Maxx

“Wonderful,” your dad muttered under his breath, hunched over stacks of scattered papers and books in a posture that a shrimp would be jealous of, his pen-free hand running through his messy hair. “Just fucking wonderful.”

Of course he was frustrated, he’s been stalling in this nowhere-town for almost a week now, with zero progress. It wouldn’t be a problem, if human lives didn’t depend on how fast you can solve this.

Calling backup was the last thing he wanted to do. It made him feel weak, pathetic, having to rely on somebody better to solve something for him. Still, if it means the creature can get caught before anybody else gets hurt, then perhaps it’s better to put personal pride aside for a moment.

Pushing himself away and up from the table, the chair’s leg screeching as it slid harshly against the wooden flooring, he saunters away and towards the door, fishing his phone out of his pocket before shutting the door and disappearing into the chilly night breeze.

His call was inaudible to you, still sitting at the table with a laptop and various books under your fingertips, your eyes wandering from the screen to the darkness outside. It took a few good minutes for your dad to return, stepping back inside with a sigh as he shut the door.

“I have somebody coming over to help us out,” he groaned as he took heavy steps back to the table, plopping back into his seat opposite of you. “An old friend. If anybody can solve this bullshit, it’s him.”

You just nodded along with his words. Trying to guess who this friend was would’ve lasted an hour or more, considering how many contacts your dad seemed to have. The perks of living on the road and meeting way too many people along the way.

“You should go rest,” your dad grumbles under his breath, his eyes fixing back onto the book in front of him, diligently hunting for any clues or leads.

As much as you wanted to protest and tell him that you want to be a useful part of the investigation, your heavy eyelids said otherwise, the thought of a few hours of sleep too good to pass on the offer. With a sigh, you make your way over to your bed, falling face-first into the soft white sheets. Even with the dingy, yellowish motel lights on, you managed to fall asleep in minutes.

It was only the next morning that you met the newest addition to your hunter duo. 

The warm rays of the sun beamed through the curtain-covered windows — the curtains barely providing any barrier from the sun —, and you could’ve sworn it was noon by how bright it was by the time your eyes started to flutter open. 

Turning in the direction of the motel room’s kitchen, even with your eyesight blurry, you found your dad still hunched over the desk. You weren’t sure whether he went to sleep at all, or just sat there all night. Nonetheless, he’s been keeping himself busy. For a few long moments, you stay huddled under the heavy covers drawn up to your neck, cocooned in the white fabric. Of course after a while a sense of duty overtakes you, and you force yourself out into the bathroom to shower, change clothes, and brush your teeth. 

Just as you step back out into the main area, the silence is broken by a series of knocks, coming from the door. Your dad’s gaze shoots up, but before he could get up, you dismiss him.

“I’ll get it,” you mutter as you make your way over to the door, one of your hands already sliding over to the pistol holstered on your side, undoing the lock with a high-pitched click. 

The door creaks open, you peeking through it, finding a man standing there. Short hair, stubble, mud-stained boots, flannel with a plain black shirt underneath, topped with a dark jacket. His eyes trail onto you, taking you in from head to toe before a soft smile creeps onto his face. 

“Winchester,” your dad’s voice cuts through the tense silence, snapping both you and the man out of it all. Sure enough, he appears right behind you, pulling the door fully open before stepping past you, pulling the man into a friendly hug, patting his back once before letting go. “Glad you could come. Hope I didn’t bother you much.”

“It’s fine, I was a few hours away. The quicker we get over this case, the better,” he replied, forcing a tight-lipped smile onto his face as he nods. His eyes wander back to you, watchful eyes locking onto your figure. “Who’s the lady with you?”

His gaze sized you up, standing in the doorway with open curiosity. He knows exactly how to size up the situation—and pretty women.

Your father smiled and placed his hand on your shoulder, you could instantly feel the immense weight of paternal pride in that touch. 

“Dean, this is my daughter,” your father said, his voice holding that rare warmth he reserved only for you. “She keeps me going on this cursed road. And, for the record, she’s got a better eye for tracks than I do.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in appreciation. His gaze lingered for a moment on the unfastened holster visible beneath your T-shirt, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint, lopsided smile. He seemed to appreciate the caution.

“Your daughter?” Dean repeated, stepping further into the musty motel room and casually tossing his bag onto an empty chair. "She’s lucky, then. Looks like she got all the good genes from you, old man—not your buddies.” 

Your father just snorted at the teasing but was visibly relieved that help had arrived. Dean turned toward you and looked you straight in the eye. Fatigue from the long night’s drive lingered in his greenish-brown eyes, yet the charisma radiating from him was almost palpable. He stepped closer and held out his hand. 

“Dean Winchester,” he introduced himself, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble in the morning sunlight. “Nice to meet you. Your dad left out the part about having such a pretty partner when we spoke on the phone. If I’d known, I would’ve brought decent coffee from the gas station instead of this stuff that tastes like straight-up asphalt.”

Alright, he seemed better than the other men your dad usually brought along on hunts. Certainly more handsome, too. Especially for somebody apparently scratching his forties.

You take his hand, shaking it firmly once, his eyes never leaving yours, before letting go. 

The greeting is followed by a thorough conversation and discussion back at the table, papers, books and various articles from the news sprawled in one whirlwind on the wooden surface. Your father gives Dean a summary of what you could find so far, and what you couldn’t find so far. 

The three of you go over the documents and books, Dean’s finger brushing against yours for a second too long as he slides one of the papers from under your fingertips towards himself. You could feel yourself shudder a little at his touch, but kept your professional composure.

Dean, after the lore drop, keeps quiet for a few moments, the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out the next step in the investigation, or connect some dots you two couldn’t up until now. 

After some brainstorming, you came up with a plan: visit the scene of the latest victim’s death, then if that leads nowhere, head to a local bar and hunt for a few leads there in case the locals might know a bit more — and in case they fold easier for Dean’s charms.

“I like the way you think,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and pocketing his car keys. “First, we’ll check out what the bastard left behind in the mud, and then comes the well-deserved beer and the gossip. Your dad can stay here and comb through the remaining books, maybe he’ll find a specific weakness.” 

Your dad agreed, albeit with a grumble. Given his back pain and lack of sleep, he probably would have just slowed you down out in the field anyway. 

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting in Dean’s pitch-black Chevy Impala. The engine’s soothing rumble filled the cabin as you headed toward the dense stretch of woods on the edge of town where the latest victim had been found. Dean held the steering wheel loosely with one hand and rolled down the window with the other, letting the fresh, cool air fill the car.

When you arrived at the edge of the dense, damp forest — where the yellow police tape still fluttered lazily between the trees —, you immediately set to work. Dean moved with practiced ease, treading almost silently over the soft carpet of fallen leaves, yet he kept a constant eye on you, as if testing your abilities. He wasn't disappointed. 

As you stepped into the cordoned-off area, you spotted the first significant clue: high up on the tree trunks, deep, parallel claw marks had torn through the bark, and a strange, dark, asphalt-like ooze with a sulfurous stench was seeping from the wounds. Dean crouched down beside you, dipped his hunting knife into the sticky substance, and raised it to his nose. 

“That’s no werewolf, that’s for sure. And it’s not just an ordinary ghost, either,” he muttered, nodding approvingly at you. “You’ve got a sharp eye, sweetheart. Looks like this beast likes climbing trees and ambushing its prey.”

After the scene inspection, you got back into the Impala and headed toward the small town’s only neon-lit bar. As you drove, Dean fished the fake FBI badges out of the glove compartment and casually dropped one into your lap. 

“So, Agent Collins,” he grinned at you lopsidedly, turning onto the main street with one hand on the wheel. “I hope you're ready to play good cop, bad cop. Though the local yokels will probably be more willing to talk to you than to me. Tell me, how long have you been doing this hunting gig with your dad? Because for an old bear like him, he’s trained you pretty damn well.”

“Pretty damn well,” you shrugged with a half-smile, tucking the fake ID into your blazer’s inner pocket. “Though if it had been up to my dad, I’d still be learning how to salt a windowsill in five seconds flat. I picked up the finer points on my own, Winchester. So don't worry, I won't ruin your little federal agent image.” 

Dean chuckled softly and nodded appreciatively as he brought the rumbling Impala to a halt in front of the shabby, neon-lit bar. 

“That’s the spirit, Agent Collins,” he winked, killing the engine. You both stepped out of the car, instantly slipping into the roles of professional agents. Moving in perfect sync and exuding confidence, you walked through the dive bar’s heavy wooden door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke as old country music played softly from the jukebox, and the locals immediately turned to look at you. Yeah, that suit gave you two away just fine.

You quickly exchanged glances and agreed on a tactic with a single, subtle nod: you would split up. 

Dean headed toward the booths a bit further away from the bar. He singled out a young, visibly distressed woman sitting alone with her cocktail, possibly a friend of one of the victims. 

Meanwhile, you headed straight for the bar. Behind the counter, a tattooed guy in his thirties with a bit of stubble was wiping down glasses, sizing up the patrons with a bored expression. He was the perfect target, bartenders always hear everything in town.

You sat on one of the high stools, shifting your coat back slightly to strike a pose that was assertive yet alluring. Leaning your elbows on the counter and looking the man straight in the eye, you flashed your badge along with your most winning, confident smile. 

“Agent Collins, FBI,” you said in a low, firm voice. “I hear you’re the man in this town who knows the lay of the land better than the police do. I could use some help with a delicate matter…” 

The bartender put down his rag, leaned in closer, and let his gaze travel over your face. He smiled, suddenly appearing far more cooperative than before.

Sitting in the booth, Dean kept a constant eye on you while appearing to focus entirely on the words of the tearful girl. He watched as you leaned casually against the bar, smiled at just the right moment, and saw the bartender practically melt under your alluring demeanor. The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily. 

Once you had both gleaned everything possible from your respective targets, you wrapped up the conversations almost simultaneously. You said goodbye to the bartender — who would likely be talking about the pretty federal agent for days to come — with a grateful smile, while Dean took his leave of the girl with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

As soon as you stepped out of the bar’s heavy door into the fresh evening air, the tense FBI persona instantly dropped away. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at you sideways as you walked toward the Impala. 

“Well, Agent Collins, hats off to you,” he said, playfully nudging you with his elbow. “I saw how you handled that guy at the bar. The poor sap didn't even know where he was, he would've told you absolutely anything. Seriously, for a moment even I forgot what I was supposed to be asking that girl.” 

He opened the passenger-side door for you, then slid behind the wheel and started the Chevy. Amidst the engine's deep rumble, he immediately turned the conversation to business.

“Oh, come on, Winchester,” you said, flashing your cheekiest smile as you settled comfortably into the leather seat of the Impala. “I was just doing my job. But if you ever get stuck during an interrogation, feel free to let me know, I’d be happy to give you a few pointers.” 

Dean chuckled softly, the deep, gravelly sound rising from his throat filled the cockpit. He clearly loved it when a woman wasn't fazed by his attitude and actually fired right back. 

“I'll keep that in mind,” he said, winking at you in the rearview mirror as he turned onto the road leading to the motel strip. “Alright, spill the juicy details,” he said, turning to you as he pulled out of the parking lot. “What did you find out from our friend? Because the girl confirmed to us that the latest victim, Chloe, smelled sulfur coming from the trees right before the attack, same kind we encountered. She said that according to local legend, the beast doesn't just climb trees, it has a nest somewhere near the old sawmill.”

“Well, according to the bartender, this thing isn’t such a big threat that my dad, or the three of us, couldn’t handle it with our bare hands, once we come face-to-face with it. It’s not some invulnerable demigod. The real problem isn’t its strength, but the fact that it’s nearly impossible to track. It’s like a shadow. The bartender mentioned that locals have seen it flitting through the treetops, but it never leaves a trace on the ground. They even tried hunting dogs, but the creature’s sulfurous stench drives the animals crazy, and they lose the scent.” 

Dean nodded thoughtfully, tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel with his finger. 

“So, a real stealthy bastard,” he muttered. “But that sawmill the girl mentioned is a good starting point. No dirt there, just concrete and rotting wood, a perfect hideout for something that doesn’t want to leave footprints.”

A few minutes later, you pulled up in front of the motel. When you walked into the room, your father was sitting under the lamp in the exact same shrimp-like posture as when you’d left him, but the moment he saw you, he snapped his head up. 

“Well?” he asked in a hoarse voice, his eyes practically burning with curiosity. “What did you find out?”

You and Dean summed up the crime scene and the bar questionings, while your dad let you in on the lore he could dig up from the leads. Same kind of monster he’d defeated back when he was a beginner, so it proved to be no big threat. Just damn hard to track.

The sawmill was the key. If the local legend held true, the beast ventured out of its nest in the dead of night to stalk its next victim. With a heavy sigh, your father slammed the book shut and turned to Dean. 

“Then there’s no point in waiting,” he said, hoisting himself out of the chair and cracking his back. “If we get there within the next hour, we might just catch it in its nest before it heads out to hunt.” 

Before setting off, you ducked into the bathroom. 

After turning off the tap and drying yourself, you began to pull on your clean hunting clothes. You were just tightening your bootlaces when two hushed yet heated voices reached you through the thin, old motel door. Your father and Dean were arguing. Curiosity instantly outweighed your sense of duty. You froze mid-motion, held your breath, and carefully pressed your ear against the worn wooden door, trying to pick out the words from the noise. 

“…You shouldn't have dragged her into this, John!” It was Dean’s voice—deep and low, yet seething with anger as it filled the room. “This is no place for a young girl, especially not your daughter. I’ve seen how she moves, she’s skilled, sure, but one mistake and it’s all over.”

“Don't you dare tell me how to raise my daughter, Winchester!” Your father’s voice practically vibrated with rage, though he was trying to keep it low so you wouldn't hear them. “She’s the only family I have. She’s safe with me, where I can see her and protect her. I couldn't just leave her behind in some civilian life, only for some monster to find her one day while I was on the other side of the world!” 

“Safe?” Dean’s mocking, incredulous snort carried clearly into the bathroom. “In a forest crawling with monsters, in a lousy motel room, with fake IDs in her pocket? That’s your idea of ​​safety? If something happens to you, what becomes of her? She’ll be left all alone in this mess. She deserved a normal life, a chance at school, anything... “ 

The room suddenly fell so silent you could hear your own heartbeat. Your father’s heavy, menacing footsteps approached the bathroom door, but stopped just short of it.

“That’s enough, Dean,” your father said, his voice ice-cold and brooking no argument. “The conversation is over. We’re packing up and leaving. And not a word to her about this, clear?”

“You’re conveniently glossing over the most important detail, John!” Dean’s voice grew even more hushed and tense, he spat the words out, almost hissing. “Every single victim in this godforsaken town is a young girl. Exactly her age. That thing is hunting them. And your brilliant plan is to walk her right into its nest as bait?! That is the last thing we should be doing.” 

A moment of silence followed his words; only your father’s heavy, angry breathing could be heard. 

“Not bait, Dean. A hunter,” your father replied stubbornly. 

“I don’t care!” Dean cut in, and you could hear the rustle of fabric as he swung his arm in a fit of helpless rage. “Listen to me. I’m going out to the sawmill. Alone. You stay here at the motel and watch over her. Secure the room and keep an eye on her. I’ll take care of the thing.”

“Out of the question,” your father shot back immediately, refusing to yield an inch of his pride. “This is my case. I’m the one who found it. I’m not going to sit here in a motel room while you do my job.” 

“Fine, okay, sure—your damn pride...” Dean’s voice was laced with biting sarcasm, but then his resolve suddenly hardened. “If you’re hell-bent on being the one to go to those woods, go ahead. But if you won’t stay with her, I will. I’ll stay here and watch over her, and you can go to the sawmill alone. I’m not letting that thing get her just because you’re incapable of thinking rationally.” 

Leaning against the cold bathroom tiles, you felt your pulse skyrocket. Your father, breathing heavily, snatched his coat and gun bag off the bed. Perhaps a deeply buried paternal guilt had prevailed after Dean’s words. 

You opened the bathroom door at the exact moment your father reached for the handle. The movement froze in mid-air. Your father looked at you, his weary eyes reflected a strange mix of secrecy and worry. He couldn't be sure how much you had heard through the thin walls, but the tension between you was almost palpable. 

“Stay here with Dean,” your father said, his voice gruff, though he avoided meeting your gaze. “I’m going to check out that sawmill. Secure the door.” 

Before you could say a word, he stepped out into the cool night air, and the heavy motel door clicked shut behind him.

A stifling silence suddenly filled the room. Dean stood leaning against the table, his arms crossed. He had already tossed his jacket onto the chair. When you fixed your gaze on him, he didn't look away. He knew perfectly well that you had heard it all. 

“So,” he broke the silence, his voice a deep, low rumble in the yellowish lamplight, “I imagine right now you’d love to be angry at me for leaving you out of the action.”

You smiled and sat down casually on the edge of the bed, resting your hands on the mattress. 

“I don't mind it much,” you said softly, taking a deep breath.

Dean raised his eyebrows thoughtfully, let his arms drop to his sides, and took a step toward you. Surprise reflected in his eyes. 

“Seriously?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I thought you’d at least throw a rock-salt shell at me for messing up your operation. Most hunter kids I’ve met are hell-bent on proving themselves, even if it costs them their lives.”

“Dad has handled far rougher situations than the sawmill job on his own. I trust he knows what he’s doing. I don’t really have any desire for this hunting life anyway.” 

Dean’s expression shifted. The tension that had been there earlier vanished completely as he stepped further into the room and sat down across from you in one of the worn armchairs. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turned his full attention toward you. 

“I’d rather just help him with the research and the investigation,” you continued, glancing at the pile of books lying in the corner of the room. “Piecing things together, finding the clues. But rotting away in the woods at night, shooting at carcasses… that’s just not my world. This one’s a low-stakes mission by our standards. He’ll get it done without my help too.”

Dean remained silent for several long seconds, simply gazing at you as if he had discovered something rare and precious in that dark, strange motel room. Finally, with a deep, appreciative sigh, he leaned back in his armchair, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, warm smile. 

“You have no idea how much I respect you for that,” he said, his voice now surprisingly soft—almost a whisper. "And for having the guts to say it. John’s a stubborn, old-school hunter, it can’t be easy to hold onto your own mind around him.” 

For a moment, a pleasant silence settled between the two of you. 

“So,” he broke the silence, his tone dropping to a low, slightly cheeky register as he nodded toward the laptop and books on the table. “If the investigation is your call, Agent Collins... show me what we missed. While the old man is out there doing the dirty work, let’s get these files sorted. What do you say?”

You pulled the chair up to the table and sat down in front of your laptop, but your concentration vanished the moment you sensed Dean’s presence. He stepped up behind you, standing so close that you could almost smell the blend of cool evening air and the clean scent of the woods and gunpowder clinging to him. 

As he leaned forward to look at the monitor, his shoulder brushed against yours. His proximity suddenly left you completely flustered as your throat went dry, and the tension you’d felt earlier transformed into something entirely different. 

Your fingers hovered motionless over the keyboard. Dean noticed your hesitation. He slowly lowered his arm and gently placed his large, warm palm over yours, which was resting on the mouse. The touch of his skin sent an electric jolt racing up your arm. His hand was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the rugged image he projected to the outside world.

“Relax,” he whispered right next to your ear. “We’re in no rush. Just show me where to look for the sawmill map.” 

You didn't pull your hand away. Dean slowly moved the mouse, guiding your hand with his own, but his gaze was no longer on the monitor, instead watching you from the side.

