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t back down.

“Would it mean something?” He muttered, reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek. “If I did it?”

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. It sends violent, hot shivers through your whole body. Almost like a fever. You don’t want the cure. “Would it matter to you?” You ask, and Dean’s eyes flash. His fingers curl on your cheek. He leans an inch forward, then another inch. Your lips brush, the lightest possible touch, and you let out a soft, uncertain whine.

Dean pushes forward, his lips fully crashing into yours, his kiss demanding but certain. He presses over you, pulling you a little further up on your knees. You grab the collar of his shirt for balance, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to kiss him back with as much fervor as he’s offering you.

“De- Dean-“ You gasp against his lips. “Dean-“

He groans, his arm sliding around your back so he can pull you tight to his chest. You melt into his arms, and his kisses turn messy. Open mouthed and rough, his tongue dragging over your teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. You run out of air fast, but don’t try and pull away. You don’t want this to ever end, and you’re afraid that if you dare to break the moment, it will never be repaired.

High gasps start to escape your throat, though, and Dean pulls away. He cups your face between his hands, frowning slightly, and presses his brow against yours. You struggle for air, almost pressing forward to try and kiss him again, but he holds you in place.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he mutters, rough and thick. It’s the same voice he uses on you during hunts. When he’s giving an order you didn’t ask for.

Usually, you protest or ignore him. Right now you’re putty in his hands. He could tell you to follow him to hell, and you would. You’d do anything, just for him to never let go.

You inhale unevenly, and Dean rubs your upper back. His hand slipped under your shirt, and his palm is broad and warm. It—annoyingly—helps a lot.

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching you under hooded eyes. “That’s a good girl.”

You whine again. “Dean-“

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

He doesn’t fucking look sorry. His lips are twitching, and there’s a smug glint in his eyes that’s almost dangerously intoxicating.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod, slumping closer to his chest. He doesn’t push you away.

This might be real.

“Are you sure, ‘bout this?” Dean rasps, and you almost giggle.

“Yes.”

“I’m old, sweetheart-“

“I like it.”

Dean blinks, and you stutter, so sure you should shut up but not really sure how.

“I- I mean- I like you, so- I don’t care if you’re old- I like you old- I like you-“

Dean smirks, holding your face so firmly against his  you can’t shy away.

“You- Can you- I mean- If it’s just- Just sex- You can forget I said- I think you being old is hot-“

He finally takes mercy, and shuts you up with a long, rough kiss. You hum, pushing further up on your knees, and climb slowly into Dean’s lap. He sucks on your lower lip, angling your head back as your core settles against his bulge, then pulls back with a low sigh.

“Not just sex,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “Not with you, baby.”

You nod, smiling wider than you probably should. “Cool.”

Dean grins back. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool ‘cause you like me,” he teases, shoving your hips down, right over his crotch. “Of ‘cause I’m old.”

You face burns. All you can do is stare and him and whimper, “You’re spritely.”

Dean huffs, in disbelieving amusement. “Spritely? You think I’m-“

“Youthful,” you babble quickly. “You’ve got a lot of…” You flush as he stares at you, sort of wishing he’d just kiss you and shut you up. “Youth.”

Dean’s mouth curves up. “Youth, huh.”

You nod, and he chuckles, pressing the lightest kiss over your lips.

“Hurts when I bend over now, honey, don’t think that’s very youthful of me.”

“So don’t bend over,” you mumble, and Dean snorts.

“Demanding, aren’t we?”

You shrug, trying not to turn into a puddle and miserably failing. Dean kisses your cheek, then under your eye, tracing his mouth down so he breath tickles your ear.

“Mouthy and demanding,” he rubs your hips, dragging your hips back and forth across his crotch. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix that.”

You whimper, and Dean’s grin grows.

“You like that, huh.”

“Dean-“

“Ah,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, moving away before you can chase his lips. “You wanted my help. This is how I’m gonna help, baby. Takin’ real good care of you,” he thrusts his hips up, and you whine as the hard outline of his cock hits your clothed pussy. “Just like this.”

 You nod, pressing your face into the crook of Dean’s neck. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. It’s different, with Dean’s hands wandering your sides and his voice right in your ear. Your heart pounds and everywhere gets slick with sweat and arousal, just his dirty talk reducing you to a heap of confused nerves. Dean’s lips drag over your jaw, and you curl further around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he nips at your throat.

“Just gotta do what I tell you, alright?” He mutters, squeezing a handful of your ass. “Can you do that, baby? Do it for me?"

You nod quickly, and Dean chuckles against your skin.

“Eager,” he drawls, pushing his fingers slowly under the hem of your shorts. “Eager and soft.”

He squeezes your ass again, his fingers brushing against the edge of your pussy. You grind backwards, trying to push him to where you need him so very desperately. He lets you, teasing his fingers over the lips of your pussy, and you whine in his ear.

“Sit still,” he grunts, and you have to bite your lower lip, but you force your hips to come to a stop.

It earns you a sharp slap of your ass, and a kiss on the side of your head. Worth it.

“That’s right,” he mutters, letting those thick fingers dance back over your cunt.  “Good work, baby girl. You fuckin’ love the attention, don’t you. Eager to please me, eager to make me proud.”

You swallow, hugging him so tight you’re a little worried you’ll choke him. Dean doesn’t even flinch. He dips two fingers into the wetness of your heat and groans right in your ear, spreading the arousal everywhere between your thighs.

“If you’re gonna hide that pretty face,” he grunts in your ear. “At least fuckin’ kiss me.”

Nervously, you wander your lips over the strong curve of his shoulders, the arch of his neck. Dean moans in your ear, his cock jumping in his jeans. His fingers keep wandering near and around your pussy, and you get a little bolder. Kissing up his jaw, over his cheek, the top of his lip. You’re panting, trying to focus on your job as Dean keeps pulling and teasing you with his touch.

“Shit,” he moans your name, tracing around your flutter entrance. “That’s it, baby, just like that-“

 Dean grabs your jaw with his free hand, like he can’t fucking help himself, and slams his lips against yours. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back, grinding down onto his hand. His fingers dip inside of you for a moment, and you moan. Dean grunts and shoves those fingers inside of you.

Your mouth falls open, your eyes widening at the thick, pleasurable stretch. He feels so good, so fucking right, you’re worried his cock might kill you.

“Look at you,” Dean coos, smirking at your slack face. “Just my fuckin’ fingers, baby. Keep breathin’, or this is all we’re doing tonight.”

You take a deep breath, sharp and sudden, and Dean smirks in approval.

“Good girl,” he pushes his fingers a little deeper, scissoring them and bumping against a spot that makes your whole body jerk.

“Dean-“

“Shh,” he kisses you, crooking his fingers to rub against that hidden button, and you mewl against his lips. “You feel that, baby?”

“Mmm- Mhm.” You press your cheek against his, eyes fluttering as Dean keeps pushing and tickling deep inside you. “Feels good.”

“I know it does, sweet girl,” he wraps his hand back around your neck, guiding your brow to press back against his. “It’s that special little spot, gonna make everything feel good.”

His words are sweet and mocking all at once, and it sends a new gush of arousal between your legs. You watch him with wide, clouded eyes, and Dean’s smile softens for a single second. He kisses you, more gentle than before, and pulls his fingers slowly out of your cunt.

“Lie down,” he whispers before you can protest, and you swallow, but obey.

Dean hums in approval, rubbing a massive hand on your thigh.

“Everything off,” he says, and you go still.

“Everything?”

“Mhm,” he raises his brows at your flushed expression. “That gonna be a problem?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You don’t want to disappoint him, but he’s going to see you. Really, fully see you. God, you really don’t want him to see you and change his mind, and-

“Hey,”  Dean takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “You want my help?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes. 

Dean rips off his shirt first—makin’ it even, he says—then makes quick work of his jeans. You don’t get more than a second to marvel him—flushed, tanned chest and thick everything, and heavy cock that does not look like a worm—before he’s touching you. He shimmies your shorts down, then peels your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. For a moment he just admires you, palming his cock with a tiny grin, and you roll onto your stomach.

Dean laughs, tapping your ass with a single finger. “Gettin’ shy, baby?”

“Shut up-“

“Ah.” He drags that finger down your clothed pussy. “Who tells who what to do?”

Your face burns, and you press your face further into the pillows. Dean chuckles, and you feel the bed shift as he crawls over your body. You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the drag of his cock somewhere near your ass as he whispers in your ear.

“You were doin’ so well,” he drawls, unhooking your bra with a single hand. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

It doesn’t help. You keep grinding, trying to get some friction with the sheets. Dean’s hand comes down on your pussy with one, sharp smack, and you squeal, pushing back against his hand.

“Needy fuckin’ baby,” he mocks. “Can’t even help it, can you. Still tryin’ to be good for me.”

He hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them tight so they push against your clit. You push back against his hand, and he smirks against your ear.

“You want a little more?”

You nod, and he snaps the fabric down, sending a tiny shock through your body.

“Say please-“

“Please,” you gasp, moving your arms up to hide your face. “Please, Dean- More- Oooh-“

Dean’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your words fall off, and he fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back to allow him to kiss you again.

He’s not cruel, with how he touches you. He’s generous, but controlled. Every stroke of your clit is deliberate, making your head spin and your mouth fall further open. That seems to be exactly how he wants you, though, because he pushes his tongue further down your throat and flicks his thumb back and forth, working you up into a writhing frenzy.

When his fingers finally push back inside of you, Dean almost seems unwilling to pull back and stop kissing you. You’re bent back and pliant under him, whimpering happily as he feeds his fore and middle finger into your hole.

“Greedy little pussy,” he rasps against your lips. “Know you’re gonna strangle my cock, baby, son of a bitch-"

He groans, like he’s the one being fingered into oblivion. He’s set a harsh pace with his wrist, snapping his fingers in and out of your cunt without relent. His thumb moved away from your clit, replaced by the heel of his palm, rubbing in tight, unrelenting circles on your swollen clit.

Every single time, he hits that spot inside of you, and your head is starting to get light. All the electricity and heat in your body is pushing down into your core, building like a bomb and threatening to explode. You almost sob, with how overwhelming the sensation is. Dean notices, kissing you a little softer.

“Poor girl,” he mutters. “Already like this and I’m not even properly fuckin’ you.”

“Your- Your hands,” you push out the word between sharp breaths. “They’re big.”

Dean grunts, his cock jumping near your ass. “Yeah, sweetheart? You like how fuckin’ big my hands are?”

“Mh- Mhm.”

You try to kiss him again. He pulls back, moving his hand impossibly faster against your cunt.

“Words,” he grunts. “You’re not stupid enough to not speak, not yet.”

“Like it,” you breathe out. “Love- Love it, Dean, oh- Oh my god-“

You moan again, and Dean grunts. His hips are starting to jerk near your ass, making him rut against you as his fingers work.

“Your close,” he mutters, pressing his fingers fully inside and crooking them against that gooey spot. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Now.”

His voice must have some kind of supernatural power over you, because that pressure in your lower tummy bursts, and your orgasm rips through you link a hurricane. Your thighs clench, trapping Dean’s hand between your legs, and he groans, rubbing his fingers harsher and harsher against your g-spot. You’re shaking and rolling beneath him, and he has to grab the back of your neck and pin it down to keep you still.

Dean works you through your orgasm, whispering low praise in your ear as you float back down to earth. Your pussy feels empty, when his fingers finally pull away. Your eyes are slightly crossed, and your smile is dazed and a little stupid.