You slowly turned your head and looked straight into his eyes. The movement brought your faces mere centimeters apart, and the room’s dim light glinted in Dean’s eyes, which flicked to your lips for a moment before returning to yours. His breathing grew heavier, and you felt his palm tighten against your hand. 

Hesitation hung between you like an invisible wall. Dean knew full well that you were John’s daughter, and the hunter’s code — not to mention his respect for the old man — urged him to hold back. And you knew just as well that the man standing so close to you belonged to a dangerous world, one you were consciously trying to stay out of.

Yet, as your gazes locked, every rational thought faded into the background. Dean slowly moved his hand away from yours, but only to gently touch your chin with his fingertips, softly turning your face toward his. 

“You…” he began in a whisper, his voice deeper and raspier than ever before. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to remain professional right now, Agent Collins.” 

He didn't pull away, in fact, he leaned just a bit closer, closing his eyes for a moment as if gathering the strength to resist the temptation, or perhaps to finally take the next step.

You didn’t want to wait any longer for moral arguments or the perfect moment. You were done hesitating. You slowly rose from your chair — just enough to fully close the height gap between you — and before Dean could say a word, you bridged that final distance, hungry lips crashing onto his. 

Dean’s body tensed for a split second in surprise, he hadn’t expected you to make the move. But his surprise vanished instantly, and the very next moment, he surrendered completely to the kiss. His hand, which had been touching your chin, slid gently up to your cheek, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him firmly yet with care.

When you slowly pulled apart after a few long seconds, Dean didn’t let go right away. He rested his forehead gently against yours, his eyes still closed, his heavy breath brushing against your face. 

One hand still held your waist, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. Finally, he opened his eyes. A completely different kind of fire burned there, yet the corner of his mouth curled up again into that cocky smile. 

“Well…” he murmured, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your back. “I have to say, Agent, your negotiating technique is truly extraordinary.”

You slid your hand up to the back of his neck, burying your fingers in his hair, and locked your lips with his once more. A deep, satisfied growl escaped Dean right there at the table as every trace of wavering or hesitation had vanished from him. 

Clasping your waist tightly, he lifted you away from the table in one fluid motion as if you weighed no more than a feather, and without breaking the kiss for a second, he backed toward the darker corner of the room, straight toward the unmade bed. The next moment, you tumbled onto the soft mattress. Dean fell back into the white sheets, and suddenly you were straddling him, your thighs framing his hips as your weight settled onto his chest.

Dean’s hands slid up your back, burning hot against your skin even through the fabric of your shirt as he pulled you close, deeply inhaling your scent and the lingering heat on your lips. His hips moved instinctively beneath you in response to your closeness. Dean’s fingers tangled in your hair, gently tilting your head back to expose your neck. As his lips and stubble grazed your skin, a soft sigh escaped you, instantly silenced by his next, all-consuming kiss.

With a single decisive yet gentle motion, he pulled the thin fabric of your shirt over your head, baring your skin in the yellowish lamplight. Desire flared in his eyes as he gazed at you, but you didn’t give him time to stare as you immediately reached for the buttons of his flannel shirt. 

Your fingers trembled slightly with haste, yet you worked efficiently, and Dean helpfully shrugged his shoulders, letting you strip the plaid fabric from him. As soon as his shirt hit the floor, you smoothed your palms over his broad chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the frantic, pounding rhythm of his heart. 

You kissed his lips one last time — a long, deep kiss — breathing in his scent, before slowly pulling away. Dean’s head fell back against the pillow and his eyes closed and a deep sigh escaped his throat as your lips left his and you began to trail kisses downward.

You planted tiny, hot kisses on his stubbled chin, then lower, to the sensitive spot on his neck where his pulse raced wildly beneath the skin. Dean’s fingers instantly clenched the sheets, his body tensing with pleasure. You didn’t stop, your kisses wandered lower and lower, tracing his collarbone straight toward his chest, while your hand gently stroked the muscles along his side. 

“Fuck…” Dean murmured, beside himself, his voice breaking with suppressed desire. His hand lifted from the sheet and buried itself in your hair, guiding your movements with his fingers.

Slowly, inch by inch, you slid down his body. Your kisses traced the line of his abs, his fingers clenched tightly in your hair — not to push you away, but to anchor you to him — as his breathing grew increasingly ragged and heavy. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, your fingers confidently found the metal button and the zipper. As you freed his straining manhood from the confines of the fabric, a stifled, hoarse plea escaped Dean’s lips. 

“God…” he whispered, overcome, his head falling back helplessly against the pillow.

You slowly dragged your tongue teasingly along the length of his straining cock, causing his body to jerk beneath you. When you finally took him fully into your mouth and made that first deep stroke, Dean’s fingers instantly tightened in your hair. His hips began to move in rhythm with your mouth, and raw, deep sounds tore from his throat, sounds you had never heard from him before.

His face was completely contorted by overwhelming ecstasy. As you intensified your movements, his hips lifted involuntarily off the mattress, thrusting more wildly and deeply against your lips. For a moment, you looked up at him through the strands of your hair. Dean’s eyelids were heavy, his gaze clouded with pure, undisguised desire as he fixed his eyes on you. When your eyes met and he saw the triumphant satisfaction in yours, a deep, hoarse growl tore from his throat. That was the final straw. 

“Fuck... sweetheart…” he groaned your name, his voice choking, as his body went completely rigid beneath you.

His hips gave one last, powerful thrust inside your mouth as he finally lost all control. Hot, pulsing waves filled your mouth, and Dean collapsed helplessly back onto the white sheets with a loud, broken sigh. His fingers slowly released your hair and his arms fell limp onto the mattress, while his chest rose and fell violently and raggedly.

You slowly climbed onto his body, wiping your mouth as that triumphant smile played on your lips. Dean was still struggling to catch his breath, but the moment he saw the look in your eyes, that predatory gleam instantly reignited in his own. 

“You little witch…” he murmured hoarsely, his voice ringing with adoration. 

Before you could reply, he reached behind your head and, with one decisive movement, locked his lips onto yours. This kiss held no trace of initial hesitation, deep and sultry, and tasting his own flavor on you only stoked the fire further. 

Dean didn't stay beneath you for long. He flipped you over on the mattress and loomed over you once more, his broad shoulders almost completely blocking out the room's yellowish light. His eyes roamed over your body as his hands wandered to the insides of your thighs.

“I think I owe you one,” he whispered, the deep vibration of his voice felt right against your skin as he slowly slid down your body. Driven by his own desire, he wanted to drive you mad. 

He gently parted your thighs and sank to his knees between them. You could see him eyeing your panties, running his thumb over the soaked fabric before hooking his fingers onto the side, pulling it off of you. When his first hot breath touched your most sensitive spot, your back arched involuntarily against the sheets, and your fingers instantly dug into the pillow. 

He placed one, slow kiss onto your already wet entrance, lips gliding along the flesh before he pulled away with a pop for a second. His pointer and middle finger rise to your entrance, slowly sliding in, drawing a stifled sigh out of you before stretching you out, a content smirk appearing on his face.

His eyes dart up to meet yours, right before he leans closer, his mouth yet again making contact with your pussy, tongue darting out and drawing an upwards line, slick with his saliva and your fluids.

Dean knew exactly what he was doing, his movements were at once gentle and demanding, his stubble sending pleasant shivers across your skin with every small, circular motion of his head. Soft, stifled sighs and moans escaped you in the silence of the motel room as you felt your hips moving involuntarily toward his mouth.

He clearly loved the effect he was having on you, but he had no intention of stopping there. The fingers he used to stretch you moved slowly and confidently inside you, while his thumb began rhythmically rubbing your most sensitive spot.

Your fingers turned white as you gripped the mattress, his fingers and tongue launching a simultaneous, all-out assault on your senses. Dean’s fingers slid in and out of your throbbing core with a scissoring motion, while his thumb tormented your clit with precise, rhythmic strokes. 

“Dean… Shit, Dean…” His name dissolved into hoarse, incoherent sighs and loud moans as your hips began to move with a mind of their own. Instinctively, you arched upward toward his mouth, chasing the tension that was building in your gut, ready to explode. 

Dean loved it. He pinned your thighs down even tighter with his large hands, pressing your hips so firmly into the sheets that not a single millimeter of movement was lost. The pace of his tongue quickened, and his fingers plunged into you even more hungrily and deeply, completely filling your hot, slick inside.

Your body suddenly went taut, your back arched against the white sheet, and the first all-consuming wave of release tore from you in a loud, breathless cry. 

Dean didn't pull away; he stayed right there, deeply savoring every internal pulse, his tongue and fingers tracing the contours of your climax until the tremors slowly subsided throughout your body. 

Panting and limp, you sank back into the pillows. Dean slowly slid upward, his gaze boring deep into yours, a signature confident smile playing on his lips.

Dean slid up your body with a low, satisfied growl. He didn't ask questions, he was a man of actions. In one effortless motion, he gripped your hips and turned you over on the mattress. Before you knew it, your face was buried in the soft pillows while he knelt behind you, completely dominating the space — and your body. 

The heat of his skin was searing as his broad chest pressed against your back. He reached around to gently sweep your hair aside, exposing your neck. Dean’s heavy, ragged breath seared your skin, while his hard, throbbing cock pressed right against your entrance, impatiently demanding entry.

“Fuck... God, baby…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice vibrating with need. “I can't hold back anymore.” 

His large palms clamped tightly onto your hips, pinning you in place, and with a decisive, deep, and powerful thrust, he slid into you completely. A loud, sharp moan escaped you, torn from your throat by the sudden tension, while your hands clutched convulsively at the rumpled sheets. 

Dean didn't wait; desire had completely clouded his reason, and he immediately set a wild, relentless pace. Every thrust was deep and possessive, the rhythmic slap of his hips against your body set the tempo for the room's stifling silence. 

You lay beneath him, your sounds muffled by the pillow your face was buried in, as his strength drove you again and again toward the edge of the precipice. Within the walls of the motel room, nothing existed but his hoarse panting and your continuous, stifled sighs.

You instinctively pressed your hips back against his movements, and a stifled growl tore from Dean as he felt your response. His large hands clamped around your waist like a vise, his fingernails digging deep into your skin as he held you steady. 

Dean surrendered completely to the rhythm, driving his hips in even wilder, deeper thrusts that forced you down onto the mattress. With every movement, he seemed to penetrate to your very soul as the rhythmic slap of bodies and the rustle of sheets filled the room. Your head sank helplessly into the crumpled pillows while inarticulate moans and ragged gasps escaped your throat.

“Such a good girl,” Dean muttered under his breath between ragged breath and deep groans.

Pleasure and tension rose to heights that the room’s yellowish lights blurred before your eyes. Dean felt your insides clamping down hot and tight around his straining cock. Gripping your waist even tighter, he drove forward with those final few thrusts, completely lost in the moment. 

“Fuck, baby…” he rasped into your ear as his body went rock-hard behind you. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself completely inside you, and hot, pulsing waves of release flooded your body. With a ragged sigh tearing from his throat, he collapsed helplessly against your back. His heavy, muscular chest heaved against your skin as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you close in that moment of relief.

“Good girl…” Dean murmured right against your neck, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He slowly withdrew, then with a long, satisfied sigh, flopped down onto the rumpled sheets beside you. 

He immediately slid one arm beneath your head, pulling you close against his warm body, while his other hand casually tugged the blanket up to cover your bare skin. His chest was still heaving, and a stray bead of sweat rolled from his forehead onto the pillow, yet his face had completely relaxed. 

“Well,” he broke the silence with a soft chuckle, gently running his finger along your shoulder. “I have to say, Agent Collins… This investigation took a much better turn than I expected.” 

For a moment, you both smiled at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh, come on, Winchester,” you said, digging your elbow into his muscular side as you turned toward him with a knowing smile. “Don't let the success go to your head. I just made sure you didn't fall asleep over the paperwork while we waited for my father.” 

Dean chuckled softly, the gravelly sound rising from his throat filled the warm room. He was just about to fire back with an equally cheeky remark and pull you even closer when a familiar, heavy rumble drifted in from the darkness outside, passing through the thin windowpane. 

A car rolled into the motel’s gravel parking lot, and sharp, yellowish beams of light swept across the curtains. The laughter vanished from Dean’s face in an instant. It wasn't his Impala — the engine roar of your dad’s old, battered SUV cut through the silence.

“Damn it, it’s your old man,” Dean hissed. The relaxed, satisfied hunter vanished in a split second, replaced by sheer panic, the kind he hadn't felt even in the bloodiest vampire nest. 

“Says the equally old man,” you retort under your breath, scrambling the sheets in a hurry to avoid getting caught.

With one massive heave, he threw off the covers and practically leapt out of bed, scrambling for the clothes scattered across the floor. 

“Fuck, fuck…” he muttered rapidly, trying to yank on his jeans while balancing on one leg and accidentally pulling his T-shirt on inside out. 

You didn't wait either, your heart was pounding in your throat from the adrenaline as you snatched up your thin shirt from the edge of the bed. You both scrambled into your clothes with lightning speed, almost military precision while outside, you could hear the heavy slam of a car door, followed by the slow, weary sound of your father’s footsteps approaching your room along the concrete hallway.

Dean kicked his jacket under the bed at the last moment, and by the time the key turned in the lock, he was already standing at the desk, staring at the laptop screen as if he had spent the last hour studying a satellite map of the sawmill. 

You had just sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying to smooth out your hair with a single quick motion. The wooden door clicked open, and your father stepped into the room. His coat was muddy and his face was haggard with exhaustion, but his eyes immediately swept across the room.

Your father walked wearily into the center of the room with heavy steps and tossed the bloody hunting knife onto the table right next to your laptop. The dark blood, reeking of sulfur, was still fresh on the blade. With a massive sigh, your father slumped into the nearest available chair, rubbing his face. When he finally looked up, his gaze locked instantly onto Dean, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a wide, mocking grin. 

“Winchester,” your father said, jerking his head toward Dean, his voice laced with weary yet gloating humor. “I didn't know the Winchester boys' latest tactic was wearing their T-shirts inside out. Is that some new camouflage method against the monsters, or did you just get dressed in the dark?” 

The air in the room seemed to stand still for a moment. Dean, who was still trying to fully regain his composure, froze for a split second. He quickly glanced down at his chest, where the T-shirt’s seam and inner label were proudly on display.

“Oh, that…” Dean cleared his throat, and within seconds, his confident manner returned to his voice. He gave a quick shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I grabbed a quick shower while I was poring over the maps. I must have been in a rush and didn't even notice it.” 

Your father just chuckled softly at the excuse, he was too tired to push the issue or give it any deeper thought. Dean glanced at you, then immediately turned serious to shift the focus away from himself. 

“You okay, old man?” Dean asked, stepping closer to the table and eyeing the bloody knife with his arms crossed. “What happened at the sawmill?” 

Your father smiled — a triumphant smile at that — and leaned back in his chair.

“The hunt is over,” your father replied, relief in his voice. “The beast was in its nest, exactly where the locals said it would be. It was surprised I came alone, but it wasn’t fast enough. I took care of it. The town will wake up to a much safer place tomorrow morning.” 

Then your father looked at you before he turned back to Dean, his voice turning serious and grateful. 

“Thanks for staying behind and looking after my daughter, Dean. For keeping her safe while I was away. I mean it.”

Dean tore his gaze away from your father for a moment and looked straight into your eyes. The corner of his mouth curled up again into that cocky smile. 

“Come on, John, it’s nothing,” Dean replied quietly as he casually slid his hands into his pockets. “You know Agent Collins and I make a perfect team. I’ve got her back. Anytime.”

He’s apologized fifty times. He apologized when you left that old, moldy house and he started staring at you and palming himself in the car. Apologized when you’d been walking inside, and he’d doubled over in pain on the side walk. He’d grabbed your hip for support, and while you’d been trying to figure out if he was okay, his hand had slipped up to your inner thigh. Apologized when you went to get him some ice—he’d said he was warm, you’ d been worrying about a fever—and you had to come back to find him lying in your bed, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and groans slipping from his lips.

At least he hadn’t been touching himself. He’s managed not to do that at all, which you’d be impressed by if you weren’t so worried.

Sam says it’s a pretty basic sex curse. Maybe a pollen, from that mold. Nothing you need to worry about finding a magical cure for.

“We’ve seen these before.” Sam had said. “It’s run-of-the-mill. Dean knows what to do.”

Run of the mill.

Simple.

Sam had said it like you’d be clear in an hour. Nothing fancy required.

Dean gets laid, the fever goes down, everyone’s good.

And it might’ve been simple. You might’ve been done an hour ago, if Dean just got it over with and left when he was clear. You would’ve sat in your bed, running the sheets between your fingers while you read. Trying desperately not to think about Dean only a door over, about the sounds creaking through the wall as he railed someone else into oblivion, about how he’d look.

Probably just like this. Wrecked and hungry, his eyes blown out and skin slick with sweat. Every muscle in his body straining, hair stuck to his brow, mouth hanging open as he’d hover over some lucky girl, showing her a heaven even angels didn’t get to experience.

Your heart would’ve silently ached, a wound you’ve been letting fester opening wider and wider. Your hands would’ve tugged nervously at the sheets, trying to gather whatever he’d left over like a twisted little souvenir for your perverse brain.

The brain that won’t stop being in love with him, no matter how much logic you offer to counter it. You’ve spent nights staring at the ceiling, acting like love was a debate. Like if you reasoned with yourself enough, all the blood in your body would simply stop flowing in a song of his name. Your heart would shift into a new rhythm, no longer a war drum trying to call for him. Your eyes would stop looking for tiny bits of evidence he loved you too, in just as much silence as you love him.

He’s about ten years older than you. He opens doors for you, and that can be a secret desire thing. He’s not emotionally available. He talks to you, about his dad and complicated fights with Sammy and his past, and that has to mean something. He’s got anger issues. He’s stubborn, he’s reserved. You have issues too, and you’re more stubborn. He’s fucked up- You’re fucked up, and he’s also sweet and loyal and handsome and the best kind of stupid a man can be, where he’s a dumbass that never pretends to be incompetent. He’d probably be possessive. You’d like to be possessed. There’s no future there. Yet.

You’ve always lost the debate. You stay in love with Dean, because your heart wasn’t even kind enough to give you a crush. A brief and intense high of adoration and lust would’ve been manageable. You would’ve recovered.

Instead, it’s love. Not even love with a half-life, weaning off with just a little time. Deep, long love.

The kind of love that has you looking at him now, and crudely thinking that he’s being a bit of a pussy. It’s not a fair thought. He’s cursed, has a fever of a hundred and two, and his body is probably trying to convince him to do things that he’s not on board with.

But you live like that every day, and you don’t whine about it. You’ve felt like if he didn’t touch you now you’d die, you’ve gone sick with your own perverse thoughts about what you’d let him do to you, you’ve been delirious with adoration until Sam clears his throat, and mutters that you’re staring again. Maybe the mold should’ve crawled into you, or however this works.

You wouldn’t have been such a massive bitch about it.

You would’ve had nasty motel sex with a stranger an hour ago.

You wouldn’t have made Dean sit in a room with you while you pillow humped, forcing him to look for a sex partner to break your back.

You would’ve been home by now.

But Dean wants to be a little fucking bitch.

“You’re being a bitch.” You say it plainly, because maybe it will snap him out of whatever the fuck this is.

Instead he just chuckles, twisting to give you an amused look. “Ouch, sweetheart- Shit-“

The movement looks like it made his dick brush against something, and now he’s back to cowering in the sheets. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, visibly pained, and what’s wrong with you that he’s never looked so hot-

“You’d be a bitch too.” He mutters, groaning as he rolls back onto his stomach. “I feel like I’m dying-“

“You’d stop feeling like that, if you’d just pick someone to fuck.”