You don’t even squeak, when Dean grabs your thigh and flips you over. You keen, back arching and body twitching, but you’re mostly just staring stupidly and happily up at him. Dean swallows, his chest rising and falling fast, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, eyes fluttering shut, and cup the back of his neck to hold him against you.

He drags his fingers lazily through the mess between your thighs, sending pleasurable little shivers up your spine. He drags your panties fully off your body, holding them up to his nose and taking a deep, long whiff before tossing them off to the side. He gathers your arousal on his fingers and slowly pulls away, rising over you with parted lips and gleaming, almost wholly black eyes.

Dean sucks your juices off his fingers, lapping them up with his tongue and a lazy, knowing smirk. Your breath catches. You almost push up to try and grab him, but you’re still foggy and boneless from the orgasm, and he shoves you back down with a broad hand splayed over your tummy.

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off under his stern gaze, swallowing nervously.

“Please?” You try again, and he chuckles.

“You’re cute.”

“I- I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. Cute when you cum for me,” he dips his fingers back into you, smirking lazily. “Cute when I touch you. Cute when you beg.”

“Deeeean-“

“Deeean,” he mocks, squeezing your upper thigh. “Listen to you. Fuckin’ adorable.”

You flush, a new wave of arousal hitting you like a rising tide, and you don’t even understand how you could possibly be ready that fast. Dean watches you pussy tremble and flutter, letting out a slow, rough breath.

“Son of a bitch,” he shakes his head, his hand moving to rub against his cock. “You got no idea what you do to me, baby, no fuckin’ idea.”

You swallow, watching him move against himself, almost enchanted. He really is prettier than is fair, in every possible way. His cock is thick and long, flushed at the head and leaking pre-cum against his thumb. Your tongue flicks over your lips, as you try to mentally measure the girth and length of him. You’ve taken toys before, when you got really curious. He’s bigger.

“You wanna touch, sweetheart?” He prompts, and you nod, your tongue flicking over your lips.

Dean pushes his hips forward, slowly taking your hand and guiding it against his shaft. He’s warm. Warm and hard. You dance your fingers down the length of him and he grunts, a vein ticking in his neck.

“Easy…” He rasps, and you nod nervously.

You find his balls, give them a light squeeze, and Dean catches your wrist.

“That’s enough.” He mutters, twining your fingers together. “Jesus, woman, gonna blow it before I even get inside of you.”

Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten about that part.

“That’s not going to fit inside of me.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, it will.”

“No, I mean like- It can’t-“

“It can.”

“Dean, I’m serious-“

He shuts you up with a quick rough kiss, and you go embarrassingly limp. His cock rubs between the folds of your pussy, bumping and pressing against your clit, and your breath hitches. Oh, God.

“Just do what I tell ya,” he mutters. “We’re gonna make it fit.”

You do. It is very easy to do what Dean tells you, when he follows through on all his promises. When he gives you such low and certain orders, and you find yourself molding perfectly around his cock.

Because it does fit. Somehow, Dean spreads your legs and kisses your pussy once—as if he can’t help himself—before crawling over you and slowly pushing the head of his cock inside of you. It’s tight at first. He grunts, pressing his brow to you shoulder, and rubs tight circle around your clit with his thumb.

“Open up for me, baby,” he rasps. “C’mon.”

You go limp with every inch he feeds you. The stretch is glorious, pulling you apart with every drag over your fluttering walls, every low grunt of your name from Dean’s lips. His determination to tease you seems to dissolve, by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, his balls pressed against your ass. He pants in your ear, hot and heavy, and cradles your body in his arms like it’s fragile.

“Slow,” he mutters, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gonna go slow.”

You keen, at the first, lazy thrust of his hips. A lewd, wet sound fills the air, and the head of Dean’s cock pushes right up against that already abused spot inside of you, making stars dance behind your eyes. Every roll of Dean’s hips makes your whole body spark. He kisses all over your face, his own voice thick and wrecked as you clench around him.  

“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he rasps. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Feels so fuckin’ good, bein’ filled up with cock like you deserve-“

His words fall into a moan, his hips snapping forward, and the air gets knocked from your lungs. A sound you’ve never heard escapes you, and Dean chuckles, kissing your open mouth as he repeats the motion.

“Yeah, you like that.” He pulls almost fully out, then slams back forward. “Say it, baby girl, say you like it-“

“I like it,” you gasp out, sounding drunk to your own ears. “Love it, Dean- Fuck- Fuuuck-“

Dean captures your mouth in another kiss, and sets a brutal, drilling pace. You’re split open with every thrust, your every nerve on fire as he fucks you like a machine. He never gets too fast, just hard. Over and over and over again, until you’re gasping for air and clawing at his shoulders. That pressure turns molten and demanding, threatening to burst. Dean’s fingers dig into your hips. He moans in your ear, his own words staring to slur.

“Tight,” he moans. “So fuckin’ tight- I- I can’t- Shit-“

Dean’s hands fumble, dragging over your thighs and as he gropes for your pussy. Two fumbling fingers find it, rubbing tight circles, and you cry out, clenching down on his cock.

“Let go, sweetheart, need you to let for ‘f me- Fuck-“

Your orgasm hits you even harder than before, and your vision goes white. Your pussy flutters and clenches, something hot gushing out as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure. It’s a strange sensation, but not bad. Not even close. You think you scream with pleasure, but Dean slams his mouth over yours and muffles the sound.

His hips stutter and jerk. You whine his name and he grunts, slamming forward and burying himself at the hilt as his cum spurts deep inside you, mixing with your own release.

You’re almost gone to the world. Dean lies over you, kissing you as you float back down, murmuring praise you can barely hear.

“Gonna clean you up,” he grunts, and you whine when his weight disappears.

“Deeean.” You grab at the air and catch his bicep. “Stay.”

You pout at him, eyes watery and hopeful. He just chuckles, kissing your knuckles before drawing back up, and promising to return.

He better. You really don’t want to let go of him now.

Dean brings a wet, warm towel, and cleans between your thighs. You didn’t realize how sore you were until he touches you with such light hands, but it’s a good kind of sore. When you moan, it’s not even really in pain.

He brings you water. A snack and a fresh shirt, that he bundles you in like a penguin. You somehow end up curled against his chest, half asleep and smiling against his bare, warm chest.

“I like you,” Dean says suddenly, and you beam. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so bubbly in your life.

“I like you too-“

“No,” his jaw works, the words low and tight. “I like like you- Like- Fuck-“

He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. It’s almost adorable.

“You- You’re just- That really wasn’t nothin’ for me, sweetheart, not even close-“

You take his trick. You push up on his chest, press your lips together, and kiss him until he shuts the fuck up. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your face between shaking hands. You smile against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “I like you too.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, his voice hoarse. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you flush. “A- A lot.”

Dean grins. He smiles wider than you knew he could, and slams a shorter rougher kiss against your lips before pulling back again. Like he can’t stand not to look at you for too long.

“Can I take you out?” He says, and you nod.

“Can we have more sex,” you whisper, and he laughs, pressing another kiss against your lips.

“Any time you want, baby.” He says. “You’re mine now.”

✦End note: drooling for him ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

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[dollfacies]

in another universe, dean and buffy are siblings

[lipfilllers]

[siillkyy]

How I feel the morning after a bad trip

[dean-ness]

[muntitled]

I like smut as much as the next person but yall aren't even trying to write anymore. All fanfic on here is just 300 words of sex and then just tagging any character you think fits.

No tropes

No storyline

No arcs

[slllieeepyy]

gamer megumi is weak for his girlfriend

mdni 🔞

he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch in between your legs, his head resting against your lower abdomen.

his fingers moved over the controller with practiced precision, some first person shooter game hooked up to the television.

you’re playing with his hair, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone. but you were beginning to get bored of this. it was a saturday night, and you had gone over to your boyfriends dorm expecting him to at least pay attention to you.

you got an idea.

your voice was soft, hands stilling in his hair as you spoke, “hey.”

“hm.”

“do you wanna eat me out?”

he paused for a moment, fingers stilling on the controller, before he began to shift.

“…yeah.”

just like that, the game was forgotten.

GAME OVER flashed on the screen, but neither of you cared.

megumi was now kneeling in front of the couch, his face buried between your thighs as his fingers gently ran up and down your bare legs.

“ngh.. like that..” you moaned, fingers entangled in his hair, gripping hard. it only egged him on further. he even quietly whimpered into your pussy as you tugged at his hair.

his tongue made your toes curl, low, raw moans tearing from your throat. he knew how to make you feel good, and he would never miss an opportunity to do so.

“f-fuck.. gonna cum- don’t stop..” you whined, eyes squeezing shut, head thrown back against the couch cushions as you felt your release build.

megumi kept going, his hands gripping your thighs tight. his tongue lapped at your sweet juices, drinking in your slick like water. he moaned softly into your folds, he wasn’t even touching himself, your pleasure just got him off so good.

you came with a broken cry, your hands tight in his hair. megumi didn’t stop until you were shaking with overstimulation.

he pressed his cheek against your inner thigh, panting and looking up at you with that soft, puppy-eyed gaze.

his voice was quiet as he finally spoke, cheeks tinted slightly pink.

“can i do it again..?”

||a/n: short and sweet one 😋

- vie 💤

[fushigasm]

forcefully kissing frat bf!sukuna goodnight…!

“you should stay. i plan on making breakfast tomorrow, y’know?” he says as you gather your things and stuff them into your purse.

“intriguing,” you admit, it’d been a while since you had a real meal and not just a budget meal from the dining hall. “but i got an 8AM tommorow. i’ll miss you, though.” you end sweetly, leaning over where he was sitting on his bed, actually looking disappointed.

“we can wake up early, woman.” he grabs your waist tightly, keeping you steady in place in front of him as he reasons. “i think my punctuality could actually rub off on you.”

“ryo’ i cant.” you say back, trying to wiggle your way out of his grasp, failing terribly as he renders you still under his firm grasp. then you re-register the first part of what he said, the stupid name you hate to say you’ve gotten accustomed to “and stop calling me ‘woman’, you sound like naoya.” he scoffs at the comparison and tightens his grasp, pulling you closer to be practically on top of his lap.

“how bout this,” you suggest. and by the tone of your voice he can tell it’s already something stupid. “i’ll give you a goodnight kiss for every hour we’ll be apart.” you finish, smirking down at him.

and before he can spit out his words and say just how stupid he thinks that is you plant the first one smack dab on his lips, tilting his head up for ease with your hands.

“one.” you count. sukuna tries to get out a word— but goddammit you just keep kissing him.

“two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten,” continuing on till sukuna stops counting the correlation to the hours.

you lean back, looking at his slightly flushed, embarrassedly grimacing face. the gloss from your lips has since smudged on his. he rubs it off with his thumb, frown deepening. you giggle. it’s rare for you to actually fluster him, so now that you have you bask in it.

he grips your wrist, breathing out a heavy sigh while you chuckle above him.

“just stay,” he looks at everywhere but your face. “…please.” he grumbles, just barely above a whisper like he’s never said the word before and never wants to say it again.

“fine.” you groan out, fully prepared for the half awake sukuna that will trap you in his arms the moment you try and escape the following morning. “lemme change first.” and he releases his grip on you so you can rummage through his closet for something to wear, totally not staring at your ass.

“can’t believe i gave you all those kisses for nothing.”

in true @/fushigasm fashion, not proofread.

[splurtz]

FOLLOW THE LIFE OF YOUR LOCAL TOWN BUTCHER AND HIS SWEET WIFE!

"toji, honey, they missed you!"

"tone it down, will ya peach?"

SERIES OF WRITING FEATURING. BUTCHERTOJI!

butcher..! as in meat butcher

taglist open! lemme know if u want to be notified

content. toji's in his late 30s and ocs in her mid 20s. toji owns a butcher shop and a farmland. rural town. oc used to live in the city but eventually settled with toji. mature content. (specific warnings in each part) mdni. parts are not required to be read in order but i highly recommend to follow for best reading.

keep in mind that this is a REPOST. i didn't steal this ;3

playlist — visual 1 — ao3 (march 1st) toji art by usero_jw

[s] - smut

৻ꪆ life with butchertoji as a husband

৻ꪆ butchertoji coming home after a long day at work

৻ꪆ butchertoji dealing with locals bothering his wife

৻ꪆ butchertoji handling his wife on her period

৻ꪆ butchertoji teaching you manual labor his way

৻ꪆ pr3gnancy scare with butchertoji

৻ꪆ sexting with butchertoji [s]

৻ꪆ lazy sex after work [s]

৻ꪆ butchertoji handling his wife and her pregnancy cravings

© splurtz 2026 — all rights reserved.

uploads will start soon! also i lost the camping sex one, so if you somehow reposted it before please reach out!

[5yzygy]

sum. sukuna teaches you how to kiss

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ cw. college au, detailed descriptions of kissing/making out, reader is relatively inexperienced, reader has glasses, talks of sex, maybe nerdy!reader but that feels kinda rude bc i really just think she's neurodivergent lol

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ wc. 2.8k

pt. 2

Can you imagine your luck when the teacher announced who your lab partner would be?

Like cold water thrown over you when you heard the name Sukuna paired with your own.

Bruised knuckles, callous attitude, tattoos…you already began preparing to do the entire thing yourself.

Guys like him had no interest in girls like you — this wasn't self-deprecation because it was true vice versa.

Some types of people just…don't mix. Like oil and water.

You're more on the reserved side; if you talk you either don't talk enough or you talk too much. Parties are great till they get overstimulating, tolerating guys you can't stand only goes as far as your energy to keep pretending.

Maybe you've always been a bit more in your head, a bit more melancholic than your friends and roommate — and it doesn't help that you feel like the only girl in college who has absolutely no love life.

Not that you're quite sure you even want one.

"Alright, you can take a few minutes to find your partner and start discussing your project now," the professor says, leaving the class to chatter amongst themselves.

Great.

You'll just have to square your shoulders and stay cool and firm — because you already get the idea he's the type that wants to make you feel inferior on purpose.

So you don't even bother looking up to find him — no, you stay planted right in your seat trying to figure out what this project entails.

Until a large figure drops his bag right next to yours.

You blink up, slightly startled to find him sprawling into the seat beside you — frankly you hadn't even expected him to know your name.

Or if he did, then for him to pretend like he didn't.

"Uh, hi…" you start off, already nervous with the way he's staring at you. You've never quite gotten used to eye contact — your eyes are already darting off to the side by habit just to escape his.

"Uh, hello," he greets you back — though you get the feel he might just be mocking you.

God, this is awkward.

You're already fiddling with your sleeve in one hand, twisting and untwisting it around your finger.

"…So, uh, I think I can do most of this. Maybe I'll just let you know when I'm finished so you only need to do a final revision?"

He stares. "Seriously? You're just willing to do all the work for a partnered project?"

Thrown off, your mouth opens too fast and you blurt out, "Well I didn't think you'd do anything and I highly doubt the professor would let me switch partners….and I don't want to fail this class considering it like…costs money."

Shit, you've said too much.

You try and rectify any damage with a small, polite smile.

He hums, openly smirking at you now. "So you assumed?"

Lips parting and closing, you finally admit, "Uh, yeah…I guess?"

"Let me guess — you also think I'm so himbo moron?" he presses, but his tone isn't mad — it's loaded with amusement, which almost feels worse.

You don't answer and that says enough.

"Well, since it seems like you want to do this project alone—" he sighs, grabbing his bag to rise.

"Wait."

He pauses.

"I'm sorry for just assuming, that wasn't…right of me."

"Yeah, it wasn't," he drawls, stretching.

Then without further hesitation he decides, "I'm not working in the library. Lets study at your dorm."

"What's wrong with the library?"

"They don't let me eat in there."

"And you think I'm going to let you eat in my dorm?"

He flashes you a sideways smirk, apparently entertained by what he assumes is you talking back.

Which isn't true of course — you're being completely genuine, wondering about his thought process.

"Considering you were willing to let me freeload for an entire project…yeah, I do think you'd let me eat in your room."

That finally makes you scowl. "Why can't we do it at your dorm?"

"Oh, you want to come over?"

Except the way he says it is more than suggestive — and immediately you swallow. "Uh, no, my dorm's good."

When he gets to your dorm, the first thing Sukuna does is spend a good fifteen minutes looking at all the small stuff crowding your desk.

"What are you, a crow?"

"I told you not to comment on it," you grumble under your breath.

Bones, small potted plants, trinkets and a variety of odd things you found — all have a space on your desk.

He probably thinks you're a dork.

"Are you embarrassed?" he chuckles, picking up a jar with a colorful specimen floating inside — shaped like a mouse but in shades of magenta and cerulean.

"Diaphanized specimen? Damn, how much did this thing cost?" he asks, turning it around.

He finally turns when he's met with silence — because frankly you didn't expect him to actually know what that was.

Another swallow and you awkwardly shrug, gaze darting around the floor.

"So?" he asks again, "How much you buy it for?"

"I, uh,…I did it myself."

He hums, setting the jar down. "That'd be pretty impressive if you weren't so embarrassed about it."

"I'm not embarrassed!" you huff.

He cocks a brow. "Really?"

"I just…it's probably kind of weird to most people," you add with a nervous laugh.

He laughs, but his is nothing like yours. "At this point it seems like you want me to bully you like some stupid 90's highschool movie."

Immediately, your ears burn up. "What? Shut up."

"I mean I'll do it for you if you want it so much — yeah, go ahead and push your glasses up again you dork."

Maybe he's being a dickhead, but unfortunately you can't hold in the impish little giggle that escapes your lips.

"Oh see? You do like it."

You try to shoot him a serious look. "Don't be weird."

"Bet it'd turn you on if I called you a dumb little nerd."

Unfortunately you never figured out how to believably mask your emotions — immediately you forget your words, clearing your throat in a flimsy attempt to seem composed.

He catches it, grinning wide. "What a little freak."

You don't know how it gets there but a week later when you're sitting in your dorm, the topic of sex comes up — and Sukuna notices how oddly quiet you get.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"Wha— no….maybe, kind of?"

"Kind of?"

You hardly even realize you're pushing up your glasses as you open your mouth to word-vomit. "Well once I was about to do it with a guy but he was also a virgin and I was a virgin and he couldn't get it in past his tip so he just jerked himself off and came inside me like that."

Surprisingly enough, Sukuna always lets you speak when you ramble on like this — not that he'd even have an opening to cut you off anyways.

He watches you for a moment, gaze unreadable before he comments, "Wow. You're the first virgin to have been creampied."

"Thank you."

"Not a compliment, dork."

"Well you could've let me think it was," you mutter, eyes drifting to the papers in front of you.

"You have a lot of attitude for a nerd."

"Don't call me that."

Ironically, you brought this fate upon yourself — ever since that first time in your dorm, the nicknames stuck. Like you'd personally handed the joke a life.

"Right… you ever done anything else except…whatever that was?"

You blink, clearing your throat. "I've…sucked dick."

"That's it."

"…And then I gagged when he nutted in my mouth because the texture was so…slimey… But I managed to get it down anyways," you add, with a small self-satisfied smile. "Though I also suspect his cum gave me indigestion so I didn't do it again."

"Thank you for all that lovely information, but not what I meant — like, at all."

Your ears burn, arms automatically crossing over your body.

"Well I don't know, okay? I basically have no experience in that department so there isn't much else to say," you snap.

He laughs under his breath. "Relax. No need to get defensive. Wasn't gonna attack you for it."

A beat.

"…I was actually thinking how I could be your first.

In shock, you snap your face towards him. "What—?!"

His gaze is sharp.

You've seen that look on men before but never towards you.

Sukuna leans closer — you lean back. "We don't need to make it weird," he murmurs.

"Not w-weird?! I don't I've ever gotten fully naked with anyone before except with that one guy but the lights were off so I feel like that doesn't really count—"

Fingertips brush over your thigh, a deliberate touch that makes your breath hitch. "I'll make it good for you…don't you wanna know what it feels like?"

A pause before you give a small, sheepish nod.

He answers it with a grin that you think is meant to be reassuring, but sort of just does the opposite. "We can start small."

"Small," you repeat, eyes wide.

"Ever kissed before?"

You shake your head just a little, with an apologetic smile.

He peers down at you, with a lazy smirk, red eyes dark as he studies you like some small animal.

"That's okay, just stay still…let me guide you first, okay?"

Gulping thickly, you nod — your heart practically feels like its trying to break out of the cavity in your chest.

Your glasses are abruptly snatched from your face.

You blink as he folds them and sets them aside. "Don't need them in the way. Besides, I wanna be able to see those pretty eyes."

Admittedly you feel a little…vulnerable without some frames to hide behind if needed, maybe even act as some kind of barrier to shield you.

Sukuna notices as your eyes instinctively dart to anywhere besides his face.

"Mm. We'll have to work on that."

"On what?"

"You avoiding eye contact like you'll get turned to stone or some shit if you do."

Before you get a chance to offer your opinion, one of his hands is cradling your cheek as he leans in.

Your eyes automatically flutter shut, lips parting slightly.

Then you feel his mouth on yours — lips warm, as they take your bottom lip in.

Its only a touch of cool saliva at first, until something soft and wet runs across your mouth.

His tongue. Just the tip.

It's odd and new and you can't decide if you like it or not before he's already pulling away.

Blinking, you peek up at him, at his lips twitching a bit at the corner.

"Don't be so…tense. I'm kissing a living girl, not a corpse."

You murmur an apology — making him laugh softly. "Just relax. I'm showing you what to do."

Taking a slow breath, you nod again.

He leans in and its the same as last time — but this time a bit more insistent in his movement.

You try to focus on how his lips are taking in yours and how they move but it's so incredibly difficult with all these sensations.

You know lips are sensitive — packed with so many nerve endings that they register sensation a hundred times sharper than your fingertips. But sometimes knowledge only truly settles into the body in a moment like this.

When you feel it.

Because since the second his mouth brushed yours, shivers run down your spine so clean and electric you almost gasp — it's almost overwhelming.

And it tips further towards that point when his tongue actually slips between your lips — by reflex you tense your jaw, denying the thing wet and writhing in your mouth like a live creature.

But the grip on your hip tightens and he pushes his way through anyways.

The slick appendage caressing yours, exploring places that for over two decades only your own tongue has ever known.

And then it slides back out, leaving you a bit breathless.

"How'd that feel?"

"Um…invasive," you answer honestly, feeling out of your depths.

He doesn't take it any type of way, just smirks. "Does feel kinda weird at first…you'll get used to it."

"So…that's it?"