“I’m tryin’-“

“Not hard enough.”

“Trust me, I’m plenty hard enough- Fuck-“

You throw one of his pillows at his face, and he makes a strangled noise like you hit him with a bullet.

“You’re gonna attack a dying man-“

“I can do whatever I want, when I’m helping you find a fuck buddy.” You stick your tongue out at his back, then return your attention to his phone. “How about Miranda? She’s thirty-six, she’s got really nice hair, and- Oo-“ You scroll a little further down the page. “She likes boats! Those are like water cars, you guys could bond over that.”

Dean laughs again, shaking his head. “Boats aren’t water cars.”

“They are. Think about it.“

“They don’t have a big engineering overlap, I don’t know shit about boats-“

“Then you can just fuck her stupid, you nerd.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you hover your thumb over the screen, fully ready to subject yourself to the worst torture possible for Dean’s stupid, cursed sake.

“She looks nice.” You mumble, praying he doesn’t hear the exhausted, hopeless pain in your voice. “I think you’d like her.”

Dean grunts. “No. Next name.”

You sigh, and swipe left. Adding Miranda to the long, long pile of rejected applicants.

It’s been like this for two fucking hours. Dean lying in your bed, you cross-legged in his, absolutely no progress on curing the curse. He barely even looks at you anymore. He’s been facing the opposite wall since you sat down, burying his face in your pillow every time he moans, trying to hide the roll of his hips under the sheets and failing miserably.

The tingling pain between your legs is almost unbearable now. You’d call Sam and ask if the pollen was transferable, if you weren’t terrified of the answer being no. There’s no way it’s not just Dean anyway. His thick arms stretching up to grip the pillow, his broad, muscled shoulders and back bare, the fact that sometimes when he humps fast and rough, the sheets ride up and you swear you see the tip of his cock. It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, to be getting off to him like this.

But it’s your own personal hell, to have this responsibility. To have him right there, and not be allowed to touch him.

You’ll deal with your shame later in the shower, where you can wash it off and maybe cry from a few different places over your body.

Later. When he’s not dying, and doing absolutely nothing to help you save him.

“Hannah.” You read out the next profile, pulling your knees to your chest. “She’s got curly hair, really nice brown eyes. Looks like she’s a nail artist. That could be nice.”

Dean snorts. “What, you think I’m gonna have her get me a manicure after?”

“No, I just-“ You take a long breath. You’d rather have a living Dean that doesn’t love you, than a dead Dean, who also doesn’t love you.

Dean starts to twist—he’s going to try and look at you again—and you clear your throat.

“It might be nice to look at. Aesthetically. Or- arousing.”

He mutters your name, but you push on.

“For a handjob. Nice nails, going- Up and down your- Um- Your dick-“

Dean lets out the loudest moan yet, and your jaw snaps shut. That sounded like your name. He was probably just trying to warn you to shut up, but that still sounded like your name-

“Sorry-“

“Stop talking.” He snaps, and you nod.

Without him asking, you swipe left on Hannah. He seems to have forgotten about her, and you have no desire to let her and her perfect nails anywhere near his dick.

It takes a while for Dean to request the next candidate. Long minutes of him just panting and grunting, burying his face in the pillow and thrashing in the sheets like he’s having a nightmare.

You see the head of his cock again. It’s thick looking and red and shining with pre-cum. Angry and hard and Jesus fucking Christ-

“Emma!” You shout to the room. You need this to be done. “She’s a nurse, that can be a kink thing-“

“Stop.”

You sigh, turning down the phone screen. “Dean-“

“No. Don’t want Ella-“

“Emma-“

“Don’t fuckin’ care. We’re not doing more of this- Shit.”

“Are you just swearing, or is that an adjective-“

“Sweetheart.” He’s almost growling, a hand slipping out from the sheets to fist the mattress. “Stop. Talking.”

You close your mouth, bowing your head as shame floods your body. You’re trying to help. You’ve given your whole night just to help the man you’re hopelessly in love with have sex with someone else, and you’re tired. Tired of doing this to yourself, tired of him shooting everyone down like suddenly he’s got the highest sexual standard in the world, tired of acting like it’s not killing you and tired of watching him like this.

He’s in so much pain. You can hear it straining in every word, tensed in every movement. You’re not allowed to touch him, but the last time you made him check his own temperature, it had gone up again. With how he’s looking, how he’s muttering to himself under his breath, you’re willing to bet it’s gone up another handful of degrees.

Dean’s going to die, if he doesn’t deal with this. And if he dies, you’re not going to deal with it.

You don’t want to think about what you’ll become, if he goes. You might be the one that turns into a ghost, haunting this goddamn hotel room and growing up the walls like that mold. A shell of a person, caught in a million what-ifs, her heart ash in the wind with his body.

Dean wants to be done with this.

You’re not done with him.

You swipe right on Emma.

For an hour, you let him keep moping and groaning. You flirt with Emma for him, because you’re the best friend in the world, and pretend you can’t see him trying to move a pillow between his legs to offer extra pressure.

“Dean.” You say softly, and he grunts.

“Baby, I need you not to talk-“

“You can take it out.” You mutter, keeping your focus on Emma’s texts. “If you need that. I’m a big girl, I- I won’t mind.”

That’s a lie through more than just your teeth. If he starts touching himself in front of you, all the poetic fawning about how your love is killing you won’t be dramatic anymore. Your heart will beat right out of your ribs, your head will get so light you’ll float away, your need for him will become so consuming you’ll either fall to your knees and open your mouth for him to use, or simply just explode.

But if it helps him. You’ll do anything to help him, even if it’s searing the most sinful, impossible image into your head for the rest of your life.

Dean with his cock in his hand, head thrown back, beating himself right next to you. Maybe moaning under his breath, thrusting up into his fist, accidentally looking at you as he cums, mouth hanging open and eyes hooded as thick white ropes paint the sheets-

“No.” He grunts, and you blink.

“It’s okay-“

“No. I‘m not doin’ that to you.”

You swallow, heated shame rushing through you. “I- I could leave the room-“

“No, don’t-“ He almost shouts your name, flipping over suddenly.

Looking at you.

His eyes are almost black with lust, his face red and slack, expression desperate. He hisses—the movement likely too much—but still reaches out a shaking hand, like he’s going to try and grab you.

“Don’t go, just- Fuckin’-“ His words trail off, eyes locked on your face, and another moan escapes his lips.

You push up on your knees, fear clenching at your heart. “Dean-“

“’m fine-“

“You’re not fine-“

“I’m- Son of a bitch-“ His eyes widen on yours then slam shut. His hand curls into a taut fist, face pulling in pain, and that’s enough.

“Fine. Don’t masturbate, see if I care.”

He says your name, low and rough, and you shake your head. 

“You’re not fine, you fucking idiot. You’re dying.” You push to your feet, grabbing his phone from the bed.

Emma’s very nice. Nice in the kind of way that’s going to make you hate her, and you feel sort of bad. She was doomed to your loathing from the moment she swiped right.

But she’s going to help. She’s going to save Dean, and you’ll offer her grace for that.

Dean’s eyes had opened, when he heard you moving. He’s looking at you like a lost street dog, opening his mouth to say something that only comes out in a panting groan of your name.

Whatever protests he has, you won’t hear them. He’s not allowed to die.

“Get up.” You snap, tossing his clothing onto his face. “Get dressed. I’m starting the car in ten minutes, and if you’re not there, I’m coming back and you’re having sex with me.”

You don’t look over your shoulder to see his reaction. The sounds of torment leaving his chest are bad enough.

It hurts. It cuts deeper than a blade, the idea that he detests the idea of sex with you that much. You’re good at sex. You’ve gotten raving reviews, you’re batting a hundred, flawless reports and a hundred percent customer satisfaction rate, even if you don’t really enjoy most of it yourself. Most people you have sex with don’t manage to make you cum, and when they do it’s a tiny little shudder through your body that you forget about in five minutes.

Dean witDean would be lucky to have sex with you. You’d worship him. You’d get on your knees and let him use you until he was leaking out of every hole. You’d let him fuck himself back into you, you’d let him throw you around, you’d do anything-

It’s probably a good thing your threat works. Dean stumbles out of the motel right at the nine-minute mark, pallid and flushed all at once, hunched in pain and wearing a massive raincoat over his jacket to hide the boner.

You never would’ve forgiven yourself, for taking advantage of him like that. It’s better like this, no matter how much it hurts.

You smile when he gets into the car. “Nice fashion statement-“

“Shut up.” He grumbles, glaring out at the road. “Where’re we goin’.”

“A bar.”

He makes a sour expression. “Why.”

“Because you have a date. With Emma the nurse.”

Dean goes dead quiet. He tenses next to you—your elbows brushing for a split second, before he recoils like your skin is coated in toxins—works his jaw, then shakes his head.

You sigh. ‘Dean-“

“No. I told you, I’m not doin’ that.“

“Yes, you are.”

“No-“

“Yes!” You slam the brakes harder than you mean to, as you approach a stop sign.

You expect Dean to snap about you being careful with his baby. Maybe try to make a joke about how maybe the frustration is rubbing off on you, or argue about how this is his dumb choice to make.

And it is. But he made the wrong choice, and you are not letting him die.

He mutters your name, and it’s the same way he said it earlier. Soft. Almost pleading.

You take a deep breath, and twist to look him in his pretty, glazed and dilated eyes.

“You’re going into that bar. You’re going to flirt with Emma. If she asks if you have a fever, you tell her you work construction or something, and you’d just been at a shift. You run hot. Nothing for her to worry about.” You drum your fingers on the wheel, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You’re going to tell her she’s pretty. You’re going to call a fake uber, and I’m going to drive you to the motel. You’re going to fuck Emma until you’re cured, and then we can go home. Understand?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He opens his mouth, a glint in his eyes like he’s going to argue. You don’t give him the chance.

“No. You’re doing this. If you don’t, you’ll-“ You cut yourself off, pressing your lips in a tight line. You won’t cry. You won’t.

Dean says your name, and he has to stop doing that. It’s too gentle. Too close to something real.

“You’re not allowed to- To go.” You look out at the empty road, praying the night is hiding the glossy tears, pricking at your eyes. “I can’t- I won’t- You’re not allowed to.”

You raise your chin, your breathing too shaky to speak for a moment. The silence hangs in the car, even the sound of Baby’s engine not enough to drown out your thoughts.

“Okay?” You snap, trying to sound stronger than you are.

Dean lets out a low sound, but nods. “Okay.” Then, under his breath. “For you.”

You pretend you don’t hear. There’s too much weight in those words, and you don’t have the time to pick them apart, don’t have the energy to ask him what the fuck that means.

Instead, you just give yourself the easiest out. Dean does love you as a friend. You’ve never doubted that for a second. He’s doing it for you because you’re the one demanding he go have sex.

What a horrible friend you are, making him get laid so he doesn’t die.

You huff a dry, pitiful, laugh to yourself. Your drink swirls in its glass, untouched and mocking. You ordered it when you got here, about thirty minutes ago. Made Dean take a possibly dangerous dose of Advil and Tylenol to make him lucid, then hidden yourself in a booth on the other side of the bar. Where you can see Dean and Emma, but only Dean can see you. He’s supposed to give you a thumbs up, when he’s about to call the ride. Right now, he seems so engrossed in her that you’re worried he’s going to forget.

Emma’s pretty. Just as pretty as her pictures. She lit up, when she spotted Dean, and you’d felt a sickening, loud hatred take root in your chest.

Everyone should be happy to see Dean, but none of them are happy like you’re happy. You know him. He’s the love of your life, and your joy is born of that, not just seeing a pretty man. You love seeing him because you know you’re going to be safe. Because he’s going to smile and the world is going to be alright, you’re going to talk and he’ll listen and look at you like there’s no one else in the world, he’s going to make jokes and you’re going to laugh.

But he’s making Emma laugh right now. She’s got one of those high, insufferable giggles, and you’re being needlessly mean but you hate her. You have a giggle like that. It comes out for Dean all the time, and it has a little snort on the end that you hated until Dean casually mentioned that he liked it, and you’ve felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

It doesn’t really matter though, whose laugh Dean likes more.

Emma’s the one going home with him. You’re being left here.

You focus on ignoring their laughter and voices from the bar. You can’t drink, but you sulk and focus on the music floating through the bar. Your fingers drum on the table, pull at your sleeves, shred three napkins before gripping the cold of the glass like a lifeline. Your vision is going unfocused with envy. Every second you feel the wound in your heart tearing open, an infection of jealousy taking root, and you might actually be about to throw up-

Dean grunts your name, and your eyes shoot up.

He’s standing outside your both, hands in his pockets and a deep scowl on his face. Emma’s not with him. Or at the bar.  

“Where-“

“She left.”

Your mouth falls open. “She left? I- What the fuck happened-“

“I told her to. Wasn’t gonna work out.”

“Dean, you-“ Your voice cracks, every thought in your head getting louder. He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying. “You promised-“

“I know.” He’s jaw tics, eyes darting away from yours. “Just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t fuck her? What the hell was wrong with her that somehow doesn’t meet Dean Winchester’s if it’s got a hole standards?”

Dean flinches, and it was a low blow, but right now you don’t care. He’s going to die. Why doesn’t he fucking care that he’s going to die and leave you.

“Come on.” You snap, slamming a few bills on the table and shooting up. “We’re chasing her. You’re apologizing.”

He frowns. “No, I’m not-“

“Then we’re going back on the dating app, and finding someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

You roll your eyes, shoving the bar door open and marching to the car. You have Emma’s number. You’ll do the apology yourself if you have to.

Dean’s stumbling after you into the parking lot, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder every few seconds. Just to be sure he hasn’t hurt himself. He calls your name, voice pained, and you freeze. Turn slowly, your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not doin’ this.” He snaps, stalking towards you in uneven steps. “You can bitch and whine about it all you want, sweetheart, I’m not fucking that girl.”

“I’m bitching and whining?” You laugh, the sound crude even to your ears. “I’m not the one who decided the best time to become a fucking celibate was when he got hit with a sex curse. You’re the one acting like a fucking child here-“

“I’m not acting like a child-“

“Then you’re acting like an idiot!” You scream, taking a large step forward.

Dean goes rigid. Takes a long step back, like you’re poisonous. It just fuels the burning, exhausted fire, kindled by every bit of fear, of love, of fury that he’s putting you through this with almost no remorse.

“It’s not like you have to marry her!” You shout, barbed wire tightening around your throat. “It’s just sex! Fuck, you don’t even have to look at her, it’s- I don’t understand why this is so fucking hard for you all of a sudden, it’s not like you’re some virgin fucking pussy-“

He mutters your name, a low warning, and you ignore it.

“I’ve spent all day trying to save you, Dean! I was going to be your- Your fucking sex chauffer, and I haven’t been complaining, but you can’t do me one fucking favor and have sex with a pretty girl?”

You take another step forward, and this time he isn’t fast enough. You jab his chest, and he stumbles back like you shot him, eyes panicked and wide on yours.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shriek, shoving him again. “Do you want to die? Are you trying to fucking kill me? Do you hate me, Dean? Is that what this is?”

He rasps your name, and you shake your head.

“I’ve been trying so- So hard to save you. I- I told you that I can’t- If you-“ Your words are getting choked, and the pain is too heavy to just shake off. “You’re not allowed to go! I told you, I won’t let you, but you- You fucking hate me-“

You try to shove him again, hot tears burning down your face, but this time Dean’s ready. He catches your wrist, and you try to pull back but he’s got more strength left than you thought.

He squeezes his hold on you, stalking forward. A fire lights in your core, at the intensity of his gaze. Unyielding and hot, searing into you as your back hits the Impala. He towers over you, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he takes in your open mouth and slack expression. You don’t know how you expected him to react, but it wasn’t this. This makes your knees weak, your heart hitting a dangerous pace at the top of your chest.

You can smell his cologne, smell his. A salt, deep musk that’s just Dean, that might as well be a drug for how it’s making you freeze. Your free hand moves to press flat against his chest, but you don’t push.

He grunts, his muscles rippling like you just threw a rock into water. He seizes up, head bowing, and there’s nowhere for you to hide from him.

Dean’s tongue darts over his lips, and your breath hitches.

“Don’t do that.” He grunts, and you just nod.

Lean a little closer, until the heat of your breath is fanning over your cheeks. Your eyes flutter, and when you risk meeting his gaze he looks almost predatory. The hunger in his eyes sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, your thighs pressing together, and it’s hot, so hot-

“I don’t hate you.”

You blink at him. You’d forgotten about that. “Dean-“

“I don’t.” He snaps. “Don’t fuckin’- Never think that, alright? I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” You whisper desperately. “Why couldn’t you just go have sex with Emma-“

He shakes his head. “I don’t want Emma.”

“Then let me find you someone you want, please-“

“No.”

“Why-“

“Cause I don’t want any of them.” He hisses, your foreheads bumping as he leans further down. “I don’t want some random fuckin’ chick you pull for me, I don’t want to fuck her, don’t wanna touch her, hell, I don’t even want to goddamn look at her.”

You take a shaking breath, a haze overtaking your head. “Dean, you need someone-“

“You think I don’t know that?” He pushes his hips forward, and you can feel it.

His cock, straining through his jeans, pressing against your thigh. You bite down a moan, completely still in his arms, trying to make him understand with just your eyes. It’s not fair for him to do this to you. He doesn’t understand, this is all you’ve ever wanted and he’s just taunting you with it-

“I can feel it, sweetheart.” He mutters, rolling slightly against you, making that fire in your core threaten to sweep you away. “I feel myself dyin’. My muscles are hurting like I ran a mile, I’m sweating through ten damn layers, think the fever is getting me so bad I might be about to go fucking crazy. But I didn’t even notice ‘till you started getting all worried. You know why?”

It takes you a second to realize you’re supposed to answer. You barely shake your head, before he’s squeezing your wrist, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“’Cause of you.” He breathes, voice soft and dangerous. “I always feel like an animal when I see you. Spent the whole car ride back from that damn house wanting to hump your leg and didn’t think twice. You just do that to me, and you got no fuckin’ idea.”

You gasp slightly, turning your head to look him in the eyes. They’re hooded, almost feral on yours. You’re so dizzy, you’re worried you might be walking through a dream.

“De- Dean-“

“You can keep looking for some random girl for me, if it’s gonna make you feel better. But I won’t fuck ‘em. I can’t.” His lips ghost over yours, and you lean forward.

“Dean-“

“Sex barely even works for me anymore, baby.” He mutters, tongue flicking over his lips. “Nothin’ does. I get kicked out of bed ‘cause I call your name. So just fuckin’-“ He squeezes your wrist again, drawing slowly back. “Stop. If you wanna give me a dying wish, cut it out and let me go in some damn peace.”

You gape at him as he pulls away, his grip going slack on your wrist.

Dying wish.

He still thinks he’s allowed to die.

“What- What if you fuck me?” You say, so quiet you barely even hear yourself.

Dean’s head jerks up, and he says your name with a harsh, unforgiving snap. “No. I’m not askin’ you to do that just because I’m some perv who can’t get it up-“

“You’ve got it up.” You smile at up, pressing your knee up into his crotch.

He groans, doubling back down so you’re caged against the Impala again. “Baby, don’t fuckin’- I’m not bending on this shit, alright. I’m not gonna be some pity fuck-“

“It’s not a pity fuck, I’m saving your life-“

“I told you, no-“

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” You challenge, and Dean gives you a pleading, wrathfully frustrated look.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, course I wanna have- Fuck-“ He groans, eyes fluttering as his brow presses against yours. “Yeah. Yeah I want to. But- I won’t ask you to. So no.”

You swallow. It’s probably the fever making his tongue so loose. He’s so hot it almost burns to be this close, but that might just be Dean.

It’s always just Dean. And he has to know that.

“What if I want to have sex with you?”

Dean grunts, shaking his head. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it-“

“I mean it.” You fist your hand in his shirt, dragging him a little closer. “Do you?”

He stares at you again. Scans over your face like he’s looking for one clue that you’re just indulging him, that there’s a single doubt running through your head.

There isn’t. Your breathing is uneven, but your heart is going too fast for it to be anything else. You’re flushed with an unending, arduous hunger to just have him, however he needs you.

Slowly, testing the waters, Dean slides a hand onto your neck. You raise your chin, holding his gaze. He squeezes slightly, and you lean into him, tugging on his shirt for more.

His thumb moves up, dragging over your lower lip. You part your lips, and his nostrils flare.

Dean pushes his thumb slowly between your lips, and you close them obediently around him. Your eyes flutter as you suck, letting your tongue circle around the thick finger, tilting your head and letting your eyes flutter. He pushes a little deeper and you moan. Your hand flies up to grab his wrist, holding him against you, and Dean groans. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been all night, shining with something like awe.

You smile, grinding up into his torso and humming with pleasure.

Dean mouth hangs slack.

“Jesus fuckin’-“

He cuts himself off, pulling his thumb out with a pop and grabbing your jaw. You giggle happily for a second, and Dean swallows the sound, crashing his mouth against yours.

You’ve pictured this kiss a million times, a million ways, almost every night since you met him. Somehow, this is better than any slow, fairytale kiss with swelling music and sunlight hitting both your faces like a spotlight.

Dean’s not taking his time. He’s kissing you like you’re the last thing he knows, the only thing he’s ever wanted. Like a man who’s been starving himself, finally allowed a feast and wasting no precious seconds on manners. It’s urgent and forceful, words he can’t say being pushed down your throat with his tongue and spit. You kiss him back with everything you have, your fingers digging into his chest through his shirts, your head spinning as you neglect breath just to taste a little bit more whiskey and salt on his tongue. But nothing you throw at him Dean can’t seem to double.

You yank at his shirt, and he pulls your hair back. You try to grind up again, and he grabs your leg, hiking it over his hip. You grab his face, trying to kiss harsher, give more, and Dean slams down like a tidal wave, dominating your mouth with unforgiving need.

A moan escapes your throat, your body going limp in his arms, and he grunts. Ruts up into your core once, making your legs spread in a shameless invitation.

Dean grunts, yanking back like someone pulled him on a leash.

He stares at you for a long moment, his thumb finding its way back to your cheek. He smears a bit of spit over your cheek, and you tilt your head into the touch.

“You’re sure-“

“Yes.”

He nods tightly, takes a heavy breath, and leans away. “Get in the car.”

It’s a short, curt order. You don’t think twice before you obey.

You scramble into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and slamming them into the port like you’re about to enter a car chase. Dean’s barely in the car before the engine is rumbling and you’re reversing out of the spot, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. It’s happening. It’s happening.

“Easy, baby.” He chuckles, the sound raspy and sending more shivers through your body. “You that eager-“

“Yes.” You snap, and Dean hums.

A light, almost taunting hand lands on your thigh. You glance over and find him palming at his crotch, his eyes wholly black and mouth hanging open. It’s an animalistic expression, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and when you murmur his name he barely seems to hear.

His fingers dance up the inside of your leg, and you take an unsteady breath, spreading your legs wider. A deep, rumbling sound leaves Dean’s chest, those infernal fingers curling on the sensitive spot where your leg meets your core. Little electric shock rush through your body, and that’s just through the jeans.

“Dean.” You whisper, not even managing to make your voice firm. “I- I’m driving-“

“So look at the road.” He growls, knuckles brushing against your groin.

You bite your lower lip, and nod. It’s not worth arguing with him, and if you don’t think you can focus, you’ll just pull over. You told him you were sure. Told yourself that whatever he gave you, you’d be happy.

You just didn’t expect him to be borderline feral. The palming you could deal with. You expected.

This is different.

Dean scoots further, and you’re about to mumble something about a seatbelt when his lips brush the curve of your neck. You inhale sharply, gripping the wheel for dear life. Dean hums, his tongue flicking over a pulse point. His fingers start to crawl up to your abdomen, his mouth getting more insistent on your neck.

He nips at a pulse point before sucking on his, his tongue flat on your skin and a low sound leaving his chest when you lean back to grant him further access. He kisses a sloppy line up your throat as his fingers dance on your stomach, and you’re starting to get a little dizzy.

“De, be- Be careful-“

You cut yourself off with a breathy gasp, as his mouth latches behind your ear and he pulls down your zipper. He bites softly before sucking another bruise, popping the button open and slipping his hand into your pants.

“I- Fuck-” You tip your head back, hopelessly trying to keep your eyes on the road, and this is not a safe way to drive. You really should be shoving him away, but there’s no one on the road.

And with how he’s barely even speaking—just touching—you’re a little worried it might take extra effort to drag him out of the haze of the curse and push him away. He seems to be blinded to anything that isn’t you. His mouth drags back down your jaw as his fingers brush over your clothed pussy, and your whole body shakes.

He hums, leaving open kisses on your cheek and hairline. “Sensitive, sweetheart. Been a long time?”

You flush, and Dean starts to gather the fabric of your panties best he can through your pants. He drags it up, bunching it around your pussy, and another moan slips out from the pressure.

“Answer me-“

“Maybe.” You mumble, forcing yourself not to grind into his hand. “You- You know I don’t do that-“

“Do what?” He presses the fabric deeper between your pussy lips. “Don’t fuck?”

“Dean-“

“How long’s it been.” His words are hot against your neck, demanding and possessive. “Who touched you last, baby, who shoved their fingers in this pussy-“

“I- I don’t remember-“

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pulls your panties tighter against your clit. “’Cause they don’t’ fuckin’ matter, sweet girl. No one else is ever gonna touch you like this. I’m gonna make you soak my fingers, my face, my cock, and it’s gonna feel so good in that smart, pretty mouth,” he kisses the corner of your lips, and only the wheel in your hands stops you from turning and claiming his mouth again. “That’s always fucking teasing me, it ain’t gonna remember a single word but my name. You want that, baby? Wanna be my perfect fuckin’ slut?”

Jesus Christ, this is worse than the not speaking. If this is a dream—because you’ve had them like this before—you never want to wake up.

He yanks his hand away, leaving your underwear bunched up in your cunt, and slaps your pussy over the jeans. Your mouth falls open and you lean forward, lightning surging through your whole body.

“Oh my- Dean-“

“I told you, answer-“

“Yes, I- Yes, please-“ Your words fall off into a moan, as Dean shoves his hand back against you, this time dragging the panties away and plunging two fingers deep into your pussy. “Dean-“

“That’s right.” He mutters, crooking them deep against a sensitive spot. “That’s my girl, you’re so fuckin’ wet- This all for me?”

“Mmm- Mhm-“

“Fuck yeah it is.” He starts his attack on your neck again, only speaking between kisses, his fingers scissoring inside your pussy. “So damn tight, know you’re gonna take my cock so good, bet you taste like heaven- Fuck, I wanna taste this pussy, wanted to taste it for years-“

His own words fall into a moan, and for a second you think he’s just out of dirty talk, but he’s still mumbling incoherently against your skin.

Then you risk another look at his body, and the hand that isn’t in your pants has pulled out his cock.

And fuck, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Thick and long, but not painful looking. Throbbing and twitching as he jerks himself, the tip leaking and slick with pre-cum. It takes effort to look at the road and not just stare at the rock-hard, veiny marvel of a specimen between his legs.

You don’t know why you’re surprised. Dean’s a specimen himself.

He’s somehow already figured out how to finger you in such a confining position. His wrist has twisted, letting his thumb drag lazy circles around your clit, his fingers giving shallow, rough thrusts that make his fingers taunt your g-spot. Never really fully touching it, but sending shivers through your whole body.

“Oh- Oh-“ You have to take deep breaths to keep your head clear, your whole body winding tight with the arousal he’s pulling out of you, more and more every second. “Dean-“

“Shh.” He grunts, biting right under your jaw, and you squeak. “Just feel it. Sweet fuckin’ pussy, gushing around my fingers-“

You moan, loud and lewd, his deep voice not doing anything to help you keep it together.

It’s a miracle you make it to the motel. It’s a shit parking job—you’re definitely over the lines—but you’re both alive.

You barely shift the gears before Dean’s pouncing on you like an animal. Whatever the ride was, he still seemed to be showing restraint. Now that you’re safe, all bets are off. 

A squeal leaves you, as he flips your body. Pressing your back to the window and prowling over your body, slamming his mouth over yours and kissing until you’re slumping against the glass. Your hand flies up to grab the back of his neck, your hips rolling up to where his knee is pressed between your thighs. Your eyes dart down when you pull apart for a single, ragged breath—Dean pulling your lip between his teeth, and kissing your nose and cheek like breathing is really no longer his concern—and you whimper at the sight of him, still erect and hanging out of his pants.

Dean drags your chin back up, searing his lips over yours, and you melt. He’s a good kisser. And you knew that, but it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. It’s like you’re trading souls, like he’s trying to brand you with wandering hands and lips.

When you pull away again, your dizzy from the pleasure and force of him. You whine at the loss as he leans away, but Dean just squeezes your waist and smirks.

You hear a rip, as he claws your pants and underwear down your legs. You don’t get a chance to adjust before he’s shoving your knee up against the bench, dragging the other one over his shoulder as he ducks between your legs.

“Dean- Shit-“ Your breathing gets shallow as his breath fans over your pussy. “We- We’re supposed to be doing things that are- Like blowjobs-“

It’s so hard to argue with him when he’s between your legs. The sight alone is almost enough to tip you into a frenzy. His shining eyes looking up at you, his full lips grazing your inner thigh, leaving teasing kisses everywhere but where you’re aching for him. You run your fingers through his short, soft hair, trying to get his attention. He just makes a low sound like a purr, and presses his mouth over your clit.

You almost fly out of your skin. He’s making out with the sensitive nerve like they’re your mouth, his tongue dragging and pressing, his hands on your thighs kneading with every suck and graze of his teeth. All you can do is cover your mouth and try to stifle your moan.

Dean withdraws, and you make a strangled sound of frustration. He can’t just do that, it’s not fair-

“No doin’ that.” He grunts, dragging your hand from your mouth. “Wanna hear it.”

You nod weakly, but still try one more time to remind him who this is about. “Dean, it- it’s supposed to be stuff that’s good for you-“

“This is good for me.” He mutters, letting go of your thigh over his shoulder to let his fingers drag back over your fluttering pussy. “Look at you.” He mutters with pure awe. “Responsive, wet little pussy. Bet you’d like it when I do this.”

He pushes one finger knuckle-deep inside you, and you yank on his hair with delight.

“Yeah, you do. How about,” he drags it out, then shoves it back in, and your head tips back against the window, eyes screwing shut.

“Dean, Dean, please-“

He groans, adding a second finger and repeating the slamming motion. Once, twice, a third time. His tongue flicks against your clit on that last one, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Dean-“

Another deep sound, another flick, and you’re seconds from begging like a whore when he snaps.

Dean wraps his mouth back around your clit, resuming his ministrations from before with twice the fervor. His fingers pick up their pace, wet sounds filling the car as he finger-fucks you into oblivion.

The curse seems to have it’s full hold on him. He’s borderline feral. You’ve never had a man who eats pussy like he’s having a five-star meal, like it really is good for him. Sometimes he just pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue down your cunt, angling his head to press his tongue deep inside you and working his jaw until your toes are curling. His nose bumps your clit and his stubble scrapes your thighs, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he devours.

“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You let out a vulgar, lustful sound as he drags you further forward against his mouth, the pleasure rushing through your body. “Dean- God, just like that-“

He drags his mouth back up to your swollen, neglected clit, and those two fingers pump back into your hole. It’s somehow better and worse, and a shriek rips from your mouth as he spanks your pussy, then resumes his rhythm.

“Dean, please- Please, fuck- please-“

You’re already babbling, the tension in your lower abdomen so tight it’s almost painful. Your body is shaking with the stimulation, and Dean’s working you like an instrument. He finds every hyper-needy spot that makes you moan his name and playing it like a professional. You’re kept right on the edge for what feels like a million years, his fingers and mouth switching in and out, begging and begging as he turns you into an empty-headed, drooling wound-up mess.

Then he finally lets you over the edge.

Dean pushes his fingers right against your g-spot, and rubs. Your body seizes up, eyes crossing as his tongue flicks against your clit, and the heat built up in your gut explodes.

You shake as your orgasm rips through your pussy, your spine, every nerve in your body glowing with a deep, sex-addled bliss. Your clit is swollen between Dean’s lip as he drags you through it, your pussy gushing around his fingers and fingers yanking at his hair.

“Fuck, yes- Yes-“ You moan, legs locking around Dean’s head, and he groans against your pussy.

When it pulls another lewd sound from your chest, he does it again, slowly easing his fingers out and starting to clean up the mess between your thighs. He licks and hums, the sensation making your oversensitive body spasm every time he finds one of those spots.

It’s not certain you’re going to be able to walk to the motel room, when he finally pulls away.

But there’s a gleaming light in his eyes, that makes you think it’s really not going to matter.

Dean’s a wreck. His face is flushed, chest heaving, cock still hard but coated in a white stain that tells you he’s not close to working off the curse.

“Oh, you’re gonna be so mad about that when you’re better.” You mumble, seeing the stains on his precious bench, and Dean chuckles.

“I’ll get over it.”

You giggle, and Dean leans over you again, kissing you slow and deep. One orgasm seems to have cleared his head for a seconds, enough that he’s gently rubbing your bare, tender pussy, a soothing touch that’s really only working you up more.

“Love that sound.” He mutters, and you frown against his lips.

“Wha-“

“Your laugh.” He sucks on your upper lip, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Love it so much. Don’t think I’ve told you that before.”

He hasn’t. It somehow makes you flush more than any of the dirty things he’d been hissing in your ear before.

“You’re telling me a lot of new things.” You manage to mumble, and he huffs in amusement.

“Blame it on the curse.”

You giggle again, and his face shines like he won a prize.

“Son of a bitch,” his eyes are already darkening again, voice getting thick with the curse-driven hunger. “I love you, you know that?”

You can only gape at him. He must not have said what you thought  he said. “What?”

“You heard me.” He presses his brow against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I love you.”

He rasps your name, and you blink away tears.

“Dean, if it’s just the curse-“

“It’s not. It’s-“

He slides his mouth against yours and this is the romantic kiss you always pictured. Slow and devoted as he takes the time to memorize you, to bask in the glow of your heart as you shine with love beneath him.

“You know it, right?” His voice is gravelly, his body pressing firmer over yours. He’s going back under. He can probably feel it. “That I mean it?”

He’s still asking—almost begging—you to tell him that you know.

“I know.” You mumble. “I- I love you too.”

Dean goes rigid over your body, and you blink up at him, as nervous as a doe in headlights. Just like the kiss, you’ve dreamed of saying it. Pictured it somewhere romantic, your makeup perfect and the breeze running through your hair. Dean falling to his knees after, kissing your hands before sweeping you off your feet.

Instead you’re lying in the car, cum staining your tangled legs, everything in you ruined from being eaten out by the sinful mouth that haunts your dreams. Dean’s hovering over you, tongue darting over those same lips—shining with your arousal, making your thighs rub together under him—and your holding onto his flannel, both your clothing stuck to your skin from sweat.

He doesn’t fall to his knees. He just looks at you like he’s not sure it’s a dream either.

At least he still sweeps you off your feet.

Dean moves like a machine. You’re not even sure what’s happening until you’re being hit by the wind, dragged down the bench by your ankles and wrapped in one of his jackets to preserve your modesty. His dick has been hastily shoved back into his pants—the fly still fucking down—and you’re about to tell him you’d at least like your underwear before he’s picking it up and shoving it into his pocket.

“Dean!” You gasp, and he just grunts, sweeping you fully into his arms.

“Mine.” He mutters under his breath, looking around the parking lot like he’s still trying to orient himself. “I- I gotta, fuck-“

Gently, you reach up and turn his chin in the direction of your motel room. “Over there, De.” You mumble, and he nods tightly.

He’s fully back under. You don’t bother to struggle or try and convince him that you can walk, because you’re not even sure you could. It’s not worth distressing Dean over anyway.

Despite his fever soaring and gaze being fogged by the curse, he manages you gently. When you get into the room you’re tossed on the bed and pinned back down for his mouth to work you open again, but the brusing grip is full of care, his mouth worshipful on your pussy. After that he’s rising over your body, ripping clothing like it’s a personal offense on his sensibilities and descending over you with another feral growl.

Your legs are shoved apart, but he rubs a hand over your calves almost reverently. Staring at your glistening, abused pussy with a look of pride and affection, gaze slowly dragging up your flushed breasts and thoroughly marked neck to meet yours.

You give him a honeyed, coaxing smile. You’re his to take, if he wants it.

He makes a low sound from his chest, and starts to kiss up your body. You gasp when his lips wrap around one of your peaked nipples, sucking gently until your grinding up into him. His hand splays over your stomach, gently guiding you back down, and you whine desperately.

“Patience.” He hums, kissing over your breast before switching to the other nipple. “Gonna take care of you. Fuck- You’re so beautiful, so fuckin’-“

Dean moans to himself, and you whimper his name, yanking on his hair.

But there’s no rushing him. He plays with your tits until he’s had his fill—when they’re swollen and you’re arching into every touch—then works back down to your pussy. Tasting your arousal, soaked and messy and almost shamefully dripping down his hand when he touches you.

He doesn’t seem to mind it at all though. 

“Messy girl.” He grunts, twisting one finger inside of you. “Think you’re ready for some cock, aren’t you. Gonna take me, princess? Show me how much you love me?”

You blink at him through tears, on the brink of screaming his he doesn’t let you cum again soon. When you nod it’s like a bobblehead, and you only remember his orders from before at the last second.

“Yes.” You gasp. “Yes, Dean, please-“

Again, he moves.

You’re almost a ragdoll in his arms. A ragdoll that he moves like you’re threaded from gold, tossing you around and gripping your hips so hard you’ll have a handprint in the morning, but kissing over every hickey on your neck and muttering words of low, tender praise every second.

“Good girl.” He mutters as he drags his cock between your pussy lips. “Good fuckin’ girl, already cockdrunk and stupid for me, aren’t you. Love taking you like this, looking at you all pretty and dumb-“

You whine, head lolling to the side. Dean slides two fingers into your mouth and you suck on them like candy, taking anything he’ll offer.

He growls, dick catching on your entrance, and you shiver, looking up at him under fluttering eyes.

Dean drags you up like you weigh nothing, slowly sitting you down on his massive cock, and every thought but his name is driven from your head.

He’s thick. So think you almost don’t think you can take it, but your whine of protest is only met by cooing, filthy praise in your ears and careful circles around your clit. You don’t know how he can still be so far into the curse and able to restrain himself from rutting you like a beast.

Probably because it’s Dean. That feels like explanation enough.

It takes a moment for him to bottom out, and when he does you’re sure you’ve never been this full. He’s hitting places inside of you that you hadn’t known existed, dropping you into a pool of pleasure that makes your breathing stuttered, your nails scratching over his shoulders as you try to keep yourself from floating away.