Snorting softly, he pushes you on your back a bit closer to him — and automatically you squirm, an instinctive habit that says you should keep some distance between you and another person that you aren't so familiar with.

"God, touching you is like trying to pick up a cat that doesn't want to be picked up — just clinging to the carpet."

A bit chagrinned, you ramble out an explanation, "I just…it feels like I'm invading your personal space? Like I know that sounds weird considering what we're doing, but…you know…"

A whole lot of words to say absolutely nothing coherent.

"Just relax on me," he tells you, pushing you with enough force that soon you're pressed against his chest, laying completely on his body. "See? There you go."

Subdued into place, you pliantly lay there as his hand roams to squeeze one of your ass cheeks. You exhale sharply, but you don't move away or even flinch.

"You're okay with me touching your ass but laying on me is what gets you uncomfortable?"

"I don't know," you try to defend yourself, "It just feels…"

Intimate.

Sex by itself isn't so scary — it's the intimacy that makes you squirm more than anything.

His palm presses into the small of your back, keeping you pinned in place. "Stay. How are you gonna have sex if you can't even handle this much?"

Your brows pinch, huffing faintly. "Is this all we're doing?"

"No…now you're going to kiss me."

About to protest, you stop yourself as you catch his expectant gaze. "I'll…try…."

"Good."

On the spot and nervous, you grab his face with one hand and press your lips to his before you can overthink it.

He doesn't help you out or guide you at all — just stays perfectly still like you did, and lets you figure it out on your own.

First, you lightly try catching his bottom lip…then the top.

Maybe you should go….deeper?

You stick your tongue between his lips, met by sharp teeth and wetness. He makes some low kind of noise, shifting a little under you, but he doesn't stop you as you explore his mouth.

It feels…odd.

The kind of sensation that you instinctively cringe away from.

But when you force yourself to hold it a bit longer, you find that you start to crave more of it—that it turns you on.

Whimpering softly, you climb a bit higher on him, tongue tracing the smooth surface of his palate to see how far you can get.

Then acutely realizing you also have teeth and that there's something between, you nip without thinking just to feel the soft flesh.

That's when he finally pulls away with a light gasp, eyes slightly hazy before he grins lopsided. "Tryna kiss me or tongue-fuck my mouth?"

That makes you burn up — and as usual when you get nervous, you truthfully blurt out, "I'm just doing it like how I'd wanna be kissed."

He blinks before his gaze darkens, smirking a little sharper. "You want that? After you called the last one — what was it — oh yes, invasive—"

"…Didn't say I didn't like it, though," you say quietly, peeking up at him through your lashes.

"Alright, if that's what you want," he murmurs.

You can barely get a breath in before he grabs your chin and his lips are crashing against yours.

This time he's not gentle or deliberate — his tongues pries your lips open, roughly forcing its way into your mouth as if it belongs there.

So harsh, you can't feel anything but that muscle in your mouth, reaching deeper and deeper to the point you find it hard to breathe.

You don't stop him though, letting his fingers knot in your hair and tug — at this point he's practically just swallowing your mouth whole, and you give in, shyly sucking on his tongue.

That makes him groan low in his throat, this travesty of a kiss devolving into something much more ravenous and sloppy.

Saliva drips down from the corners of your mouth and you whine around his tongue, lips swelling from his bites.

Then he lets go and air floods your lungs as you catch your breath, head spinning.

"That what you wanted?" he asks with a smirk, voice low and a bit rough, his lips shining with saliva like yours must be too.

In a dazed state you nod, acutely aware of the slick collecting in your panties.

"You little freak…want me to do that to your pussy, too?"

You blink, blanking out. "You mean…like eat me out?"

"You're a real genius."

Pulse quickening, your eyes widen. "Uh, right now?!"

"Uh, yes?" he mocks back.

Panicking, you stumble around your words. "Uh, I don't….we'll do it next time," you decide.

His eyes narrow slightly like he wants to say something, but he doesn't push it.

And suddenly you remember something — something you'd never paid much attention to before because it didn't really concern you.

"Wait."

"What."

"…Can you get tested?"

Sukuna stares at you like you've spoken a dead language. "Tested."

You nod eagerly. "Yes and bring proof of your test results… I'll bring mine too."

"Woman, I think you need to get tested — and not for STD's or STI's."

Then taking a look at your face, he finally caves with a sigh. "Okay, okay fine. Stop staring at me like I kicked your dog."

Your brows furrow slightly. "…I don't have a dog?"

"It's a— Whatever, just forget it. I'll bring my damn test results," he grins, still absentmindedly squeezing your ass, "If it means you'll let me eat you out."

With a tight smile you nod. "Right…next time."

Next time it is.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ an. okay back to my assignments i go...

[silentse]

henry townshend x reader

a part 2 to my previous post

i’m finally free from the trenches of university for a week or so, and really wanted to get this out soon so here it is :> enjoy!

｡𖦹°‧———————————————————— ‧°𖦹｡

“Such a pretty face.. Stay still, hm?”

A tear falls onto the cold barrel of Walter’s pistol, a part of you wishing it would’ve set it off. The frigid metal lifts off your cheek when your body stops squirming, accompanied by a pleased smile on his face.

Walter’s thumb brushes against your face to catch another stray tear, tasting the saltiness on his tongue. It was nothing but exquisite, he thinks- savoring it before leaning close and whispering.

“Are you afraid? You shouldn’t be, Paradise is imminent, dear. Do you wish to see the new world?”

You don’t respond, yet he treats your silence as eager agreement.

It was painful, the iron grip of his fingers around your wrist. You were sure the skin would be purple and marred after this, if you even survived that is. He hums, his free hand tracing his fingers along body, traveling up your arm.

“No time to waste, love. Mother is waiting as we speak.”

Sick. He was an entirely sick bastard, you thought. A sick, yet pitiful man.. His hand around your wrist loosens, only to grab your waist- flipping you over with a thud. Normally, he wouldn’t even bat an eye while completing a sacrament. You were special however.

Something about your sweet face and kind demeanor made him want to toy with you forever.

Sharp pain radiates through your face, his forceful shove causing you to land harshly on your cheek. Your arms attempt to push your figure back up, but his weight falls down on you once again. A pained yelp leaves your lips, and it makes him smile more than it should.

“Shhh… I haven’t even started yet. Be good and stay quiet, won’t you?”

Cold metal presses against your skin, yet this time, it was the sharp searing sensation of a blade. You felt the warm wetness of blood trickle down your back, immediately squirming and crying out.

“Hm. Perhaps I should have slit your throat first.”

He says it with a casualty that makes your blood run cold. Your figure stills at the remark, heart pounding with the purest silent terror you’ve never even felt was possible.

“There we go, so obedient when she tries..”

He practically purrs in satisfaction, watching more blood spill down your back as he continues carving your skin.

20/21

You’ve wondered what it felt like to be stabbed before, perhaps offhandedly during some monotonous lecture or lengthy drive.

It was like a papercut, splitting open your back under a scorching flame. Your knuckles are white, fists clenched against the floor to prevent yourself from squirming and exasperating his wrath.

Fuck, you were going to die like this. By some sick psycho, who was practically grinning the whole time doing it.

Your whole life flashes though your mind, reeling for any solution- to make it all stop

BANG

The door to room 303 opens with a slam. You can’t even see who it is with a face pressed to the ground.

“Hey..! You-“

It was a man, a vaguely familiar voice that was hard to recall in the current moment. You feel the weight rise off your back, looking back to see Walter lunging at the man.

They fall to the floor, flailing wildly and throwing fists. It was terrifyingly loud, half of the furniture in your home was crashed into and broken apart by the brawl. Walter kicks the man into your table as you painfully manage to sit up.

Henry is clutching the table, glancing at you before scrambling to the side to avoid a knife flying directly into his face.

Get up get up get up get up get up

You groan, forcing your aching muscles to lift off the ground.

Your neighbor.. Room 302.

There wasn’t a chance you’d let either of you die, not like this.

Walter has him on the ground again, squeezing his throat with his bare hands. With a few trembling steps you drag a stool over and swing it into the back of his skull.

The long haired man goes limp on top of Henry, your neighbor letting out a pained huff before pushing the large body off.

You offer a hand, he takes it.

There’s a long silence before either of you say anything, your gaze was fixated on the body before you- sprawled out on the cold floor.

Henry steps beside you, glancing at you and following your gaze.

“He’s not dead.” He mumbles.

“What?”

His words register slowly, the familiar soft voice hitting your ears. You suck in a breath, stepping back.

“Walter. He’s an.. Apparition of sorts. This won’t get rid of him, likely.” He adds apologetically.

Your mouth feels dry and you can’t seem to think anymore- or breathe. Slumping against the wall, your fingers grasp your hair- deflated with dread.

The pain seems to crash over you all at once again, every bruise and scar aching and burning. Your back felt like a fiery pit, the clothes you once wore were practically shredded, and your home was totaled.

“Hey.. Don’t cry..”

You blink, barely registering the tears falling down your face. He’s knelt in front of you, hesitantly running a thumb across your cheek to wipe the wetness away.

“I’ll figure out how to deal with him. But we should probably get out of here, yeah?”

His hand is warm, and it helps you think again for a moment.

You take in a shaky breath, nodding slowly.

“Y-Yes, yeah.. We should go..”

Henry helps you back up, careful not to brush against any open wounds. This all feels like some wild awful dream, the ones you get after taking too much cough syrup.

You stand and immediately slump into his figure- catching him by surprise with a small grunt. He stiffens awkwardly, but continues to hold you up nonetheless.

Your ankle got twisted in the chaos, you could see it swelling already. The rest of your body wasn’t in much better shape to move.

“Here, hold onto me.”

He lowers himself for a moment, allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Somehow, he manages to lift you off the ground- your legs crossed over his waist.

Your neighbor was more hardy than he looked, but you were grateful for it.

Resting your chin on the crook of his neck, you close your eyes. Each rise and fall of his footsteps jostles you around, but soon enough it ceases- the feeling of a mattress beneath your aching body rousing you awake.

Henry sets you down as carefully as he could, but it was harder than he thought. He feels the bruises along his ribs, fleetingly wondering if one had fractured. It would have to wait for now.

The pressure against your back aggravates the pain again, despite the comfort of the mattress. You attempt to sit up, resting sideways against the headboard awkwardly to avoid anything touching your back.

“Are you okay? You’re hurt pretty badly.”

The gentle voice of your neighbor rings out, and you open your eyes to see Henry sitting on the edge of the bed- eyeing you with concern.

“I’m still alive. I think. Thanks for bringing us here.”

You mutter, still slumped against the headboard like it was a lifeline. You hear the mattress creaking, and notice Henry inspecting your back- wincing at the sight.

20/21

Though, the 2 in 20 looked more like a 3. Walter didn’t have the best craftsmanship. He decides not to say anything about it, saving the concern from you for later.

“You’re still bleeding.. Turn around for a second.”

You haphazardly obey, seeing him step off the bed and scrummage for some gauze in his jacket.

The sound of fabric unpeeling bounces around the cracked walls of the room, and then you feel him lift your arm slightly to begin bandaging.

“Sorry, this might hurt. I haven’t done this before.”

He mutters apologetically, gingerly wrapping the white cloth around your torso and shoulders. Seemingly, it was quite difficult to bandage one’s backside. The entire roll of the bandage would be used up after this.

It was a miracle that he even had it, scrounging through his supplies before heading to your room was a fortunate choice.