Dean kisses you, hot and deep. You moan against him and he grabs your hips, starting to roll you up and down on his cock. You can tell he’s experimenting again, trying to figure out where he hits the deepest, working you open until you’re riding his cock smoothly your head falling back as pants of his name leave your mouth.

It’s paradise. Your toes are curling with every twitch of his cock inside you, every rush of heat when he slams extra hard and hits your cervix. It takes him takes him some time to decide how he wants you , and you’d laugh at what he settles on if the air wasn’t being fucked from your lungs.

Dean cums while holding you in his lap, his thrusts getting short and a groan of your name falling from his mouth when he ruts up, his cock pumping hot release inside of you and your own orgasm rolling through your body like an electrical storm. But then you’re being picked up and flipped around so your back is pressed to his chest, his arm locking around your neck and his hand returning to your clit as his fucks up into you. Then you’re moved forward onto the mattress, Dean turning your face so he can hear your moans and keeping your ass into the air as he slams from behind, his balls slapping against your clit and bringing you back up to the edge.

You’re in his lap again, folded under him with your knees to your chest, rolled on top of him so he can play with your tits and watch you ride.

Every time he cums, you’re thrown into a new position and held there until you both fall back over the edge. You’ve never been wrecked like this before, your head empty, pussy drenching his cock as he spills and claims every spot on your body.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growls into your ear from below you, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh, gathering his release on his fingers. “So pretty, bouncing on this cock, my pretty fuckin’ baby-“

“Dean.” You whine, scraping at his chest. “Dean, feels so good, so fucking good-“

“I know.” He coos. “Made for me, getting so fucking stupid on my cock- Open.”

He slaps your cheek lightly, and your lips part. Dean feeds you his cum, other hand rubbing up and down your spine, and you grind down onto him with need.

“Good girl, fuckin’- Christ you’re so good-“ His thrusts get shorter, brutal and uneven. “You’re mine, this sweet pussy is mine, gonna- Gonna fuckin’ worship you, fuck-“

He drills up into you, taking his hand away to bounce you how he likes.

You both cum, Dean calling your name and throwing his head back, watching you under hooded, still hungry eyes.

There’s a second to catch your breath, as he palms your breast. Pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, watching how you arch into his touch.

“You like that?” He grunts, and you hum.

“Feels good.”

“Damn right it does.” He grabs the other one, working them in tandem.

You whine his name, looking at him under pleading lashes.

Dean groans. “Fuck, baby…”

He’s hard again, and you’re being moved into another position.

By the time he finds one he wants to keep, you’re a disaster of a woman. Making sounds that are supposed to be his name, boneless below him and still trying to chase more, even as your body turns into a raw, live nerve.

Dean’s got you under him again, his body pressed over yours, cock plunging in and out of your pussy at a lazy, torturous pace. You’ve been like this for what must be an hour, maybe a day, maybe fifty years. Tears of pleasure are stained on your cheeks, there’s a wet sound with every thrust as his cum leaks out of your stuffed hole, and Dean’s praise is becoming more and more lucid.

“I love you.” He mutters, and you moan, turning your head to try and kiss him.

“Dean…”

“I know.” He mutters. “I know, baby, but you’re doin’ so good. Feeling better, almost done, just gotta-“

He kisses over your face, finally capturing your lips as he starts to rut, pounding into your swollen g-spot over and over.

You barely have the energy to arch up, when you cum. You breathe out his name, pussy clenching as you feel that last bit of his cum squirt into you, and a wet, hot feeling floods your pussy as your vision goes white.

“Love you.” Dean’s still muttering as you float through the haze, his lips pressed over yours. “Loved you forever, never- Never thought-“

His voice cracks, and you know the curse is over. He’s not getting hard again inside of you, not trying to chase more.

Just pressing his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tight, words muffled against your skin.

“Thank you.” He mutters. “Thank you for- For sayin’ it back, even if that wasn’t-“

“It was,” you breathe out. He needs to know. “I love you, Dean. Have for longer.”

He chuckles, squeezing your body, and you smile into the air.

You find the strength to thread your fingers through his hair, and he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your sensitive skin. You shiver, whining softly, and he chuckles again. Both of you too fucked out to move. You’re not sure you’re going to be able to walk in a straight line for a month.

But it was worth it.

Holding Dean here, so peacefully, was more than worth it.

“-isn’t what they really want just conforming to their mold?”

You’re turning around. 

A faint smile on your lips. “Then what can we do about all the different molds?”

Nanami nods. “No one person is correct. It’ll never be good enough.” He lets out a soft sigh before pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses; they were a delicate kind that seemed to have a faint glow whenever they caught the light filtering in from Tokyo’s busy morning. Perfectly paired against Nanami’s handsome face—in the sort of classical, movie-star manner that might have caused him to be hung up on posters in teenage bedrooms or emblazoned outside of theatres.

Or so you’ve heard human customs tend to do so.

And yet, here Nanami Kento was: standing in a cream-colored suit with ink smudges on his fingertips. It often surprised you how a perfect Earthling like this was simply tucked-away in a little cubicle at Daily Planet Newspaper.

You certainly have never seen another like so.

But you got to see his face everyday—so you weren’t exactly complaining.

Nanami’s eyes drop at the growing smile on your face, and he pushes up a strand of golden-blond hair. That was just about as mussed-up as that perfectly slicked hairstyle of his would ever become. “Apologies. It’s just- it really bothers me to see the shit being written about Supergirl with no basis. Especially in respectable newspapers.”

“Well, it is the gossip column.”

“The sports section?”

“Same thing.” It was all human mish-mash to you either way. Beside him, the corner of Nanami’s lips give the faintest twitch. You’re flipping through the latest print of Daily Planet to another page; this time one with your (Supergirl’s) face plastered centrespread. Mid-air and your red cape flying behind you. It’s been only a few years since you’d landed on Earth after the destruction of Krypton. Then only a few weeks since you’d debuted as a superhero: stealing the spotlight from Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League as you swooped in and defeated Metallo. 

Ever since then it’d been an explosion of newspaper headlines and television shows and even sketches; both good and bad. Mostly bad. You weren’t sure what got you off to the wrong foot. Maybe it was the uniform that too-closely resembled Superman’s? Maybe it was the crude words you’d spit out at villains mid-fight? Maybe it was that one time you flipped off the Justice League for being too late to the fight? 

In your defense, you thought Earthlings said something about early birds getting the villains?

And maybe all those were correct.

But whatever it was—they would tear you apart. Then piece you back. Then tear you apart again. You weren’t the family-friendly image of a superhero that most were; and it made something at the pit of your stomach feel saturated and dark and useless to have to edit such articles time and time again. To have to write them yourself, if you wanted to get approved by your higher-ups.

Perhaps that was a part of human culture?

Fuck those windbags either way.

You didn’t understand how any other hero did it - then again it wasn’t as if you could easily ask them. You weren’t an official part of the Justice League—and you didn’t see yourself getting welcomed with open arms anytime soon. So you hid yourself away and semi-hypnotized those at your workplace to see a forgettable face whenever they looked at you - not Supergirl—even so, it was brittle at best. 

Kryptonian hypnosis wasn’t as powerful as Martians. What you could merely do was suggest. “So- you don’t think Supergirl’s too crass?”

Nanami looks up, brows somewhat furrowed. “I quite frankly don’t think it matters. Who am I to judge?”

“Oh yeah? What about too destructive? Too disrespectful of the Justice League?”

“Again, who am I to judge?” Now, Nanami’s taking a seat—his desk was opposite yours, your backs to one another as you tap-tap-tapped away at new articles everyday. “Maybe she could do with a little less destruction of public infrastructure and that’s fine, but if she’s too crass then she’s too crass. That’s just her. Just as I’m not forced to like it—it’s silly to expect every superhero to conform to the ideal. Not one person nor mold is completely correct.”

From his seat, he tips his head up and looks at your standing self.

“But, personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Green Lantern in the first place.”

This time, it’s your turn to attempt to keep a too-big smile off your face. 

You give him a pointed look. “I dunno. I heard she steals candy from babies—says so on Page 9.”

“Ridiculous.” Nanami cocks his head and beckons for the newspaper from you; after you hand it to him he flips through to that very page and scans it. “And precisely without proof. This is why I’ve been investigating Supergirl, beyond what these pages or secret sources say—”

From where you were, you could hear Usami loudly bragging to his colleagues a few desks over about the ‘exclusive source’ that gave him that little tidbit of information. You wanted to roll your eyes again.

“-and I’ve been working on something.”

“What is it?” You lean over to look as Nanami unlocks one of his desk drawers and pulls out a thick file. Unmarked. Your heart leaps to your throat as he sweeps it open to reveal pages upon pages of…pictures of you.

Not you—

—but you as Supergirl.

You mid-flight amongst thunderclouds. You amongst rubble. You pushing a kid behind you in order to shield him from a villain. You with your face twisted in fury as you’re pummeling that very same villain with a ferociousness that scared most - even civilians.

Which explained the headlines.

You skulking off into an alleyway before the medics and police could arrive, as you always did.

You. You. You. You. You.

And around them were notes scribbled in Nanami’s own neat hand.

Hero analysis:

Best skills: Superhuman strength, superhuman speed (comparable to that of the Flash), heat vision, physiological control, martial arts (see more on…)

Costume is that of similar style of Superman however with the added adaptabilities of…(sketch on back)

—one of the strongest debuts of any superhero in history. The supervillain Metallo has been terrorizing—

—though at odd relations with the Justice League, it seems that clashes over justice enactment—

—train—

—the greatest—

Female. 20’s to 30’s. Features may be changeable with Kryptonian powers (follow up with…). Suspected resident in Tokyo—concentration of fights here; in close contact with the Justice League who has headquarters here in Tokyo. Furthermore, seems familiar with the alleyways for her ‘disappearing act’ (for more thorough analysis see more on…) and mapping (more on…) has revealed that Supergirl tends to head in the wider direction of—Kabukicho. 

(Follow up).

Your eyes widen.

Fuck.

You have to change up the bars you hit after fights.

And just when you think your heart can’t leap any higher; he flips through a few more pages and stops on one particular piece of evidence - the biggest of them all - a frontpage newspaper clipping of you…and him. Nanami all dust-covered and dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, as you threw his arm over your shoulders and helped him out of Tokyo Downtown Bakery. You had your face twisted in fury, and Nanami…you never noticed it before, but Nanami was looking at you like you were the Sun.

The fight had happened just last week: you’d been heading home after work when your superhearing told you something was off. An explosion downtown. 

Tokyo Downtown Bakery was a favorite of gods, mutants, aliens, and other non-humans alike. Known for it, in fact. And there was only one villain you could think of that wanted to take down such non-humans—Kenjaku.

You’d zipped there as fast as your flight could take you, and only once you were there had you heard a familiar heartbeat. More frantic now, of course. But familiar.

Nanami was trapped underneath the rubble.

Kenjaku saw your momentary distraction - the realization that made your blood grow cold - and had taken the chance to disappear into the shadows. 

After making sure that every other customer and employee didn’t have to be flown to the hospital urgently, you dropped onto your knees in front of the mountain of rubble and dug and dug. And dug. And dug. You dug until you felt the control over your physiology slipping, and small cuts started to apply at your fingertips—healing over instantly. Then getting ripped open all over as you just kept- on- digging.

In reality it must have been less than five or ten minutes, but it felt like months, before you finally flung away the last block of debris from a soft body. And Nanami Kento stirred.

That was what had resulted in the photograph, and the headlines that followed.

SUPERGIRL A WEEK INTO SUPERHEROISM AND ALREADY LETTING VILLAINS ESCAPE?

SUPERGIRL PAUSES FIGHT FOR BREAK?! MORE LIKE LAZYGIRL (Exclusive)

SUPERGIRL SAVES THE DAY AGAIN—BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE?

SUPERGIRL SAVES RUBBLE-TRAPPED CIVILIANS: “I owe her my life.” 

That last one boasted the picture. And the byline of Nanami Kento. 

You try to control your breathing.

“Ever since she saved me, I’ve been trying to understand Supergirl better. That fury on her face…I’ve been trying to figure out who she is-”

“To…expose her?”

“No.” Nanami shakes his head. The both of you were breathless - though for very different reasons. Excitement practically makes him glow, “To maybe try and interview her- personally. I want to see what she’s like beyond all those cashgrab headlines and the rumors. And…” 

You’re silent as he pauses.

“-and I want to thank her personally.” So soft.

“Oh.” Your voice sounds small. Smaller than you’ve ever heard it. 

 He’s then closing his file and looking up at you so sweetly—“And if you’re interested, then maybe we could work together on it? I actually got a tip that I’m about to go do some field work on right now.” A sudden burst of shyness makes Nanami’s cheekbones burn a pretty rouge as you stare at him intensely. That was one thing you loved about humans - immense control over your physiology meant Kryptonians couldn’t blush unless you made yourselves. Humans couldn’t control when they blushed and it was just the sweetest thing to you. Was Nanami’s heartbeat picking up? “That is…if you would like to? I know you likely have better articles to work on, but just in case…”

He trails off and you’re trailing behind your head and your heart.

Your heart that wanted you to say yes.

Your head that made you say—

“I’m sorry.” You feel your heart fall. There’s a simmering of anger at yourself; soothed partially by the understanding that the more time you spent with Nanami…the higher the chance was of him finding out who you were. There were countless people out to get you: villains, henchmen, reporters. And the second-best thing to getting you was getting someone you cared for that knew you. About you. 

The only powerless humans that knew about you were Clark’s- Superman’s adoptive parents. 

And whatever misery that might put you in - you’d take it twofold if it meant keeping one more normal Earthling like Nanami safe. You’re taking a step back and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s just I have this really ah- riveting story to write about the erm- tax refunds and the economic implications of Supergirl’s last fight and…”

“Oh!” Nanami nods fervently, pushing his glasses up. Embarrassment radiated off of him like a miniature Sun, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him this was on you. But alas. “Oh, right, of course- I wish you luck with that.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lips pressed together to prevent a sigh. “I’m going to need it.”

“A journalist like you? Not in the least.”

With a nod of graciousness, you’re just about to leave Nanami’s table and pretend that the latter half of this interaction perhaps never happened. You almost wished Kryptonians had the ability to hypnotize themselves as they could to others. And you’re considering a much more interesting article about that before you’re stopping in your tracks and half-glancing at Nanami over your shoulder. 

He was hard at work gathering his things for what you assume to be the extra field work regarding his Supergirl article.

You feel your heart clench.

“Nanami?”

He looks up eagerly. “Yes?”

Your words are slightly less than steady once you speak again. “If- when you discover Supergirl’s identity…you might be…disappointed. They say she’s nothing like Superman.”

“She doesn’t have to be.”

As Nanami throws his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands to leave—“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.” But he calls everyone that, doesn’t he?

“And I’ll…be working late.”

“Be careful not to miss your train.”

You don’t look at him until the very last second. When his tall frame is ducking beneath the doorway to the Daily Planet journalism department; cream-colored suit and golden glasses; old movie star looks drawing eyes, but not too close so he’ll never know that you stared at him from afar. Never.

You sink into your chair.

“What was that about?”

Had your superhuman senses not told you about Shoko’s nearing presence, you would have been startled. But you’re throwing in a slight jump just for the sake of it.

“Oh- come on.” Shoko says with a roguish grin. There was a slender cigarette tucked between her index and her middle finger; as was wont to have if one was Ieiri Shoko. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever seen her without one. “Not dramatic enough. Next time try throwing in a little gasp there.”

It seems that you still had work to do on your human reactions…“What have I told you about the cigarette smell getting on the papers?” You grimace at her - this particular human pleasure was especially sensitive to your nose.

“Can’t remember.” She replies, blowing out her last puff of smoke.

Shoko was perhaps your one exception to humans not knowing about your true identity—for the sole fact that she wasn’t your average human. Smooth. Silent. And stupidly intelligent - Shoko was perhaps the best investigative journalist Tokyo had to offer.

Which was to be expected, of course, given that she was the protégé of The Question.

A normal human journalist—just with enough combat skill and power to get him inducted into the Justice League. The Question had been a master in hand-to-hand combat even amongst the most trained superheroes; which paired well with the depth of investigative journalism that he would do. He exposed criminal underworlds that led to likely half the lodgers at Tokyo Island Penitentiary. 

When you’d been reading up on the superheroes of Earth - both current and inactive - it was his sheer heroism as a mere human that’d inspired you to become a journalist as well.

The Question had hand-picked Shoko as his successor—and for good reason. After his passing due to old age, Shoko quickly proved herself to be a master with the pen; she cracked her ink like a whip. Just last week, she’d exposed that damned Lex Luthor’s embezzling which at least got him out of Superman’s hair for some time. And despite the publicity of the event, the covert nature of her heroism meant she didn’t have to deal with the constant headlines.

Shoko was no different than those at the Justice League. Than you.

But she was an enigma.

So you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have walked in on you hurriedly changing into your supersuit in the cramped cubicle bathrooms at the Daily Planet - there was a train about to go off-course a few thousand kilometers away - than Shoko.

“Oh.” You remember it like it was yesterday. The door had swung open as you had one foot into the suit. “The lock’s broken.” She’d said.

“Uh…occupied?” You’d murmured then, in a voice higher-pitched than usual. You considered hypnotizing her twofold- no wait, there was some power to do with amnesia even though you weren’t sure whether it would be—

“I know what you’re thinking.” Shoko had smiled then. “And don’t you dare try - not because I’d say anything, but because the Justice League’s paperwork is a pain in the ass when you try to fight another superhero.”

Your jaw had dropped. “Another…?” You’d shove that paperwork up their asses- but another superhero?

“Haven’t guessed it already?” Shoko shoved a hand into her long jacket, pulling out a square piece of what almost looked like rubber. It was in the exact shade as her skin tone, and when she placed it over her face—

“Featureless.” You’d gasped. Pseudoderm. “Just like The Question.”

“Flattered you know us, Supergirl.”

But there was no more time for chit-chat—that train you’d been hearing was dangerously close to going off-tracks now, and you’d hastily begun stuffing yourself into your supersuit. To which Shoko hadn’t flinched - instead appraising you curiously. “Why don’t you just wear that underneath your suit?”

“Because…” Because you were too afraid of someone sneaking a peak at the suit underneath. Because you were too afraid of being Supergirl when you were your ‘human’ self—hated. At least as a human you weren’t hated. Because you were too afraid of walking around as two halves making up one whole, when one half was all you needed at a time to feel content.

Ultimately you settled for not saying anything at all. “Listen- please don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah- I’ve already been through this song and dance.” She waved you off absent-mindedly. “Don’t reveal your secret identity to anyone. Don’t make it obvious when you’re off saving the world.”

You felt a smile come to your face at those last few words.

“You don’t think I’m…ruining justice instead?” A rush of embarrassment ran through you for even asking.

But Shoko merely cocked her silky head. “Hah, no? And who cares what the Justice League thinks? Now go do superhero things, superhero.”

The train and its passengers were saved in record time that day. And just like she’d said, Shoko hadn’t spilled a word.

Though for all the secrets she kept- she did love hearing them.

“So…” She relights her cigarette. “Did Nanami finally ask you out and you rejected him?”

“What-” You’re turning to her with a yelp. “He did not—” She takes the moment to blow a cloud of smoke at your papers, and you’re snatching the cigarette from between her lips and snuffing it out on one of your ceramic desk decorations. 

“Hey…” Shoko whines.

Finally you’re whispering to her in a low tone - “He did not ask me out. And I did not reject him.”

“Then why’d he leave all sad and puppy-eyed?”