“It’s not too painful…Thank you again, Henry. You saved me. But it got you hurt...”

You don’t see it, but Henry shakes his head- brows furrowing in retort.

“I’d say it was the other way around, really. We can call it even for now, yeah?”

He huffs lightly, speaking softly in a way that makes you feel foolish for having such a worry..

Henry finishes bandaging your back, tying the end of the cloth tightly. He definitely took his time, though he wouldn’t ever admit that. His eyes rested on your shoulderblades, taking in the delicate sight. He was desperate to tell you so many things right now. But it wasn’t the time.

He sucks in a breath. He would hold his tongue for later.

“All done. You should rest now. I’ll make sure nothing comes into the room.”

Your hand reaches back to tenderly touch the bandages, taking in his work. Despite what he said of never doing it before, it was a decent job.

“Okay.. But wake me up if I sleep too long, alright?”

You hear him lightly chuckle at your words, turning back to see his eyes fixated on you.

“Got it.”

[siillkyy]

Need a part three to this idc 🙏

[ma0chi77]

wipp

[yenayaps]

silent lovers

pairing: nerd!sukuna x f!reader

synopsis: from walking to school together as kids to sharing an apartment in college, you and sukuna have always been attached at the hip. it used to be fine, it used to feel normal, having him at arms reach was just second-nature. now, as you two have gotten older, it's become unbearable.

cw: MDNI, college au, roommate au, childhood best friends to lovers, readers a little insecure, smut, light angst, oral (f receiving), p in v, there’s so much pinning and yearning in this one, kuna’s lw so funny he already thinks you’re dating in his head LMAO.

notes: 8.8k words!! i never do milestone events, but i just hit one and wanted to write this as a thank to all of you❤️

song rec: bags - clairo

After over a decade, you still don’t understand how you and Sukuna are friends— best friends, at that. Half the time, he’s kind of a grump. He’ll act like he’s bored with you, like he has somewhere better to be. 

And surprisingly, he did. 

But you can count on Sukuna to drag you there with him– whether it be to an underground fight club for robots, built by the geeks that were controlling them, or a mixer held in some science museum, which is actually pretty fun, by the way. Both are. 

This nerd had a fucking life. 

It wasn’t always like this. He used to be an unsociable loser who’d scoff at the thought of going to parties. Now you’re in some beat-up, dimly lit warehouse, watching him holler along with the rest of the crowd, cheering on the robot he placed a bet on. The expensive cologne he randomly decided to switch to, managing to reach your nose, reminding you how much he’s changed.

Next weekend, it’ll be the robot he’s spent months building that’ll be fighting in the ring, and it’ll most likely win because he’s just as smart as he is handsome. 

A genius, even.

You guess he’s just one of those people who really grew into themselves after leaving their hometowns. Flourish, even. He joined clubs, made friends, even dated a couple of girls. 

As much as you loved watching him come out of his shell and become someone who smiled a little more and hated people a little less, a part of you wishes you never gone to the same university together. The admiration you’ve had for him since you were kids has only grown. Some nights it’s so unbearable that you lie awake trying and failing to control that ache you get in your chest from knowing you would always just be a friend to him. 

He’d never even consider you when thinking about what kind of girl he’d want to be with. 

Meanwhile, you’re finding it harder and harder to control your heart rate whenever you really look at him, realizing just how much of a man he’s become within these last couple of years. The braces are gone, his eyes have gotten sharper, his jawline’s stronger, and is now surprisingly covered in tattoos. He even started working out in his freshman year, and after studying the science of bodybuilding and proper nutrition, half the gym started wondering if he had started taking steroids. The other half wondered if they’d be able to fuck him. 

You understand them. He’s huge. Tearing your eyes off of him is hard.

The glasses definitely make him more approachable, but if there’s one thing about him that’s stayed consistent over the years, it’s that smart ass mouth of his. 

He fucking hated the attention he started receiving after getting hotter, and it comes out when he has to tell someone to fuck off so he can finish his damn workout. He doesn’t go there to fuck around and socialize with a bunch of idiots that don’t know how to isolate their own muscle groups. He just goes to get his reps out of the way so he can go back home and continue studying.

The whole time, he’s completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve grown to like it when he’s not home— that you’ve started to prefer his absence. 

Yes, you two share an apartment together. Roommates. It’s fucking torture— watching him take naps on the couch, the small glimpses of him half naked as he walks out of the bathroom after a shower, late nights spent studying together at the dining room table. 

Even now, as you stand in a loud, crowded warehouse with him, it’s torture. All you want to do is look at him, watch all the faces he makes, and the way his muscles flex as he pumps his fist in the air. But no– you had to force yourself to look forward, watching two mid-sized robots pummel each other to death. 

You feel bad for whoever's going to lose, all that time they spent on building the damn thing wasted in just one night.

Sukuna doesn’t take forever to leave once the fight’s done— he’s more of the Irish goodbye type. Had it been the opposite, you would’ve stood around awkwardly, waiting for him since he was the only one you knew here. You’d like to think you wouldn’t have come at all, but he would’ve found a way to drag you here. 

You two practically did everything together— it’s always been like this. 

The ride home is quiet. It’s one of those nights where neither of you remembers to connect your phones to the speakers and play music, all that can be heard is the low thrum of the car's engine and drops of water tapping against the metal. He notices you looking out the window, watching the raindrops fall as you absentmindedly bite on your nails. You never bite on them unless there’s something wrong. 

“You alright?”

“Hm?” The question snaps you out of it, but still, you lie. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He tries to keep his eyes on the road, but looks back at you a couple of times. That's a bullshit answer. He can read you better than anyone else can.

“You sure? You’re lookin’ a little…” There’s a pause as he does some weird hand gesture toward you. “Off.” 

“Off?” you let out a small laugh, looking at the phone to check the time. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s already one in the morning.” 

He all but hums in response as he drops the subject, feeling tired himself and growing impatient at the thought of getting into his bed to sleep. He’d probably be speeding home right now if you weren’t in the car with him. 

The lack of response doesn’t translate well, furthering the belief that he just doesn’t care that much. 

You weren’t fine. Truth be told, you haven’t been fine for a while now. It happened slowly, until one day over the summer, you looked at him and a realization crashed over you, and quite frankly, scared the shit out of you. It wasn’t just admiration or an innocent crush. 

You love him. 

And there was nothing you could do about it. 

—

The longer you go without talking to anyone about your pathetic, unrequited feelings, the more your frustration grows. At times like this, it’d be nice to have a therapist, get down to the bottom of what attracts you to your best friend in the first place, and snip it right at the stem. 

Maybe even douse it with weed killer. 

In a way, you kind of are. The weed killer part, that is, not finding the root cause of what the hell is wrong with you. After much thought, you decided to start distancing yourself from him, and it started with sleeping in.

It seems small, but putting a stop to your morning routine with him seemed effective. No complaining about school and internships over coffee. No talking about your plans for the day, which usually lead to what time you’d be home and what you two were doing for dinner, since you often shared meals as well. 

For a couple of days, it worked. Sukuna chalked it up to you just being more tired than usual from school. While you two shared enough in common, you were nothing like him academically. 

The combination of a short attention span and lack of interest in most subjects always made school harder than it should have been for you. He used to tease you for being dumb, up until the 8th grade when shit got real and your school counselor told you that you’d have to repeat the year if you didn’t get your grades up. 

Sukuna was not going into high school without you, so the obvious solution to that was to do your homework himself. He didn’t have the patience to actually sit down and teach you. He still doesn’t, and still does your homework from time to time when he hears you sniffling over it in your room— yanking papers out of your hands, grumbling about how useless you are and how you need to grow the hell up, as if you were the one forcing him to do it. 

You have no idea how you even got accepted into the same university as him. Sukuna claims not to know either, despite already knowing you’ve always had more to offer than just stats. He’s sure they figured that too when looking through your application— the one you refused to let him help you with. 

He let you have your time to mope around, but it’s Friday, and so he lays three stern knocks on your door. 

You’re still trying to avoid him, so naturally, your heart drops to your fucking ass. 

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, only for your courage to fall short when you let out a measly, “yeah?” 

“Can I come in?” he murmurs, sounding inconvenienced by the fact that he had to ask in the first place. Usually, you just tell him to. 

There’s another pause as you try to think of an excuse as to why you haven’t spoken to him much this week. The excuse never comes to mind, though, as the annoyed sigh he let out cut off your train of thought. 

“…Yeah.” 

The doorknob twists before you even finish the word, and he walks through the door with a scowl on his face, eyes tracing over your body with judgment as you stay in bed under the sheets. 

“I was gonna go to the book fair later tonight if you wanted to go.”

“I think I’m gonna pass on that.” It pained you to say, you’ve actually been looking for it ever since you started seeing the flyers all around campus. “I kind of wanna stay in this weekend.” 

“Alright,” he scratches the back of his head, trying to accept that answer. 

He doesn’t. 

“Wanna watch a movie then?” he asks, pushing up his glasses. “There’s a couple of bags of popcorn left from last time.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Turning him down is a struggle on its own— his stubbornness doesn’t help one bit. “I don’t know, I uhm— I’ve been feeling kinda sick… my stomach’s been bugging me all day.” 

“Alright,” he shrugs, hand wrapping around the doorknob. “Hope you feel better then I guess.” 

The words don’t sound very sincere coming from him, but you’d take that over him continuing to prod. He’s annoyed, doesn’t even bother to look at you anymore as he walks out of your room, missing the half smile you gave. 

Don’t feel bad. 

It’s not like he’s putting himself out there by going alone tonight. Sukuna has to know at least a couple of people who’ll be there— he’d never go somewhere that made him feel uncomfortable. And even if he were to put himself out there, it wouldn’t be as hard as it would be for anyone else. Anxiety isn’t in his vocabulary— the last thing he’d ever care about is how people perceive him. 

Sukuna leaves an hour later. You hear his heavy footsteps walk down the narrow hallway until he’s out the door, and once again you remind yourself that there was nothing to feel bad about it. 

30 minutes later, you hear the front door open, hardly getting a chance to wonder why he’s back so soon, since he walks straight to your door and knocks. 

At least you think it’s him.

“…Kuna?” 

“Who the fuck else would it be, dumbass?” he asks rudely. 

The only reason his words don’t offend you is knowing that you, a young woman, can never be too safe in this day and age. You don’t respond to him with that though, he’ll probably say something even ruder. 

“Come in,” you murmur rather grudgingly.

The doorknob turns, followed by the light shake of a plastic bag as he just barely lifts it to show you. 

“What’s that?” 

“Soup,” he says, setting the bag down on your nightstand and opening it to reveal the said soup along with a bottle of tea. “You never eat when you’re sick— probably why your stomach hurts.” 

“Yes I do.” You pout as you sit up in bed, watching him open the lid and drop a spoon in the tub.

“Don’t argue with me right now,” he responds in a bored tone, handing the soup over. 

The guilt builds up once again after muttering a quick “thanks” to him, stirring the liquid for a moment before giving it a try. He doesn’t say much— just watches you with an expression that’s as unreadable as it always is. 

You try to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you end up going?” 

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it anymore.” 

The truth was, it wouldn’t have been as fun without you. He also figured you’d be suffering in bed for the rest of the night, wondering why your stomach hurt so much, not realizing that half of it was just hunger, so he turned around and went straight to the restaurant you usually order takeout from. 

He keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds, then exhales. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you murmur back. “Thanks for the soup.” 

“Yeah,” he hums. “You better finish it.” 

Even through the discomfort you feel in your chest from lying, you manage to smile. “I know.”

You walk out to the living room once you’re done eating, holding the same plastic bag Sukuna had in hand a while ago. It’s filled with an empty take-out container and an empty bottle, along with a couple of other pieces of trash that were slowly cluttering the desk in your room. 

You catch sight of the back of his head, hair all messy from the beanie he put on when leaving in case it started to snow. He could’ve easily driven to campus or the restaurant, but he just doesn’t see the point— both were just a ten to fifteen minute walk away. Even on days when it’s extra cold, he’ll still walk, arguing that he’ll warm up anyway from the walk itself. Something about the human body being more than capable of adapting to extreme weather by doing shit like shivering to produce heat and what not. It was great to know, but you’d prefer not to shiver in the first place.

Sukuna turns his head around before you get the chance to greet him. He had a takeout container full of stir-fry in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, taking his time to finish chewing his food before saying anything. “Feelin’ any better?”

“Mhm,” you nod, turning the corner into the kitchen to quickly drop the bag into the trash. “Thanks again. The soup was good.”

“Yeah,” Sukuna murmurs back— he’s never been the type to say ‘you’re welcome’ to others. He turns back around to focus on the tv screen, exhaling as he leans back further into the couch to get comfortable. 

“What’re you watching?” you ask. 

“Some crime documentary,” he says, clearly unimpressed by it. “Couldn’t find anything else to watch.” 

“Maybe I can find something,” you offer, walking around the couch to sit beside him. Well, not exactly. With all the space he takes up from his current man spread, you make a spot for yourself at the very end of the beat up, albeit comfy, sofa. 

He hands you the remote with zero protest, and you spend a good 10 minutes trying to find something to watch, only to forget about your task as you find yourself more focused on talking to the man. It starts with you making a comment about one of the movie's titles, then Sukuna responding with something it reminds him of, and eventually snowballs into talking about nothing in particular for the next two hours. 

Neither of you remembers falling asleep, but he finds himself waking up at first at around 1:00 am. There’s a message on the t.v screen asking if he’s still watching, and you’re leaning against him, snoring, cheek squished against his shoulder. 

He smiles a little— it’s nothing new to him. If anything, he’s surprised you didn’t get any drool on him. You did last time. 

And just like last time, he scoops you up into his arms and takes you back to your room. He tries to be gentle when he sets you down on your bed, just so you wouldn’t wake up and ask him what the hell he was doing, but you still stir the moment you’re out of his arms. 

“Kuna.”

Sukuna holds his breath for a moment, waiting for you to say something else. He quickly realizes you were just talking in your sleep, though, which brings him some relief. 

He’s always avoided getting too touchy after you two reached a certain age. Not because he didn’t want to touch you, but out of basic respect. He didn’t need you thinking he was trying to get something out of it. It’s awkward enough when people mistake you for a couple— he’d rather not add to that discomfort, which is why he got the fuck out of your room while he still had a chance. 

—

Sukuna met you when he transferred schools in the 4th grade. 

The teacher sat him right next to you. You two didn’t really talk at first. His first impression of you was that you were shy and spent half the day looking out the window. He didn’t get why you did it when the teacher was obviously peeved by it and constantly singled you out by asking you to repeat what she had just said. It went on throughout the year— after about a month, he found himself wishing you would just pay attention already. He hated feeling sorry for others. 

His second impression of you was that you weren’t as oblivious as he thought you were, and spoke up when you noticed a kid in another class trying to pick on him when they weren’t in the teacher's view. The bully didn’t listen to you, because why would he? He towered over the two of you. 

So he continued to bug Sukuna, who, believe it or not, was the shortest boy in your grade at the time. And for some reason, he took it. That is until the boy tried to yank his glasses off his face, which ended in Sukuna knocking his front tooth out, an action that could’ve gotten him expelled had you not stepped in and lied, claiming that he was chasing after Sukuna and slipped. Nobody else was there to see— there weren’t any cameras around that time. 

Just your words against the boys. 

It wasn’t until the following summer that you two had become friends. 

Sukuna remembers that day— 7:00 pm, the temperature was finally starting to drop. He had about one more hour before the sun went down, so he decided to make the most of what was left of the day by riding his bike around the neighborhood. 

He soon found out that you lived just one street away from him when he saw you sitting under a tree on your front lawn, sketching in a notebook. 

And of course, you didn’t fucking notice him, even as the brakes on his bike screeched when it came to a halt. 

“Hey.” 

He's always had a stern voice— you almost thought you did something wrong as you looked up to see who barked at you. 

“Hey,” you responded back, sounding slightly confused. 

His brows furrowed as he looked over your house. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Do you live nearby?” 

“Yeah.” He pointed right behind him. “On the next street over.” 

“That’s … cool.” You had no idea how to even respond to that. He was glaring at you, and you were so sure that he was just waiting to say something rude. 

He never did. 

“Do you have a bike?” he asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Wanna ride around together?” 

Looking back, he had no idea how he was able to be so straightforward with you. He was a loner through and through, it took a lot for him to even want to be friends with someone. It probably made him more comfortable knowing you were a decent enough person to stick up for him the way you did. 

Before you were able to say yes or no, you heard your mother calling from inside the house, letting you know dinner was ready. 

“Coming!” You got up, putting your notebook under your arm as you started to pick up your colored pencils. For a moment, he thought you forgot that he was there, but then you looked back up. “I’m not allowed to go outside anymore after dinner. Do you wanna ride bikes tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” A bit of excitement threatened to peak through his voice. “What time?” 

“Uhhh… could you come at 5?” 

“Yeah.” He wasn’t actually sure if he could, but he was determined to make a friend and decided he’d make it happen. 

“Okay, cool!” You turned on your heel, waving at him as you started to walk back inside. “See you tomorrow!” 

After riding around the neighborhood for a couple of hours, he ended up eating dinner with your family that next night, after riding back home and asking his dad, of course. 

There was no separating you from each other after that. 

His favorite thing about you was that you were always open to learning about his interests, rather than shutting him down for not knowing or liking what he liked. He remembers coming over one day with a binder full of Pokémon cards and being able to show you each one despite you not knowing anything about Pokémon prior to that. 

That’s how your friendship went— you’d willingly follow him down whatever rabbit hole he was in, and he did the same for you. He’s aware of how close of a bond he has with you. You two can talk for hours, about anything and everything. You don’t run out of things to talk about, nor do you get tired. 

At least that’s what he thought.

There’s been a shift, and for the life of him, he cannot figure out what’s caused it. The last time you were this quiet was after you went through (another) failed talking stage, but that only lasted a week. It’s been 3 weeks of you turning down his invitations and giving him short answers, slowly retreating back into your bubble that apparently doesn’t have any room for him anymore.

But even then, it’s not something that starts to weigh heavily in his mind until today, when he saw you studying in the library alone. You always let him know whenever you were going there in case he wanted to come along, because that was another thing you two did together— study. From the library, to random coffee shops, to the dining room table where you two could easily stay up until 2:00 AM writing papers and rereading notes for the hundredth time. 

Sukuna would never outwardly admit it, but you were his entire life. He liked it that way.

He thought about going up to you, but decided against it. It was the first time he thought he’d be a bother and decided that he’d rather not feel like one with you— not ever.

Not to sound dramatic, but it was paralyzing in a way. Knowing he should probably give you some space and trying to do so, when literally half of his thoughts are about you. It could be something as simple as finding a new song that he liked, and he’d start to wonder if you’d like it too. So no, realizing that you’ve been distancing yourself from him doesn’t feel very good. 

And he hopes he never has to feel like this again. 

—

Between you and Sukuna, you were honestly more of a loner. While he’s made a handful of friends in the three years of being in college, you’ve only really made one, which was Yuki. Maybe two, if you count Shoko, but she’s always been so withdrawn from everything that you considered her more of an acquaintance.

But even then, Yuki had her own group of friends. You were okay with that and didn’t mind being the friend you catch up with once a month. 

Today is that once a month catch up. Instead of going out somewhere though, you both opted to just make dinner at her place. It gives a sense of coziness that’s needed when it snows for a week straight. 

You thought you could come here to relax, but you find yourself nearly choking on spaghetti when she asks what’s wrong with you and Sukuna. 

You try to act normal about it, but you weren’t fooling anyone, especially with your initial reaction. Stumbling over your words, eyes all wide as if you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar. 

“I mean, look at you,” Yuki starts to go in on you. “You haven’t mentioned his name once, and you look depressed as fuck.” 

You frown. “That doesn’t mean it’s because of him, though.”

“Then what is it?” she asks, twirling some spaghetti around with her fork. 

No answer. 

She sighs at how bad you are at trying to hide it. “C’mon, you can tell me. Who knows, I might even be able to give you some advice.” 

You doubt it, but you tell her anyway— about how you’ve been trying to avoid him, thinking about how the distance will make you get over something that was never even a was. 

At first, she laughs at how surprised you look when she says she already knew you were into him. To her, it was pretty obvious with the way you were around him. Granted, she’s only really seen it once, but seeing the way your eyes softened as you looked at him for a little longer than a friend would was all she needed to see.

Sukuna on the other hand? She had no idea. She’s had a couple of classes with him in the past, and he’s always been hard to read. 

Maybe? Is what she told you when you asked if she thought he liked you back, which may look a little harsh to some people, but you asked her for the truth, and the truth was he was hard to read.

“He clearly likes having you around, though, if he’s been able to live with you for almost 3 years with no complaints,” she adds. 

“Well, yeah… we’re friends, and that’s the problem. He’d never see me as more than that.”

“You don’t know that,” she scolds you for being so pessimistic. “Why don’t you just ask him?” 

You’d rather fucking die. “And then what? Make things awkward if he says no and ruin a 10-year friendship? At this point, I don’t even care if he feels the same or not, I just wanna get over it so I can go back to being normal with him.” 

A little self-sabotage-y, but fair enough, Yuki thinks. “Well… if getting over him is the goal here, why don’t you come to a party with me next Friday? I’m sure meeting new people will help out with that.”

“I dunno.” The mumbled words are followed by a sigh. “Parties aren’t really my thing, but I’ll think about it and let you know.”

They really weren’t. You didn’t mind going to the ones Sukuna took you to since everyone, for the most part, knew how to act right and didn’t drink that much, but a frat party? Just thinking about it gives you a headache. 

But who knows, maybe you needed to get knocked off your axis to forget about it. 

—

Sukuna took an astronomy class in his freshman year. He didn’t talk that much, but was still able to build a bond with his professor since he was one of the very few students who actually showed up during office hours. 

Which is why he came home today with not one, but two telescopes sticking out of his backpack. He couldn’t really afford one right now and figured it’d be worth a try asking if his former professor had any he could borrow. 

And since the professor was more than happy to lend him some, Sukuna figured he might as well grab a second one since you watched the last meteor shower with him and pouted whenever he took it back from you. 

The last few times he hoped you’d be home, you weren’t, so hearing some rummaging come from your room wiped away some of the doubt he felt during his walk back from campus. His heart may have even skipped a beat as he gently set his backpack down on the couch. It’s felt like forever since he actually got to sit down and talk to you. 

Yet the moment you opened your door after hearing a knock, something in his chest tightens. You’ve got a full face of make-up on, tits pushed up in the tightest top he’s ever seen you wear, paired with quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, period.

“Hey.” You try to smile at him, but he still notices the flicker of guilt on your face as you try to pull your skirt down. “What’s up?” 

“Nothin’, I was just wondering if you were free tonight.” There’s a bit of disappointment in the small laugh he huffs out. “There’s gonna be a meteor shower later.” 

He doesn’t even know why he mentioned it when it’s already clear you’re going to be busy. 

“Fuck— I’m sorry.” You knew how much he liked going to that hill not too far from campus to watch them. “I already made plans with Yuki.”

“It’s alright. I asked at the last minute anyway.” He tries to act like he’s happy for you. “You two going to a party or something?”

“Yeah, some frat party,” you try to sound as uninterested as possible. He’s expressed his hatred for frat parties many times in the past. 

He thought you hated them too, but evidently not enough, given how you’re all dressed up to go to one. 

“Nice,” he responds a little too flatly, lips thinning into a fake smile as he nods and mentally checks out. “I’ll uh– let you go back to getting ready then, I guess.” 

“Yeah.”

You wanted to say more, but the words just got caught in your throat as you watched him turn away from you and walk to his room. 

He never came out in the last hour you were home. You considerate saying bye, but what was the point when you hadn’t said that in weeks? 

As you’re walking out the door, something from the corner of your eye catches your attention. His backpack. You had to do a double-take at first, but your eyes eventually landed on two telescopes, and the mere thought of hurting Sukuna tonight made the guilt you already felt spread through every inch of your body. 

. . .

Coming to the party with Yuki was a mistake. 

You hated crowds, especially the one here. Even with a couple of drinks in you, having to be around people plastered out of their minds annoyed you. Just drunk and sweaty and stumbling into everything. 

You found yourself having to step outside, and even though you didn’t get to escape people completely, at least you had some fresh air. You found a wall to lean against and checked your phone— no notifications. You shouldn’t have even expected to have any. Then you do something pretty annoying, go on instagram to see if Sukuna posted anything on his story. He doesn’t have that many people on there, but he’ll still post from time to time. You were hoping to see something, maybe something about the meteor shower.

Nope.

Fuck. What if he didn’t end up going? The thought makes you feel like the worst friend ever. You probably are the worst friend ever at this point. You practically ditched him to go to a frat party. 

Through the window, you see Yuki making out with some guy, and figure it's time to go since it’s with the one she was planning on spending the night with. You really aren’t in the mood to spark up a conversation with somebody else tonight, either. 

The Uber you called was already on its way when you went to say goodbye to Yuki, and got home 15 minutes later with your tail tucked in between your legs. You had no idea what you were going to say to him. You didn’t want him to think he was your backup plan either. 

The silence of the apartment and seeing one telescope left behind felt worse. 

—

Of course he went alone. 

Sure, he was admittedly bummed, maybe even a little irritated that you chose a fucking frat party, of all things, over him, but that didn’t stop him from getting out of the house for the night. He would’ve borrowed the telescopes for nothing if he stayed. 

He was alone, but the night was nice. Clear skies, thick blankets of snow silencing the air around him and muffling the hoots of an owl that was somewhere in the trees. If only there was a little more snow to shut that thing up, too— it was ruining everything for him. Just as he’s about to turn around and yell at it, in hopes that telling it to shut the fuck up himself might work, the sound gets clearer. 

It sounds like someone's calling his name, which spooks him a bit despite not believing in the paranormal. 

“Kuna?!” 

Oh, great. It was something worse than a ghost, you. 

And you forgot to bring your survival instincts, too. You have to walk through a sketchy path to reach the hill, and not only did you decide to go alone, but you are yelling his name, proving to anybody nearby that you are alone and most likely lost. 

He pinches his nosebridge and lets out a disappointed sigh before just barely yelling back. “I’m over here.”

He hears a rushed ‘okay’ right after and pictures you fast-walking through the snow. For some reason, he thought he’d see you in the same outfit he last saw you in and was glad to see you didn’t show up half naked. You’re wearing the same thing as him right now— boots, snow pants, goose down coat. 

You’re a little shy as you walk up and sit next to him. 

He’s not. “What happened to your little party?” 

“Didn’t like it,” you murmured. 

He laughs under his breath, having already known you wouldn’t. “Good thing you had a backup plan.” 

“You can’t be the backup plan if I never even knew there was going to be a meteor shower when I made plans,” you huff out. 

“Right,” he grumbles, noticing something protruding under your coat. He nods at it. “The hell are you hiding under there?”

“Oh.” You look down and reach under your coat to pull the object out. “The other telescope.” 

“Seriously? You couldn’t even stuff it in a backpack or something?” he complains, snatching it from you to take a look at it. “You could’ve dropped it and I would’ve been fucked.” 

“Good thing I didn’t,” you proudly say, and he rolls his eyes, handing it right back to you. 

But not before looking at you dead in the eye and saying, “Don’t break it,” in an authoritative tone that would've scared the living hell out of most people. 

You, on the other hand, are very used to his grumpy side at this point and don’t think much of it as you take it back from him. You do steal a glance at him, though, unable to tell if he has any leftover resentment from earlier. He can try to act as unbothered as he wants, but his original response was telling. The way the interest in his eyes faded, just waiting to end the conversation once he found out where you were going. 

“I’m sorry about tonight.” 

He lets out a laugh. “For what?” 

“I don’t know…” you mumble, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them. “Still going even when I knew I probably wasn’t going to like it.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with me, remember? Those plans were already made,” he murmurs back, adjusting his glasses before looking up at the sky. You’re not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. 

“I know. I still feel bad, though.” 

Sukuna hums at first, not sure how to even take that. He doesn’t like it when people feel sorry for him. Hates it when people treat him like he’s fragile, like what you’re doing right now. Yet, he still can’t find it in himself to respond in the snarky, passive-aggressive way he usually does to people who do that. 

“Don’t be. I’m fine.” 

“Alright,” you say with a sigh, not pushing it any further. 

And while the night was nice, you couldn’t help but think of how it barely fixed what damage had already been done by your own doing. Sukuna was still kind to you and spoke softly for the most part, but you finally felt the distance you’ve been silently asking for. It was as if he stopped caring about including you, only keeping the thoughts he’d usually share to himself as he looked up at the sky and not bothering to direct where you should look. 

For a moment, you wanted to ask him what was wrong, only to quickly stop yourself. You knew what was wrong, and knew you had no right ask when the problem was you. 

—

Avoiding Sukuna wasn’t healthy in any way, shape, or form. It was childish. You felt like nothing but a coward, but it was the only way you knew how to protect yourself at this point— convincing yourself that maybe the feelings you had for him would disappear if you stayed as far away from him as possible. 

They haven’t, they’re just like any other problem in life— they don’t go away just because you ignore them, acting as if they weren’t there. They get worse, they fester, and in your case, you probably think about him now more than ever. How he doesn’t deserve to be dodged like this, how you’re ruining a perfectly good friendship just because you couldn’t keep your feelings in check. 

You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with him, but you’re afraid that more words will slip out. Like how much you miss him, everything about him. From the late nights talking about anything and everything, all the way down to the annoyed look on his face whenever you say something he finds stupid. That yeah, he can be really rude at times, but even in those moments, there’s still nobody else that you feel more comfortable with. There’s nothing wrong with him. He means everything to you.

You wish you never followed him here. You wish you never signed that lease. You are going to lose him because of it. 

That day was bound to happen— you just didn’t think it’d happen so soon. 

Avoiding him didn’t work. You see him now, talking to some girl in front of the library. He doesn’t seem to be looking to get out of the conversation anytime soon with how relaxed he looks. Comfortable. 

You wish you never followed him here. 

Aside from your degree, it got you absolutely nowhere. You could’ve been smiling just as much as the girl in front of him with somebody else had you not spent the last three years pining over him. 

Hell— the last ten years.

. . .

Two weeks later, Sukuna bursts through your shared apartment and bangs on your door so hard that your heart starts to race. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt scared to face him until now. 

“I know you’re home, your keys are still on the coffee table,” he roughly says, continuing to pound on the door. “Open the fucking door.” 

You try to look him in the eyes when you finally do, but you couldn’t handle the weight you felt under his gaze. 

He tries to catch his breath as he walks into your room— it’s as if he ran home just so he could talk to you. With one last deep breath, he speaks. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What do you mean—“ 

“This!” He holds his phone up, hands slightly trembling, showing you the text his father sent him regarding your lease, and how you told him you didn’t want to renew it for the next year. “You couldn’t have told me yourself, so you reached out to my dad? You look like you’re trying to escape me or something! What did I even do to you?!” 

“Nothing! I just—“ 

“Like hell it isn’t— you’ve been avoiding me for fucking weeks, and now you don’t even want to live with me anymore. What the fuck did I do to deserve all of that?!” 

Your eyes began to tear up the more he yelled, growing more and more overwhelmed to the point where you just blurted it out. “I can’t stay here anymore— I need to move on with my life.” 

“What do you mean, move on?” His face twists from confusion. “What is there to even move on from, huh?” 

“From you!” 

He defensively throws his arms out, still completely and utterly confused. “You act like we’re in a fucking relationship!”

“I know— that’s the problem!” you finally snap, a small hiccup leaving your body as you try not to cry in front of him. 

You didn't have to explain any further from there. 

It was clear he understood what you meant by that with his reaction. Going radio silent as he sat down on your bed, resting his head in his hands for a moment while he tried to process your pathetic confession. 

“I-“ he cuts himself off and sighs, looking up to see you just awkwardly standing there, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

He wants nothing more than to hold you right now and wipe the tears away, but has no idea how to tell you that— guess you’re both stupid in that sense. 

“Do you want to be in one?” 

You stop sniffling and look at him like he’s fucking stupid. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I don’t know,” he argues back. “You’re the one crying about not being in one.”

“So you’re going to ask me to be in a relationship with you just to appease me?” Your eyes widen in disbelief. 

“I’m not doing it to appease you— 

You cut him off with a bitter laugh, “Yeah? What is it then?”

“I’m doing it because I love you and I want you to fucking stay.” 

The room grows dead silent, save for the sharp breath you take as you try to come up with a response. 

“What?”

“You seriously want me to repeat that again?” he scoffs, and then spells it out for you quite aggressively. “I love you. You are the most important person in my life, and I want you to stay. Don’t. Leave. Me— is that enough for you, or would you like me to write it down on a piece of paper so you can read along while I say it again?”

You avert your eyes as if you were a child being scolded, picking at your cuticles as you mumble, “I got it.”

A laugh escapes him because you are un-fucking-believable. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” you respond quietly. 

The mattress creaks as he gets up from the bed. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“Mhm.” 

“Good.”

Your cheeks begin to heat up as he starts walking closer, and by the time he’s standing in front of you, you feel like you can hardly breathe. There’s no telling what’s on his mind when you meet his gaze. Though it’s not like you had much time to think. 

Your brain short-circuits when he gently cups your jaw. 

Then shuts down completely when you feel the warmth of his soft lips pressed against yours. 

There’s a satisfied look on his face when he pulls back— it’s not often he leaves you speechless like this. You always have more to say. Now? Nothing. He’s starting to wonder if you’re even breathing. 

“Was that okay?” he asks, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you nearly whisper.

He hums as he leans forward again, kissing you with more certainty than the last. There’s a light smack, then he deepens it, and you’re left holding his arms as you go along with it, following him like you always do. 

It happens fast. 