You’re turning around—almost as if expecting Nanami there still. “He didn’t…did he?”

“Maybe. I didn’t see. But you looked, didn’t you?” Chuckling. The Question takes the cigarette back from you, and holds it out of your reach.

“That was only because you-” You find that you don’t quite have much to say - at least not something that Shoko would pay heed to. And so you’re settling for a few grumbled curses—“No. He just asked me to be part of one of his articles.”

Shoko looks up in interest. “Oh? About what?”

“Supergirl.” You cross your arms. “He said he wanted to figure out who she was so he could interview her- I said no, of course.”

Shoko - who’d now newly relit her cigarette - takes a long drag and lets it free into the air. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why’d you say no?”

You take her cigarette and put it out again. “Because the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to…find out. And with everything going on, I can’t risk putting him in danger.”

“Hm…” Shoko thinks for some time. “Putting him in danger? Or putting his image of you in danger?” She stares at you intently. “Are you really afraid that he’s going to be captured by villains you’ve been defeating time and time again these past few weeks? Maybe.” Then she’s gently tugging the cigarette from between your fingertips - to light it again. A final time. “Or are you more afraid that once he finds out who you truly are- he’s going to be just like the rest of them?”

You don’t bother reaching for the cigarette anymore. “I…”

But Shoko wasn’t done just yet. She blows her smoke into the air and lets it linger. “It’s just like these papers and this smoke. When the nicotine sticks to them, it’s invisible but it’s there—even if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change its contents. Nor does that make it any less worthy than any other article here.”

You crinkle your nose. “But others won’t like it either.”

“So fuck them.” She stands. “It’s gonna be printed into a damn article, it doesn’t need to smell like rainbows and roses. No two newspapers are printed the same.”

And with that said, Shoko striding off. Cigarette and all.

And you’re left staring at a blank paper—ready for typing.

.

.

.

Nanami Kento had never quite been to this area of Tokyo.

It was one of the seedier places; an amalgamation of everything your mother advises you against. Past the bars and the spas, past the graffiti-tattooed walls and the alleyways that seemed to stretch into darkness endlessly. Past men slouched on roads - drunk or dead. Past the rattle of trains in the distance and rats who chittered at the only abode they truly ruled. Where even those cowered standing next to—and one goes to share the same fear doused upon this neighborhood, doled, perhaps to replace that of their own.

Then again, there was a strange beauty in it itself - like a giant wound mending itself.

There was a stun gun in his pocket. He wondered what this place would look like in daylight. 

He ignored the knot in his throat as he kept on walking.

It wasn’t the place you’d expect to find a superhero - then again, Supergirl didn’t listen to anyone’s expectations of her. 

Often after fights, he’d see you disappearing into the shadows of a building or a lone alleyway such as these. As if never there. You didn’t wait around for any authorities or paparazzi. And it was only after weeks of investigation that he’d managed to narrow it down to one district that you were frequenting: Kabukicho. 

Even afterwards, he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t simply the entertainment district that you were fond of.

You were fond of hiding.

Asking around for sightings of a person of your description took Nanami meters away from actual Kabukicho, and down narrow alleys and underground streets. Into clubs and behind hotels. Into the seediest, smallest establishments hadn’t even the faintest waft of a main street. Currently he was heading towards a bar he was directed towards by an anonymous tip; the tip had said that you came here at least once a week or so. Sometimes not even to drink - just to people-watch.

And if Nanami Kento knew anything about you: it was that you found humans fascinating.

He’d seen it after fights, when you’d watch families rush to one another and embrace. He’d seen it even during fights, as you analyzed villains that were easy prey.

And he wondered…did you find humans interesting as much as they found you? Or at least, he did. 

It’s after a few minutes of walking down this small street, lit only by the angry neon signs of underground clubs, that he stops before a squat bat. THE CHAMELEON—the sign said.

He pats the stun gun in his pocket. 

And with a deep breath, he’s walking in.

The stench of liquor dances a frenzied waltz with cigarettes; it reaches his nose though he doesn’t cringe as he weaves between closely-pressed tables. Patrons hunched over nursing their columns of glasses look up at him suspiciously as he walks past them. He knew he should have changed out of his cream-colored suit. 

It was barely visible in the bar, due to the faint light buzzing solely from a few spots on the ceiling, surrounded by wine-drunk flies, but Nanami managed to sit himself down at the counter. A bartender with long greyish-blue hair wiping greasy glasses with an even greasier rag looks up at him.

“Ah…” Nanami’s eyes fall to the glass and the rag - he himself was a good drinker, though the establishments he frequented were nothing of this sort. “Just a beer, please.”

The bartender asks, “Mmm, tap?”

“Do you have bottles-”

“No bottles.”

“Then ah- just a water, please.”

“No water either.” He says in a strangely melodic voice, “Just cider. Just cider. Apple, peach, and pear~!”

Nanami looks at the man warily, “Then…a peach cider please.”

The bartender shrugs then takes the rag—blowing his nose into it- before he throws it somewhere over his shoulder and fetches a peach cider for Nanami. It pools condensation onto the counter as it’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it even a single millimeter.

“What are you trying to find, young man?”

Nanami almost flinches. 

The voice comes from the seat next to him; gruff and gravelly like when one has smoked far too many cigarettes for far too long. As he turns—the man next to him laughs. He had a white, wide-rimmed hat tipped low over his face, and was wearing an equally stark white suit. It was just about the only things he could make of him - nothing of his actual features.

And though Nanami didn’t know the man, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of kinship as the two patrons of the bar that didn’t seem like they belonged there.

Despite this, however, this other man’s fingers found a chip in his cider glass with familiarity. 

“There are only two reasons that folks come down to a bar like this: either to lose something—pain, memories, fatigue; or to find something.” He nods his head over at the younger man, but still doesn’t reveal a sliver of a face. “And since you haven’t touched that cider of yours, young man, I’m assuming…”

“Finding something, I suppose.” Almost robotic, Nanami grasps his glass. 

He thinks he sees a flash of a smile from the other man.

Nanami continues, “Maybe you can help me? Would you happen to have seen someone come in tonight-” His heart thunders as he lists off the features written down in that file of his—and the man keeps nodding with each one. “-perhaps around my age, though-”

“So it’s love problems.”

He stops short. “What?”

“Love problems.” That man clucks out a wet laugh, then takes a swig of his cider.

Nanami responds hesitantly. “I’m…afraid you misunderstand. I’m just trying to find-”

“I know perfectly what you mean.” He displays a set of paper-white teeth, gleaming. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slaps something down on the marble counter. “Her, right?”

Nanami peers in and finds it to be a blurry polaroid of you at this very bar, taken like you hadn’t known it was happening. And you weren’t revelling like one would have expected you to after a constant winning streak against villains. You weren’t even lamenting your woes with your fellow bar patrons.

You were just…watching. 

Alone at a booth. Nothing in front of you but a water- perhaps that bartender had lied to him. 

It was a night livelier than this one, evidently, as bachelor celebrations and 21st birthday parties and seemingly drunken singing surrounded you from all angles. But you simply watched. Waited. There was something so sorrowfully beautiful about you that it made Nanami’s heart ache. 

“It’d been my buddy’s divorce party and someone had pulled out the polaroid. He snapped a picture and somehow I just couldn’t find it in myself to part with it…there’s something so haunting about it.”

Nanami merely stares speechlessly, running his finger down the edge of the picture.

“Trying to understand someone is, too, an act of love isn’t it?” The other man says. Before Nanami could respond, he’s polishing off the last few drops of his cider and getting off the chair—he seemed much taller when he was standing. “Come now. This Supergirl of yours is quite the party- after draining The Chameleon she tends to head East towards the Golden Gai. Finish up your cider and then we can go.”

“R-right.” Nanami’s hand almost falls to pat his stun gun reassuringly- but under the man’s scrutiny he reaches for the cider instead. “And sorry- what was your name again Mr…?”

“Come now, come now. We can save the pleasantries for when we walk there, young man.”

“Right.” 

Bringing it up to his lips. 

Almost. “But how did you know I was searching for Super-”

He sighs. “You journalists ask too many questions.”

And with a forceful shove, he’s making Nanami chug down the cider - blood and peaches coating his tongue. And the sharp shot of something else he couldn’t place. 

“And you can call me Kenjaku, young man.”

And then it’s black.

“I saw the way Supergirl—” Spit. “—looked at you. And I must thank you for leading her to me.”

Kilometers away, you’re in the middle of heading to the train station with Shoko. You’d both gotten off work late and were lamenting what a pain it’d be to get up tomorrow morning—

Your head snaps up.

You’re immediately looking behind you.

“What is it?” Shoko asks with no small sense of emergency.

That gasp. That thud. 

You’ve never heard it; yet you’d recognize it anywhere.

“Something bad has happened.”

.

.

.

Alleyways. Bar. Rats. Love Hotel. Alleyways. Bar. Bar. Alleyways. Alleyways. Alleyways.

Why did you have to go down so many alleyways?

It was a bar that you’d only been to once; the shadows were long and the cider was sweet—but ultimately you’d decided that you didn’t want to return. It was the day after you’d saved Nanami Kento. 

And now you were doing the very same thing.

THE CHAMALEON had wound down for the night by the time that you skidded to a halt before it - with the tar road cratering beneath you as you stopped. There’s a thundering noise that echoes down the gloomy streets of this forgotten part of Kabukicho. You don’t waste a single second longer before kicking the door open and storming inside—

“Ah~ my lovely Supergirl.”

“Kenjaku.” You spit. The bar was empty save for the man seated at the counter - a dark waterfall of hair, darker eyes - and in his hand he held a single glass of what you assumed to be cider. “Where is he-”

“Slow down, my dear.” He croons. “Why don’t you sit back? Have a drink or two? And then maybe we can-”

“Where the fuck is he.”

It happens instantaneously—in a jerky movement you’re picking up an entire table by its leg. Using a mere fraction of your strength, you chuck it at the man - not quite to hit just yet - and it flies past him with naught a hair’s breadth of space between the side of his head and the table. Crashing against the wall of alcohol bottles in the back; liquor and shards of glass explode behind Kenjaku, yet he doesn’t move a single muscle. Not a single muscle.

Not even his lips to speak. 

It infuriates you that he can remain sitting and sipping his cider without a care in the world- and so you’re striding towards him. Though striding was perhaps a kinder word.

Grabbing a bottle off the counter, he breaks its end and attempts to stab you.

You dodge.

He stabs.

You dodge.

He swipes your cheek—

“Motherfucker you better know that I don’t care what you do to me-” Each word leaves you like a dagger. “I don’t care how you hurt me-” And within a few seconds, you’ve closed the gap completely to grip him by the collar and raise Kenjaku a foot off his chair. “But what the fuck have these innocent people ever done to you?”

Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he starts laughing.

And you’re only watching in stunned silence.

You only can watch—Kenjaku laughs long and unabashed, with a strange hitch like a crow’s call - he laughs so hard that he has to wipe away a tear. It sends red-hot fury curdling in your veins.

You reel your fist back.

Tightly-coiled. Trembling with anger.

And you’re just about to swing—

When Kenjaku raises a single finger - the gesture humans often do when asking for a moment of your time - that makes you halt in your tracks. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, you didn’t want to risk anything that might put Nanami in danger.

And so you wait.

And you watch.

As Kenjaku’s eyes fall to the glass of cider that had been kept on the counter. He takes it in his hand. He clears his throat, “You should have been here earlier, oh- your little boyfriend was just drinking away his woes. Something about his love being a filthy alien, you see?” Those deep amethyst eyes—they were so dark that they seemed to leave a stain where they then turned to look at you.

You can’t take your eyes off of him - even as you bring your raised punch back and instead grasp Kenjaku’s neck with both hands. If you can’t pummel him to death, you were ready to strangle him.

Your hands tighten.

“O-oh.” Kenjaku’s hands claw down your forearms, but he’s powerless against you. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

They tighten.

“And you already know it’s true, don’t you? You know that deep down—you’re everything they say you are- you’re everything and worse-” They tighten. His skin starts turning blue then purple. “Why else would they hate you so? They know- they know it and you do, too.”

They tighten.

And even though you had the upperhand, seemingly, Kenjaku seems to crane his head down to whisper to you.

“You were nothing. You are nothing. You will always and forevermore be nothing.”

Your breath hitches- and Kenjaku knows he’s got you.

Unbidden from your senses, you’re letting go of him - he stumbles to the ground but manages to catch himself on the bar counter. Throwing an arm over it to steady himself, Kenjaku looks down at his cider glass once more, with only a few drops at the bottom of it.

He throws back those last few ounces and holds the glass out to you- “Be a dear for me, and help your little boyfriend get me another glass, will you? It seems he’s gotten his…hands full.”

Shit.

Shit.

You’re forgetting to even fly down to the bar—you’re breaking off a leg of a nearby stool then bending the metal into something that resembles a handcuff, quickly restraining Kenjaku for the time being before darting downstairs. There was a dingy staircase in the corner of the room, of which the rusty handrailing bends and warps as you grip it with your superhuman strength.

As you do, Kenjaku calls after you…“But do be careful not to miss your train~!”

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself at the bottom of a damp cellar- running to a Nanami Kento who’d been hopelessly bound and gagged. His golden hair falls in front of his face. His skin glistens with sweat.

And as soon as you reach him, you’re noticing the sheer heat that radiates off of him.

It was as if he was on fire—

Was this…?

“Nanami- Kento.” You’re hissing - you don’t need to untie those cloth restraints, you’re tearing straight through them. Removing the fabric gag and cupping his face, you look deep into his eyes. “Kento- oh, are you alright? Speak to me-”

“Go.”

“What-”

“The train.” Tears fell down his handsome cheeks. His bottom lip was trembling as though he was cold - even though he felt like an inferno to the touch. “My darling, don’t worry about me worry about the train-”

You insist. “What about the train, Kento?”

“Kenjaku- fuck, I overheard him telling his henchmen to destruct the Yurikamome line on the Rainbow Bridge- the train is going to go over it any second now—”

Brows furrowing, you focus your supersenses. Hearing. “But that can’t be, I should hear…”

The zooming of a train. The distant rattling of train tracks that sounded different than usual - too different, too distant. 

Then it hits you.

“Kento, while you were here, did you encounter anything…strange?”

He strangles out. “The peach cider he gave me- a-after that I just…”

“I understand.” Your mind was racing a mile a minute—Kento. The train. Kento. The train. Kento. “Kenjaku probably laced it with something to weaken you, and amongst that he must have added…”

Your blood goes cold.

“Hold on tight.” And without another word, you’re scooping the man into your arms - a princess carry. You hold him to you like the most precious thing on Earth and Krypton as you crash! through the top of the cellar—past several stories without a single scratch nor ache. Past bottles of liquor and ceramic tiles. Past layers of concrete and your fear.

Once you’re out into the wild night, you’re taking in incredible lungfuls of crisp air, soothing the burning sensation in your lungs.

You could almost ignore the gasps around you- as people whip out their cameras. This time, you don’t shy from them.

Gently; you’re hovering down to the street below and setting Nanami down. “Are you okay, Kento?”

“Yes- yes.” He’s gasping as he struggles to stand- you’re attempting to help him, only for Nanami to back away as though afraid. Something painful twinges inside you.

And he must see the breaking of your expression - because he’s immediately rushing to answer. “The thing that was in that cider…it was Kryptonite, wasn’t it?” Your silence is enough of an answer. “You have to go.”

You step towards him. “We have to get you to a hospital. The Kryptonite-”

“The train-”

“Just let me-”

“The Kryptonite will poison you before it ever even thinks of poisoning me. Do you really think I’d ever- fucking ever put my life above yours?” Nanami Kento doesn’t exactly yell—but his voice carries to your superhuman senses above anything else. Anything else. “Save the people on the train. Save the world. Save yourself- for everything I love, please please leave me- save them, Supergirl.”

You’re straightening.

“I’ll be back for you, Kento.”

Stumbling back a few steps; you have to shake your head to do away with the fogginess of the Kryptonite.

And then you’re in the air once more.

Wind whipping your face. Cape thrashing behind you.

The clouds stick to your features and form condensation with how fast you’re flying to the train- fuck.

Once you get there, you’re seeing exactly what Nanami had been talking about.

The train track where the Yurikamome Line was going on top of - the lower deck of Rainbow Bridge - was completely obliterated in the middle. Throngs of metal sticking upwards. Train track rattling like a wounded snake. The train was charging full speed ahead, the driverless transit unaware of any anomaly in the track. 

Just enough of a gap that it would prove fatal to the 160,000 passengers aboard. 

Just enough of a gap that you could zip down—as fast as you could go. As low as you could afford. And as fearful as any human would have been in that moment - and just as foolhardy. 

And as the Yurikamome Line heads towards the broken railroad, you’re lifting the train once it passes. The dip in the train track; you’re making up for it with your hands and your shoulders—never letting the Line falter even a single decree—it stretches and stretches and sinks its heavy metal body down onto yours. Rolling over your shoulders. Like nothing you’ve ever felt before- you have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. 

Your body was indestructible. But you’re feeling cuts on your palms. But you’re feeling the strain on your core and your deltoids.

Every single axiom in your body was screaming—

Towards the middle mark of the Yurikamome Line, you feel a dip- fuck.

Gritting your teeth, you let out a clenched groan as you push the train up. From inside you can hear passengers scream. And from the horizon, you can hear news helicopters thundering.

Please.

A tear runs down your cheek. You struggle to move. 

Please. Please. Please.

You’re pushing the train upwards with all your might. 

Humanity above, only you know how strong you can be. 

Be strong.

.

.

.

Birds are twittering.

You would have assumed that the afterlife had no shortage of birds, too; but it’s a bit odd to you that they’re singing a tune so jolly.

Personally, since you were dead, you’d like to sing something more lamentable.

“My darling?”

It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear it - but of course, you do. You’re Supergirl—and you hear everything everyone says to you whether you want to or not. But this one in particular sounds quite pretty in your ears - even prettier than the spring melodies of birds - and it makes you realize ah- angels…

But at the same time you’re realizing that angels didn’t exist on Krypton.

And then you’re shooting awake.

“Fucking fuck!”

Your graceful resurrection is marked by knocking your head with none other than Nanami Kento - whom you found quite understandable to mistake for an angel. As you’re clutching your forehead and letting out a few swears, he lets out nothing but the sweetest, soft chuckle—and as your vision slowly grows used to the light and unblurs, you’re seeing the most beautiful smile on his face. 

His eyes crinkled at the edges, framed by golden glasses. His cheeks had one faint dimple each. And he was looking at you with something humans had never looked at you with - love.

It couldn’t…

Was that your heart thundering or his?

“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re awake.” Nanami whispers, as if afraid to break this fragile piece. This suspension in a place that didn’t quite seem to be Earth nor Krypton. He presses his forehead to yours—“I wanted to thank you first, my darling.”

“Thank me…for what?” You ask- your voice is incredibly hoarse. How long have you been out for? 

Once you clutch your throat, Nanami hastens to pluck a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. And as you drink- you’re looking around the room. The next time you speak, it’s with a slightly steadier tone. “And where are we?”

“Ah- I guess I should apologize first.” Nanami says, sheepishly rubbing the blushing back of his neck. “We’re at my apartment. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours now.”

Your lips part.

He hurries to explain. “Chief Yaga from the police station wanted to keep you under their protection at the hospital, the Justice League insisted on keeping you at one of their quarters- your fan club wanted you all to themselves but…I…insisted you wake up in a place that’s somewhat of a home.” Eyes darting shyly downwards. “Just until you wake up- I asked Shoko and she wasn’t sure where you lived, either. You’re a very private person, Supergirl. And Superman is in outer space right now so…”

“Oh…I…I see.” You hold the glass limply in your hand. “And ah- fan club, you said?”

Nanami nods - you don’t see any humor in his eyes. “Your rescue of the train was shown on every channel and program- every breaking news. The Daily Planet won’t stop printing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That…” You feel strangely numb. “I don’t even know what to say. And the casualties-”

“Zero.”

“How did you get to the hospital?”

“Just after you left, Shoko arrived with the police to save me and arrest Kenjaku. Did you know that she’s a vigilante?”

You bite back a smile. “I did.”

He unabashedly smiles, as if meeting you for the first time. “And did you know that I know?”

“I figured by now.” Cocking your head.

“I always had a suspicion but…I don’t know what hypnosis you did but it just wouldn’t make sense in my mind. But when you came down to save me at the cellar, when you were affected by that Kryptonite it just…clicked.”

He’s reaching a hand up to softly cup your right cheek.

“It wouldn’t have made sense to be anyone else.”

It’s warm in Nanami’s bedroom. And it’s even warmer underneath the thin nightdress you’re wearing- you wonder where he got such a thing? And when you’d been put into it? It seems that he catches the questions in your gaze as it dawns upon you what you’re wearing—“I bought it for you after you got discharged at the hospital.” Nanami says. “Shoko helped you into it- althought…I did help.” With a shy blush, he’s looking away.

And you’re closing your eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand. “Thank you.” 

You don’t need to specify for what.

“And then there’s that.” Nanami surprises you as he says, reinvigorated. And how completely correct you were in him having those old movie star looks - that smile of his, with the soft little dimple on each cheek, should be on the big screen. He has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Thank you for saving me- that time at the bakery.”

You feel a little breathless. “It’s no problem.”

“No but it was- it’s how Kenjaku managed to escape. And I know how much you got torn apart in the papers for it—” His jaw clenches. “I saw it everyday.”

You look down at your hands, clasped on top of Nanami’s sweet cream-white sheets. “It’s nothing.”

And slowly - but surely - at a pace that matches the hesitant staccato of your heartbeat, Nanami’s own larger, roughened hands are sliding across the sheets. Intertwining with yours. “It’s not.” 

Your gaze was now flickering between your tangled hands and his unyielding gaze—you didn’t know which was more beautiful.

He continues, “And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. I know you don’t feel as if you’ve done enough to be thanked, but I can assure you- w-well, I don’t know how much my word will mean to you if anything at all, but just-”

“Kento.” You cut him off. “Kiss me.”

His lips meet yours and you never wish for them to leave; he tastes like coffee with a hint of honey and everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel as though you can finally breathe.

And he feels as though he can’t—and he’s searching for his first breath between your lips. Nanami gasps as you clutch his baby-blue button-up. 

Nanami’s hand caresses the back of your neck, and he’s cockin’ your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. Eventually you’re feeling that initial sweetness of first contact melt into somthing…more…something that makes your skin simmer, as he’s letting his pinkish tongue brush your lower lip.

With a gasp you’re welcoming him inside.

And before you know it, you’re being laid flat on your back with Nanami hovering on top of you. With a tap at his broad shoulders, you signal him to get up—and when Nanami’s on his knees before you you’re letting your hands…wander.

“O-oh.” His breath hitches. His Adam’s apple bobs. And a sizzling heat takes over the man’s body as your fingers trace the line of this throat- the valley of his pecs- the bumps of his abs. 

All your knowledge of human anatomy led you to believe that he must be hiding immense strength beneath suits too-big for him, but even this was a surprise.

And then lower, lower, lower—until you’re reaching his rock-hard erection. 

“Shit…” The soft grunt escapes the back of Nanami’s throat—unbidden. He immediately brings one roughened hand up to his mouth, chewin’ on the insides of his cheek as he watches your workings down below. Watches through half-lidded eyes as your palm’s meeting the bulge of his perfectly plaid pants. Cupping. Caressing.

Nanami’s breath grows more n’ more ragged as you keep palming- fuck, he was so big.

You don’t even have to use your x-ray vision to figure that out - but you’re doing so anyway. And what you’re seeing are about seven- eight? Inches of his swollen cock, all throbbing and pulsating underneath your touch. And beads—no, puddles of precum were constantly tearing out from the top of his shaft, creating a mess underneath that made Nanami feel shy.

You swear he’s growing even bigger once he feels the staring.

“A-are you using your…?” Nanami asks, pushing his thick glasses up.

“Mmm, maybe.” You’re cheekily replying. And in mere split-seconds you’ve used your heat vision to incinerate Nanami’s fabrics without actually hurting him.

He gasps and instinctively goes up to cover his aching erection-

But you’re stopping him with a hand of your own. Those fingers of yours wrapping around Nanami’s pale pink cock—he’s oh-so-thick at the base of it, surrounded by a scattering of golden tresses that graze the bottom of your hand.

You’re squeezing the hilt of Nanami’s shaft and he lets his head drop backwards with a moan- “Fuh-fuck. I could cum right here and right now, you know….”

“So do it.” You’re tugging his cock- until you’re reaching the mushroomy top of it and wipin’ away a speckle of precum. It feels so warm underneath your touch—he was just melting for you. “But just know that this is going to be a looooong night, Nanami Kento.”

He gulps.

Meanwhilst you’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s while you keep a constant pace fisting his length. Breaking off from the heated kiss only to lean down and spit-

A direct glob of your saliva gluing to Nanami’s puckered tip.

He’s shivering as it gleamingly trickles down his length—then reeling you into a kiss once more. “Mmm- I can hear your heartbeat, Kento.” You smile into the kiss. “Any reason why it increases when you’re around me?”

“I’m in love with you and I cannot lie about it.” And you don’t know what you expected - banter? Denial? But it certainly wasn’t outright confession, and it certainly wasn’t for Nanami to pant against your lips—to push you back onto the coiled mattress, and shuffle his body down until he’s between your legs. 

With languid movements, he’s pressing your legs to the side until each one is pinned to the soft cotton sheets. And you let him.

Your peripherals locked with his. Nanami’s gold-rimmed glasses tracing your skin. You’re running a hand through Nanami’s blond mane as he presses a line of kisses up your right thigh, up your left thigh, before finally…“May I?”

“Please.”

The next sound escaping you is a deafening trill—as in that very moment Nanami pushes his face nose-deep between those legs. And his tongue’s darting outwards and swabbin’ up - eating you out as though he was starving.

Almost wolfish.

Mouth gaped wide open. Honed canines stickin’ against the opened sides of your folds. 

Your eyes dart to the back of your head- as you’re feeling the dots of his tastebuds push through your nightgown. He was eating you out through your nightgown—

“Kento, take a breather.” You’re whispering down at him, peeping at the ravenous man through struggling lids. The pleasure was consuming every inch of you rapidly; and before long you snake a hand to lift up the nightgown. “Let me just take this off-”

“No.” Nanami’s warm hand comes gripping yours - with surprising strength for a human. “Please- please keep it on.” He struggles.

To even speak.

To even keep his breathing even.

To even unlatch himself from your pussy for the mere moments he has to speak- he didn’t want to waste a single second. And it’s with carnal ferocity that he’s stuffin’ himself back between your legs, flattening his tongue and pressing it against your hot folds. “A-at this point, it might just be the only thing keeping me sane, my darling…if I feel you in all your entirety then I might just-” Nanami’s voice cracks. “-break.”

“What do you mean, Kento…?” You’re breathing. 

There was something…off about the handsome man. Sure, it could’ve just been the heated proximity that was warping your perception of him; but—

But that couldn’t explain the nearly-frenzied pace of his heartbeat - 112 BPM to be exact - or the furious red flush creeping down his neck, or the way he was plastered in a cold sweat. Golden tresses gluing to his forehead and the forefront of your pelvis. One of those beads of perspiration runs down his attractive nosebridge n’ ends up positioning where he was pushing and pushing his sensual face into your puffy folds. Cheeks hollowing as he’s sucklin’ on them through the barely-there barrier of your nightgown.

And you’re swiping your thumb across it - feeling the slightly-sticker consistency of his sweat. 

More so than normal.

And somehow…sweeter?

It doesn’t take your heightened senses to realize—you start to tug on Nanami’s sweaty scalp- but he’s hesitant to remove himself. Merely parting an inch or so with the most agonized groan. “Kento- Kento, don’t you feel a little different right now?”

“Hmmmgh?” He asks with his bleary eyes struggling to focus on you.

“A little different? Maybe a little…warmer?” You watch as he has to think a little bit before nodding. “Don’t you feel like you’re going to- hah, shatter on my pussy?”

“I do.” Nanami spits a glob of spittle down on your cunt, kissing it away before it trickles. “Fuck, I do.”

“Mmm—” Your back arches as his tongue straightens then starts dragging up and down your sopping slit languidly. “And aren’t you wondering h-how exactly I know?”

“How do you know, my darling…?” Sounding barely awake as he questions so.

“It’s because…” And then you’re sitting up and starin’ down at his movie-star face, eyes half-lidded and his blond hair a mess. A few strands of it were falling in front of his gorgeous eyes—so you’re pushing them away with your hand- and Nanami shivers as though just splashed with cold water. “-I’m feeling the same way.” A shiver runs down Nanami’s spine. “That aphrodisiac seems to be contagious.”

“A-aphrodisiac?” Nanami’s eyes widen behind his spectacles.

And you’re giving him a soothing nod. “Mhm. Back at the bar, it seems that what Kenjaku spiked you with was a Kryptonite solution. But what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that sometimes…Kryptonite can have a bit of an…aphrodisical effect on humans.”

You’re leaning down and kissing his pussy-drenched lips. “Mmm, yeah, I can taste it on you still.”

Nanami’s immediately lurching back- but this time, it’s your turn to be reeling him back in. 

Keeping him delightfully hostage between your legs. “And where do you think you’re going, Earthling?”

“But the Kryptonite-” Nanami pants. Even though his eyes kept constantly flickering down to your cunt as if his favorite baked good set out right in front of him. Syrupy-filled. “It can’t be good for you-”

“At the weakened state it’s in now, it’s not bad for me either.” You smile. “The aphrodisiac shouldn’t impair you, either. But if you do not wish to fully continue-”

“I do.” The words can’t leave Nanami’s lips faster. He’s shoving your legs further apart and whispering. “I do I do I do—”

Then pressing such a harsh open-mouthed kiss against your swollen folds - so hard that it honestly felt as though he was trying to permanently imprint its outline against your pussy. And then when he’s pressed hard enough and long enough and deeeep enough—Nanami jerks away with a wrangled moan.

“But then since I’m already broken…”

And in robotic movements- he pushes your nightgown up until your tits- and he’s plastering his hot lips aaaaall over your cunt. Tongue swiping urgently between your folds and fuckin’ inside like a damn animal.

“Shit—” Moans bubble to your throat- seeping out with bubbles of spit. You’re clawing through his sweaty locks, holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, shit, shit- I didn’t expect humans to be so…”

“S’this your first time on Earth?” He peeks up at you through his long lashes.

“It is.” You’re nodding. Biting onto your lower lip.

And something seems to shift behind Nanami’s darkened eyes; he fixates them on you and doesn’t waver a single second as he lets his tongue fully out. Lavishes the tender in-betweens of your pussylips with all his sensual kisses- “Then I better give you a proper welcome to Earth.”

And it’s with absolutely no warning that he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts.

Flarin’ that sopping wet muscle out so that it stretches out your first ring of muscle- you can feel the sides of Nanami’s tongue slide-slide-sliding all down your channel. He was just so thick- you were feeling him so perfectly like this- and you can’t help yourself…you’re activating your x-ray vision to see how deep Nanami’s really going.

“A-a bit more to the left, Kento…” You murmur. “And a little deeper- ngh.”

He looks up at you in slight surprise. “Oh? You can see where I’m going, my darling?” Experimentally, Nanami stabs a few more thorough probes- deep.

“X-ray vision, remember?” You gasp. Buckin’ up in a sloppy staccato every time Nanami’s nearing with his tongue and his prominent nose- fuck, you loved how the tip of his nose pressed into your clit every time he surged forwards. “Just a bit deeper- oh, your fingers?”

With two of his calloused fingertips slidin’ up and down your vertical slit - accumulating the dewy droplets of slick you were letting out - he smiles. “I may not have superpowers, but something tells me you’re going to like this, Supergirl.”

“Oh- shiiiiiit.” It’s letting out the sloppiest squelch to have Nanami’s fingers easing inside. 

They’re so large- oh, your mouth drops as he’s burgeoning inside. Through your x-ray vision you could see that he’s scissoring inside- stretching aside that velvety channel- letting the doughy tips of his fingers probe inside like two searchlights attempting to pinpoint your most treasured spots. He’s rovering in deeeeeep- and you’re letting your face press into the damp mattress. “You’re enjoying this, Supergirl?”

“I-I am.” You huff. You’re humpin’ up into his pretty face so hard that the bedframe was creaking and moaning. Just as you must have been.

“And is your- hah, favorite Earthling making you feel good—?”

You’re levelling a half-hearted glare at him. “Bold of you to assume- but yes.” His fingers are just so close- “To the right…”

And he’s immediately heeding your every word- meanwhile, his mouth seemed to have felt a little lonely. Because Nanami hastens to latch his kiss-bitten lips around your throbbing clit. “Good. Because I’m just made to make you feel good, my darling. I need this. I need this. M’made for this.” Huffing. “Don’t be afraid to fuck my tongue as hard as you want- don’t be afraid to s-suffocate me, because m’here just to make you—ngh, feel good—”

Pushing up into you.

Pressing himself between your legs even harder.

“I don’t need to breathe- I need you to tell me where that g-spot is.”

Your head’s throwing backwards, thighs trembling around him- you’re soon wrapping your legs around Nanami’s perspired head and locking your ankles around him. Digging his tongue even deeper- he crashes and crashes them against your clit in time with his probin’ fingers. “A little more-”

“How much more?”

“Just about an inch- oh.” You’re squawking out in a way that’d be so embarrassing if it was anytime but now. “And to the left…upwards.”

He notices that you’re almost shying away from his touch with every plap! of his palm hitting the forefront of your cunt. Harder. Faster—even though he may have been a gentleman, Nanami’s fingers were decidedly not. They’re ravenous; managing to curl against the side of your walls, with your direction perfectly locating that one spot you’ve been aching to be touched this entire time. And the human wastes no time pushing against it- you think you’re seeing stars—hey, was that Krypton?

Too occupied to come up with a concrete answer, however, you’re simply basking in the pleasure that Nanami was pouring through your veins.

And he only seems too happy to have your hips hikin’ higher and your pussy pushing up all the way until his nose- with every single thrust he was battering. Your gooey insides are shuddering at the sheer force, you’re feeling a tightness start to formulate at the pit of your stomach. 

Something sore - blissfully so.

“I think…” You gasp. “No I know—” And the thing about being Kryptonian was that it came with immense control over your physiology- which also meant that you could cum on demand. But oh, how much better it felt when it was being drawn out of you by Nanami’s sweet sweet fingers.

Plunging - each time from the rounded tips of his digits and down until those knuckles, reddening at the persistent skin-to-skin contact - towards your g-spot every time. Multiple times a second.

“-Kento, I’m going to cum—”

“So cum f’me, Supergirl-” Nanami spits against your cunt. He sounds ragged- he sounds gone. His tone was a barely-there husk of what it had once been, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on anything but the pretty soakin’ pussy right in front of him. He kept his mouth so fucking full of your throbbing clit as he continued speaking. “Cum f’me…my girl.”

Shit—he’s blushing just saying it. But the effect on you is undeniable - you’re throwing your head into the fluffy pillows and finally letting loose. 

Wrenching on Nanami’s hair. Squeezing his head till he almost suffocates- you’ve got the feeling that he gladly would. Dragging your slick-glazed folds against his face and cumming and cumming.

As your euphoria rips straight through you - Nanami leaves his mouth further ajar and swivels his tongue inside as well. In addition to his fingers, he’s now attempting to squeeze his tongue inside to fuck you silly- to make your dazed peripherals roll to the back of your scalp. “This is what I’m made for.” And you’re unsure whether that was him or the aphrodisiac talking. “This is all I ever wanna do now—mmm—” He moans as syrupy juices stream down either side of his mouth and he’s sucking in your pussy. “My darling, you don’t know how badly I mean it when I say m’made for you. For this pussy.”

You whimper as he perfects his tonguing thrusts to the rhythm of your orgasm. Hitting every single peak. “Sh-shit…it’s becoming sensitive…”

“My darling, I’d rather die than leave this pussy from now onwards.”

“Never expected a gentleman like you to be so filthy.” You huff- rather difficult, considering how much he managed to take your breath away. As he prolongs your high until you’re dizzy—

And then some.

“Mmmm, I’m sensitive.” Fondly; you tug on his golden strands. Nanami lets out a rumble of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move a single inch - merely grazing- not even properly eating you out anymore, he’s just sloppy grazing his hungry mouth against your sensitive cunt. 

Lapping up the last few dredges of your slick.

Occasionally wishing to feel the clench of your hole- and letting it dip inside—

“Hck!” Tears start to well up behind your eyes. And you have to speak to something deep and carnal within Nanami - otherwise you’re getting the feeling that he’s never going to part his lips from your own drenched ones. “Kento, you can stay here if you want…”

“Mmm-” He eagerly runs his tongue between your velvety folds again.

“-but I was really thinking that we could use my x-ray vision…” That seems to finally pique his interest, and he’s looking up at you. “-for something else. Something bigger, hm?” Pointedly, your eyes dip down.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

And in no time, Nanami Kento’s shuffling up your twitching body - still oh-so-sensitive from your previous high. And his hips are closing towards yours, his ruby-red tip is slipping between your legs and sandwiching between your pussylips for a few thrust-thrust-thrusts—“A-are you sure, my darl- oh.”

Before you claw at Nanami’s muscular back and crush him against your body.

Against your hips- your readily awaiting cunt.

Just that sopping, sap-covered tip of his manages to fit inside in that moment - and you’re feeling it throb like he’s always wanted to be here. Filling up the cavern of your cunt and making your toes curl- such a delicious streeeetch—! you’ve never felt before. And Nanami watches as you’re on the verge of shattering just as he already has—and he leans down to press a quick press on the edge of your chin. “M-mmmm.” 

But it’s hard even think let alone fucking speak with your soaking wet cunt wrapped around him like this. His very own taste of heaven.

Nanami’s letting escape a few botched moans- before he decides to preserve whatever is left of his dignity, and bites down on his pathetically wobbling lip. Trying his very best to keep any noise from leaving him as he experimentally moves his hips behind and probes back inwards with his plump, puckered tip. Just the round girth of it openin’ you up even more. “Sh-shiiiiiiit—my darling, am I even…”

You’re looping your arms around him and dragging him even closer. But Nanami’s too far gone to even kiss you properly- and his lips end up sliding around your jawline. “Even what, Kento?”

Bleary eyes damn-near popping out of his skull. Skin flushed ever-redder due to the aphrodisiac or simply just…you. Cock spurting out wad after wad of eager precum—he just couldn’t stop himself.

“Alive…” Nanami rasps out.

And your jaw drops at the question. “Is that…is that a joke, baby?” Although you already knew the answer- Nanami Kento was never the type to just joke.

And just as you’d expected, he’s furiously shaking his head and pumping out a few more overeager semi-thrusts. So overeager, in fact, that he’s ending up plopped out of your wettened cavern- and Nanami almost blows a fuse trying to get himself back in.