One minute he’s bending down, grabbing the backs of your knees to pick you up. The next, your back is hitting the sheets, and you’re reminded of just how big he’s become when he’s on above you, caging you in with his arms. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks again. 

“Mhm,” you’re the one cupping his face this time, watching his eyes soften. “I want you.”

“I want you too.” 

He gives you one last kiss, then leaves a trail of them down your neck and chest. Suddenly, your shirt’s off, and his hands are sliding down from your waist to your hips— fingers hooking around the waistband of your shorts, making your stomach flutter as he slowly pulls the shorts and your panties down in one go. 

You don’t even realize how wet you are until you’re completely exposed to the air, having Sukuna spread your legs wide open as he gets in between them. 

The grip he has on the back of your thighs tightens. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” 

Now, neither of you are virgins, and the number of people you’ve slept with can be counted on one hand. You knew it wouldn’t be awkward or anything with the moderate amount of experience you had, but you did not expect him to bury his face into your pussy and start eating you out like some starved whore. 

He has you gasping and squeezing your legs together, and he just keeps going— groaning as he laps away at your pussy, flattening his tongue against your hole and licking a fat stripe up to your clit before sucking on it. 

It’s so good that you have no idea whether you want more or if you want to push his head away, and you’re not even sure if pushing him away is even possible with the iron grip he has on your waist. Even when you squeeze your thighs together, he just rubs his face further into your folds, letting his nose work against your clit while he starts to fuck you with his tongue. 

It drives you insane. You’re grabbing at his hair, letting out the neediest moans that have ever come out of you in life. None of the guys you’ve had sex with has ever made you cum. 

Sukuna’s making you cum on his tongue— groaning while licking and lapping at the mess you’ve made while you’re disheveled and gasping for air. 

There’s slick dripping down from his chin, glasses somehow perfectly on as he pops his head up, checking to see if you’re okay. “Wanna keep going?” 

“Fuck—“ you’re still trying to catch your breath as you begin to nod, “Yeah, please, need you inside me.” 

He’s already taking off his shirt, revealing the toned body he’s spent quite an effort working on. Then his jeans… and boxers. 

Your eyes grow wide at the sight. 

His dick’s fucking perfect. Long and thick. Couple of veins running up his length. A big red tip perfect for hitting all the right spots— just thinking about it makes you drool.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” he asks in amusement. 

“I am,” you say, looking up at him before your eyes start trailing down again. “Can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding under your pants this entire time.” 

“You’re right— I probably should’ve told you about it a while ago,” he says sarcastically, kneeling back on the bed until he’s above you again, hooking his hands under your knees and dragging you closer. 

You squirm a bit as he rubs and taps the head of his cock against your clit. “Will you go slow at first?” 

His face softens as he looks at you. 

“Yeah, of course.” He was already planning on it, but something about being asked really does something to him. Triggering some need to be extra gentle with you. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” 

You nod, and he lines himself up with your entrance, tip already coated in slick. He pushes in and bites back a groan as he watches you stretch around him, taking him inch by inch. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together when he looks up, and a low laugh escapes him before caging you in and grabbing your jaw with a gentle hand. 

His lips graze over yours as he pushes in some more. “Breathe for me— there we go— almost there, you got this.” The praise makes you squeeze around him  more, and he finds himself struggling to stay controlled. You’re so tight and look so pretty struggling to take him, letting him swallow up your little moans as he starts to slowly rock his hips back and forth. 

With a low grunt, he finally bottoms out and gives you a moment to adjust. “How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you murmur. “Keep going.” 

There’s a sly smile on his face. “You sure?”

“Don’t make me beg for it,” you whine back. 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he lets out an amused sigh, then starts moving again. 

He’s less careful as he starts thrusting into you, pulling his hips back a little more each time, making you feel every inch he’s giving you with the leisurely pace he’s going at. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding on to his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow.

"Kuna—"

"I know," he hums against your temple, hips rolling into you as if he had all the time in the world. "Shoulda done this sooner— feels so fuckin’ good."

“Yeahh– fuuck– m’sorry,” you moan a little too softly in the shell of his ear, so blissfully unaware of just how crazy it drove him in that moment.

“I’m sorry too.”

He wasn’t apologizing about the past, by the way. He was apologizing for the way he drove his cock into you afterwards, just to hear that sweet little sound again and again and again, until your moans start filling the room. 

Getting you to go dumb on his cock wasn’t very difficult at all. Sukuna knew how to fuck— rolling his hips into you just right, his fat tip bullying into your sweet spot until you’re clawing at his back, which does nothing but turn him on even more.

He grabs one of your legs and hoists it up to his shoulder, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper at a new angle. His grip on your legs tightens as he snaps his hips against you harder, faster, until a wet squelch between you can be heard. 

“Oh my god, right there,” you whine out as you start to feel the pressure in your lower belly start to build. “I’m gonna— fuck!”

“Shit– me too,” he groans out, letting go of your leg to cage you in with both arms. He starts pounding into you desperately, letting out low, drawn out groans in the shell of your ear. After one particularly rough thrust, you're crying and cumming all over his cock, unable to hear whatever he’s rambling about in your ear. You can feel his cock absolutely throbbing against your walls though as he starts chasing his own relief, groaning and cursing to himself as he starts pumping you full of his cum. 

It takes you both a moment to process what the hell just happened. There’s nothing but short breaths as your chests rise and fall. Your stomach threatens to drop when he rolls over and falls on his back beside you, afraid of whatever he has to say next. But then he pulls you in, moving you to rest your head on his shoulder, grabbing the back of your knee to pull your leg over him. 

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, drawing little circles over your waist with his thumb. “Does this mean you’ll finally stop avoiding me?”

“Yeah,” you let out a small but tired laugh— you’ll probably be all over him after this. 

“Good,” he grumbles, shifting as he settles into the bed some more. “Because you’re really never getting rid of me after this, bestie.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[realcube]

hi! i wanted to share a lil jjk project i'm working on. it's an smau except i've coded a dating app-like web interface !

and also a ios-style "messenger" that allows you read back all the messages between you and your match. then at the bottom of the text messages there will be a link to a tumblr post with the rest on the fic for that particular character.

my plan is to make a "route" for different jjk characters, where you match with them, read the text messages then get to read the fic that will describe what happens after the text messages. i imagine each fic will be my usual length, around 3k - 7k words longs.

i wanna give a route to every character in a jjk college verse, so that includes: fratjo, fratkuna, nerdjo, professor nanami, plug choso, janitor toji & plug geto. but obviously that is a massive undertaking so rn i'm just going to focus on fratjo & professor nanami.

so far, i've coded all the interfaces and wrote the texts for fratjo. if you check out the site and you find any bugs, pls let me know so i can fix them lol.

[siillkyy]

This is so cute bro

[iheartyuyu]

“hey.”

the voice was masculine, sharp, and vaguely familiar— just enough to make you freeze. your pen, previously scribbling smoothly on your paper, suddenly halted in it’s place, slowly bleeding down on the white sheet as your eyes slowly flickered up to the blank-faced pink-haired frat boy casually slumping down beside you.

what the fuck?

you would have considered pretending you didn’t hear his voice if his sharp red eyes weren’t already meeting yours, eyebrows raised just the slightest, pretty pupils just barely shifting as they slowly eyed you up and down, before his lips were tugged into a small frown.

oh, right. words.

“oh.” you mumbled, face finally tilting up enough to meet his eyes properly, almost grimacing at how quiet your own voice sounded. “…hi?”

he blinked once, twice, before he nodded towards your notebook. “did you take notes last lecture?”

you nodded, almost slowly, utterly confused on why a guy known for being untouchable to girls and ‘throwing the best punches’ was currently sitting on the bench beside you, why he was even speaking to you— and why his voice was low, almost like he was afraid to be loud. “yes?”

“can i take a picture of them? i missed last lecture.” he grunted casually, propping his elbow on the table. you ignored how his muscles flexed at the move, and how you had the unnatural thought to fucking bite them.

when his words registered, you paused. you could have sworn you saw a flash of pink hair last lecture.

whatever, why would he lie, right?

“oh.” you mumbled quietly. “um, they’re in my other notebook. i can get it tomorrow—“

you could have sworn you saw his eyes fucking sparkle, his lips twitching into a smirk he immediately forced into a frown, pulling out his phone. he slid it open, and you decided not to question why his contact’s page was already open. “no need. you can just send them to me.”

you paused, before slowly nodding, which seemed to make his badly hidden smirk widen just the slightest. he held his phone out, and you accepted it, quietly writing down your phone number before awkwardly holding it out.

he reached over, warm fingers brushing against yours, eyes half-lidded and smirk softening. you cleared your throat quietly, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, ignoring the feeling of your cheeks heating up just the slightest. “uh, ‘m—“

“i know.” he cut you off, standing up. at your confused look, he scoffed. “we have been in the same classes for four years.”

“oh.” you mumbled. “you… noticed?”

his smirk sharpened, leaning down, his hand leaning on the table again as he leaned closer, stupidly attractive muscles on view. he was just a few inches away, pretty eyes set on yours almost intensely, trailing down your face. “i would be stupid not to, sweetheart.”

before you could even respond, he was pushing himself up and walking away, leaving you to stare at his back in pure confusion.

did he just… flirt?

you shook your head, probably seeming stupid to the small crowd of people gaping at you due to that interaction, and returned your gaze back to your notebook.

there was no way the sukuna was fucking flirting— and definitely not with you.

truly, you almost forgot about the interaction by the end of the day, hell bent on insisting it meant nothing, and that he just genuinely wanted the notes. you couldn’t be delusional— not about this.

after all, sukuna could literally choose anyone and get them— why would he flirt with you? hell, everyone knew famous models have been in his dms before— he really must have wanted these notes.

you nodded to yourself at the thought that night, fingers aimlessly scrolling through social media, sleepy eyes barely open until a notification made you freeze.

rsukuna requested to follow you.

you stared at the notification for a second, two, then breathed out. that still meant nothing, right? maybe he just lost your number.

quietly, fingers shaking just the slightest, you clicked on the account.

thousands of followers, gym photos (fuck your life, an eight pack? and why were his biceps bigger than your head?), pictures with his frat bros, but your attention was quickly falling on a much more important item.

followings: 0.

what the actual fuck?

the small ‘rsukuna has requested to follow you’ stared at you at the top, unmoving. he hadn’t even removed it yet, even with a few minutes having passed, which meant you couldn’t shrug it off as a mistake.

there was no way your university crush on four years was suddenly doing this. oh my god, did you accidentally manifest him? were the videos of ‘this initial will confess to you’ actually onto something?

you almost scoffed at the thought. no way, right? he was definitely just being polite! he definitely just deleted your number and just—

xxx-xxx-xxxx: yo, pretty. it’s sukuna.

you sucked in a sharp breath, mind stuttering and halting, unable to make up more excuses at the moment. it took a second, two, before you were quietly stumbling off bed, trying to convince yourself he was still being strictly platonic, fingers shaking as you saved his contact, then snapped pictures of the notes, and blankly sent it back to him.

he responded almost immediately.

sukuna ??????: you’re too cute for such a shitty hand writing. you should help me read it tomorrow over a coffee, my treat.

fuck. you were out of excuses.

your flushed face fell against a pillow with a quiet scream.

(a/n: i have not written in four years lol. i know he’s ooc and i do not care.)

[siillkyy]

Need a ho to approach me like this