“Let me help you with that, Kento.” You giggle. Pushing aside his fumbling fingers, you’re wrapping your own around his incredibly thickened base - enough to make your mouth water.

Pointing the globular top of his shaft towards your cunt, you allow him to push inside once more. Breath hitching. Thighs shaking. Pants erratic as he does so- “Are you alright, baby?” You ask him—this time opening your legs wider to let his furious inches shovel in. “D’you think you can handle it if I use my powers to bring all of you inside?”

“Yes but…no.” Nanami admits. He wears a sheepish smile on his face - almost shy. Which was in direct contrast with the way he’s scrapin’ his right hand down your core and resting it atop your womb. He looks at you with raised brows. “Here?”

You nod. “Right there.” Then you’re wiggling your hips down in order to take him deeper—

But Nanami’s stopping you with a hand at your waist- practically glued onto your skin. He’s firm in his touch though not unkind. And Nanami’s boring deeeeply into your eyes - your very soul - as he’s giving you light, shallow thrusts. Poking himself past that ruthless squeeze of your entrance. “I…hah, I’ll need your superpowers to tell me where I am, my darling. And exactly where you want me.” 

Then Nanami plants you with a particularly hard strike that sends his long cock digging. His sides were decorated with a zig-zagging pattern of veins that massages your delicate insides.

“But as for fitting inside…” His mouth fucking waters at the prospect - and you already know with your senses. The gentleman leans down and spits in your mouth. “-we’re gonna do it the human way, okay?”

“Please-” Your nails start to dig into the shifting muscles of his back. “Please-”

And he’s not doing it the human way—not instantly. Before that; Nanami removes your palms from his shoulders and pins them above your head. Using but a single hand of his.

And you know you could easily overpower him - you just know it - but in this instance it makes something carnal twitch inside you to have the calm, soft-spoken gentleman shatter in this way on your pussy. It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac: he was using one hand to restraint yours- so hard that you feel his nail marks, he was using the other to push your knees up until they hit your tits, he was pulling his cock out until it was juuuust the pretty, pinkish top of his shaft.

And then plunging back in.

As deep as he could go - until he’s feeling the little tightness of your entrance. Then reeling back out to repeat. And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

Nanami Kento was stabbing you with his cock nearly a dozen times a second—and he wasn’t sweet with it- he wasn’t fucking gentle. 

He was utterly pussydrunk and fucking you just like it. “Please, please, please—” Nanami’s attractive baritone hitches at the very end of his sentence, breaking into a million pieces just as he was. “Sh-shit, it’s like the deeper I go…the more I can’t- hngh.”

“Think?” You flutter your lashes up at him.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “That.”

And you can’t help but let out a little giggle—the way his flared tip rubbed your insides was addictive. He was so wiiiiide above his sensitive slit, and that was pushing forcefully into every one of your hidden spots. “You’re so close to my- hck! favorite spot, Kento. Do you remember where that was?” 

“Mmm, my darling- remember?” Nanami looks down at you with crazed eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”

“Then I’ll guide you.”

Though your arms were pinned to the bed, you’re able to careen your hips up into his. And that ruggedly handsome v-line of his was slowly growing redder at the repeated contact- to which you’re only pushing up even harder. “Just a little deeper- two inches?” You’re using your x-ray vision to map out the perfect route to your g-spot. “And then a little more- fuck, angle your hips a little more to the left.”

“Like this?” He asks. Beautiful hazel eyes almost fluttering shut at the onslaught of sudden squeezes that your cunt was blessing him with. “Fuck, how are you squeezing me even- deeper?”

“My superhuman powers?” You’re joking- joking.

But that doesn’t stop Nanami from asking- “Then does that mean you can…snap my dick off with that pussy, my darling?”

At first you’re in disbelief that such words could have possibly left Nanami Kento’s - the Nanami Kento’s - mouth. And then when it’s finally sunken in, you’re debating whether he was actually serious about it—he looked serious enough. “Ah…” Your lips part. “Kiss me.”

He does.

And as he does, that winding restraint of your legs tugs n’ tugs him ever-closer. Ever-deeper.

That bulbous tip of his was openin’ you up so fucking well—hidden nooks you hadn’t even known existed. And after a few more jerky thrusts, Nanami breaks the kiss with a rather lecherous slurp! and moves to huff against your ear. “I-is it all the way in, my dearest?”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that?” You’re chuckling before looking down using your x-ray vision once more.

“Tell me, my darling- tell me.” And Nanami Kento was always rather the stoic man—never combusting, never overreacting. But at this moment, it feels as though the longer he’s not fully stuffed in your cunt, the more and more he’s fucking losing it-

“Well…just a few inches longer until you’re gonna be- hah-” Untangling one of your hands from his, you’re running it down your core. Your womb. “-here.”

And Nanami can’t hurry up enough to pin your hands back on the mattress, replacing it with his own. He fucking moans when he realizes that - if he presses down hard enough, perhaps through your superhuman powers - you can make him feel himself bumpin’ thrusts from the outside. You continue. “But you’re actually pretty close to- ah.”

Just then your words are taking on a trilling tone.

Almost matching his in terms of neediness.

Nanami’s running his lengthy cock so deeeeep inside that he ends up rubbin’ his flared tip along either side of your channel—perfectly massaging that one spot you’ve been yearning for this entire time. It’s like a pretty target then that he’s never failing to hit over and over and over again- until you’re throbbing and raw inside.

And every one of his thrusts end up puncturing that spot. That sweet bundle of nerves that makes his mouth water- you’re shattering around his shaft every time he repeats the motion. “Deeper.” Nanami chokes out. “Deeper- now I just need you to take me even deeper. I don’t just want it- I need it.”

And pressing your legs apart with his strong pelvis- he’s murmuring as he hones in.

That target at the back of your pussy.

That gummy surface that just seemed to be calling to him.

That area at the very bottom that just seemed soaked in his never-ending precum—“I need it. I need it. I need it so fuckin’ badly.” He was slurring on his words by this point, and Nanami noses down the column of your throat. “It’s like every atom inside me is burning up. Not just because of the fuck- aphrodisiac.”

“Not just…?” You ask with widened eyes.

And he’s grinding down on the heavenly spot between your legs - so hard that the scruff of his happy trail massages your clit. And it’s such a primal sensation that you don’t think you’d ever be able to replicate—not even with your hypercontrol. “Not just.” He dips his face into the crook of your neck, hair sticking to your clammy skin. “My darling, your body’s liquor.”

Harder and harder. 

With a few more thorough strokes, Nanami’s finally - finally - bottoming out. 

You feel the moment he empties out those thick, throbbing inches with a rough bang! The velvety end of his tip swipes across your cervix- and you’re shivering at the rope of goey precum he’s leaving behind. “Sh-shiiiiiit.”

“Have I…?” Nanami’s pupils dilate. “Have I…” And he keeps fucking you in merciless thrusts.

You smile, “Why don’t you see for yourself, Kento?” He seriously didn’t realize, yet?

Nanami blinks dazedly a few times- before he’s slowly ducking his head downwards and staring at the place where you two were connected. Where your puffy pussylips were struggling to swallow down his red cock—and his heavy balls were thwack-thwack-thwacking away. And it’s enough to make his mouth water.

“Oh.”

His breath hitches as he sees that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

And Nanami falters his hips - for just a split-second - so that he could reach down and give that tummy bulge a kiss—a fucking kiss. Coming back up with the most accomplished smile- “I-I think m’close, my darling.”

“So then cum, Kento.” You’re breaking free of his restraint to throw your arms around him again. “And I’ll-”

“No.” The blond man already knew what you were going to say. Shaking his sweaty head, “I won’t let you make yourself cum using your powers, my dear—this Earthling is going to do it himself.”

So you’re keeping your mouth shut and giving into the pleasure - and on Krypton you may have had to use your physiological control to get yourself off most of the time- but Nanami was hellbent on making you feel better than he already was. He’s slammin’ away into your g-spot. He’s using his now-free hand to roll over your clit.

Again and again and again—

As many times as he needed to in order to push you towards your high - even if it meant rubbin’ his reddened cock raw against the sopping hot insides of your cunt. In next to no time; Nanami has your toes curling at the sheer amount of pleasure shooting up from them.

And you’re babbling away into the grove of his neck, “K-Kento, I’m close…”

“Please-” He sounds very much ruined by how he’s had to push his own orgasm for yours- gladly, at that. “P-please…” A ribbon of spit glides from the corner of his mouth, and Nanami pushes down on your tummy bulge using his chiselled abs. “Cum on my cock, my girl.”

You’re both reaching your highs at the same time - Nanami’s with a few more choked-up groans and the sloppiest thrusts you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and you with a few more replays of his name and the bed frame shattering underneath you. It’s solely from using your super strength to fuck back into Nanami’s cock - something you hadn’t even realized you’d been doing.

Your brain feels completely fried by the crescendo of your high- getting every peak of it smacked! by Nanami’s ruthless hips.

Again and again—he’s pumping out scalding white globs of cum.

It empties out midway down your walls and smears once he’s hittin’ your cervix. “Cum on my- cum on my…oh, fuck.” Nanami’s pupils tremble- “Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before…”

“Mmm, me neither.” You coo up at him. Your own orgasm was taking over you nerve by nerve—flooding it with white-hot pleasure. Back arching. Knees trembling. It thrums inside of you - and you’re wondering just how potent that aphrodisiac is, because your heartbeat’s almost concerningly fast—

“S’that so?” Nanami slurs. Pressing a chaste peck to your lips as he fucks his cum inside you. “Because I’m not just talking about the sex.”

Oh.

The realization hits you like a freight truck - or maybe a block of Kryptonite. Your heartbeat wasn’t increasing just because of the aphrodisiac. Not at all.

You’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s once more, and you can see yourself doing it over and over and over again.

“Me too.”

And then after a moment, you laugh.

“Kento, we broke the bed.”

.

.

.

SUPERGIRL SAVES 160,000 AT RAINBOW BRIDGE—A TIMELINE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE’S NEWEST ADDITION.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

SUPERVILLAIN KENJAKU FINALLY ARRESTED! REVEALED TO BE BEHIND RAINBOW BRIDGE SITUATION AND SLANDER CAMPAIGN AGAINST SUPERGIRL…

“I spy with my little eye…” Shoko’s knowing gaze flickers between you and Nanami. “-a smile. Two smiles.”

Nanami’s warm gaze turns to you. “Ah, what’s there not to smile about?”

“Considering I’ve finally cleared up my name.” You respond. And it was true; ever since the highly-publicized double heroism in which you saved both Nanami and managed to prevent the Yurikamome Line accident, the headlines couldn’t get enough of your name. Except this time…it wasn’t a bitter taste on their tongues. 

Were we wrong about Supergirl? Was Kenjaku behind the hate campaign?

(Partially. You don’t doubt that that man had his fingers in every pot and scheme possible, but you don’t doubt that most of it was pure human vitriol. And you hoped Kenjaku continued seething…from Tokyo Island Penitentiary.)

It was sweet.

And you weren’t naive enough to believe that the criticism would stop immediately - or in fact ever - but that was alright now. That was fine. 

When you were you.

And you had Nanami beside you—

He intertwines his hand with yours- and Shoko pretends to gag at the sweet, sweet act. The both of you are shaking your heads at her dramatics; which you know she didn’t mean considering the cover page that she’d been staring at at that very moment.

That second headline.

EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)

By Nanami Kento.

Underneath those words were a picture snapped from the night you’d save Nanami for the second time. 

You’re crashing through the ceiling of Kenjaku’s bar. You’re carrying Nanami Kento in a princess carry. You. You. You. Powerful and precise. And the way that Nanami was staring at you- oh, he had stars in his eyes brighter than the night sky in the background. His arms were holding onto you like a lifeline, and you were unfettered as you held him close like a star himself.

It was the very picture of heroism.

But to you, it was also…

“Love.” Shoko whispers. “You’re in love.”

And you’re opening your mouth in response - but you’re spared from answering, as you hear something in the distance—a scream. Downtown Shibuya. There was a mugging in occurrence and the perpetrator seemed to have a weapon.

You’re looking at Nanami and Shoko, and both nod as they recognize the hardened glint in your eye.

They’d come up with some believable excuse for your absence, surely. And if they didn’t…

You’re sweeping a glance at the mundane cubicles to make sure no one was watching- then ducking out of the nearest open window as fast as light. On strong summer winds, you’re flying off to save someone—and underneath that grey coat of yours flapped your iconic suit. You tear it open at the chest to reveal the ‘S’ underneath.

-it didn’t matter, anyway.

You were Supergirl.

A/N. Hehehehehe-

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

Just to check up on you, of course! Just to make sure that brute of a bull hadn’t completely mauled you, of course! Seriously- what kind of farmer would Shiu even be if he didn’t care about the health of his most prized cows?

Which is why he’s standing in front of the barn doors at this very moment.

Towering and red. Furious and needy.

His ears burn as they take in the lecherous whines and squelches emanating from inside- and he’s placing one hand against the splintered doors. The other cascading down his toned front and squeezing his hot erection in an attempt to get himself to fucking calm down—

“Took ya long enough to man up.” Toji’s peeking up at the farmer through the gaps of his shaggy black bangs, scarred lips twisting up into the most sleazy smirk. 

Even from here, the farmer could see the way that the bull hybrid had you on all fours. Thighs sheeny with slick and sweat, strands of golden hay sticking to your limbs, twitchin’ every time he was swabbing his bulbous red tip between your pussylips. 

Toji doesn’t stop just because Shiu was watching. 

In fact, the other man only rests his weight further down on your lower half and pins his pelvis against yours. Even deeper. Even harder. Making your poor, trembling self scramble forwards a few inches at the sudden increase of pressure- before Toji’s slapping two palms down on your hips and drag-drag-draaaaagging you back down onto his thick throbbing cock. Like a ragdoll.

Probin’ and probin’ inwards—in and out, in and out. 

Shiu gulps as he catches a wet gush! of creamy sap leak out of your cunt - and he’s wondering whether Toji plans to stop at all.

Without any warning, Toji’s roughened fingertips come down to slam! on top of your slick-glazed folds. So tender and raw. And Shiu’s stepping forwards with his hand reached out- before he’s immediately freezing at the sound of you moaning.

“P-please-” Bucking your hips back in circular gyrations, you’re addicted to the way his puffy veins were snagging and rubbin’ against your g-spot. “Just feels so gooooood, Toji—”

“Shit…” Shiu whispers underneath his breath, eyes widening as he takes in the sight. There was a slight tinge of sweet cream and something woodsy in the air- and he’s wondering if this was what experts meant when they said hybrid pheromones made one lose their mind.

Toji glances over at the other man and scoffs—and without warning, he’s pulling out of your tight hole and flipping you over as if it was nothing. Right onto your back where he can stare at your pretty face whilst he presses his reddened cock between your legs-

Like an animal. 

Rutting and rutting until Toji’s flared mushroom tip somehow bullies inside your cunt with a wettened plop! And looking from here, the size difference was just incredible- Shiu’s stepping even closer, driven crazy wondering just how such a cute, innocent-looking pussy can take such a big cock so filthily.

Without easing in, without even slowing down, Toji pumps his vein-covered shaft past your entrance and in, in, in—

“Naughty girl- heh, don’tcha know that s’rude not to greet guests?” He’s angling his hips so that the circular divot right on top of his shaft scrape-scrapes down your cervix and makes you shiver. “Or are you seriously that fucked stupid, hm?”

“Wh-what are you…” Dazedly, you’re so gone that you barely even register the way that Toji grabs onto the lil’ stubs of horns atop your crown and bodily moves your head to the side.

To where Shiu was standing frozen. Erection raging in his overalls.

You gasp-

“Awww, look.” Toji snickers, cutting you off with a few more vulgar strokes. In almost no time, he’s rendered you speechless- just loooong slobberin’ smooches being pressed up against the back of your pussy. “Your beloved farmer’s here to see ya!” Holding you in place by your horns, he forces you to make eye contact with Shiu while he fucks you. No matter how much you squirm. “What a shame his pretty girlie’s too busy getting fucked dumb on my cock to even notice him…”

“Easy there, bull.” You shudder at the husky baritone of the other man finally speaking up. The scowl on his handsome face. He still has a cigarette pressed between his lips, and the smoky scent clings to him like pheromones. 

“And what about it, human?” Toji sneers right back, the bell ‘round his neck jiggling just a little as he opens your legs even wider. Making slick leak out from your core with a deafening splosh! and glisten right down the bull’s abs. He’s hitting your g-spot incessantly- “Jealous m’getting to fuck this pretty pussy and you can only watch?”

“You little-”

“Or-” The hybrid casually continues, folding you positively in half- until the caps of your knees hit your chest and you can only whine at the incessant stretch of your hamstrings. “-are ya jealous that I get to pump her so full of my cum that she doesn’t even remember your name?”

Shiu spits out his cigarette and stomps it out- fuck, he’s never been harder. “Don’t make me-”

But Toji only claws a hand upwards and squeezes your right tit, making a line of creamy milk dribble out from your swollen nipples. Which he’s leaning down to suckle on while looking Shiu right in the eyes, “Or s’it that you’re jealous she milks so much for me and nothing for you? Jealous that when I fuck her full of my calves she’ll be making even more?” You’re yelping as he bites dooooown on that sensitive nub, smirk palpable on his handsome face. “Jealous that they won’t be your kids?”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Face burning, Shiu’s making to turn around- fuck. And maybe run off to the nearest private corner he can find just so that he can jerk off—

“But I bet it turns you on, too.”

He pales, facing Toji once more. “Wh-what did you just say?”

But the bull hybrid merely graces him with a smug smile as he’s pulling out of your sloppy cunt once more- and oh, was it such a sight to see the way you were yowling and clawing onto Toji’s toned hips in an attempt to get his thick cock to fill you up once more.

He doesn’t listen to a single plea, yet jerks his head towards you cockily.

And the farmer- oh, he might just be the worst of the bunch. Because he doesn’t listen to a single rational thought in his brain telling him to simply leave—not before he’s taking step- by jerky step- towards your two sweaty bodies. As if hypnotized.

Shiu’s knees barely even hit the ground in front of you before Toji’s clasping onto the blushin’ back of his head and shoving the other man’s face between your legs.

Nose-deep.

And he’s shocked- he’s letting his eyes snap open- he’s letting just a singular wad of your candied slick end up on his tastebuds and he’s fucking addicted. Just darting his slick tongue all over just to gulp and gulp up your heady taste.

The prominent line of his nosebridge shoves directly between your swollen, sensitive pussylips and you gasp—“O-oh my god, Shiu you’re really-” Before those gasps turn into pants by the time that Shiu’s grabbing onto either side of your thighs and pulling you deeper onto his face. He hangs open his greedy mouth and engulfs your pussy whole, long tongue startin’ to slither inside-

“Ah ah- has your momma never taught you to share?” Toji’s rudely nudging the other man over and slotting himself between your legs as well. Dipping his even lengthier tongue out to just slide-slide-sliiiide around your wet outer pussy, “Should know that m’doing you a favor.”

“Sh-shut the fuck up-” Shiu didn’t even want to breathe let alone talk to this bull bastard. Fishing the tip of his tongue in and out of your quivering hole - fuck, he has half the mind to giggle at the way you clenched oh-so-cutely around him - while Toji drags your throbbing clit over to suck.

His scarred lips mercilessly pinch your nub, making you writhe and moan. “Oh, get over yourself. One taste and you’re in liplock-”

“I hear you slurring on her pussy as well.” The farmer grumbles out.

And your mate, Toji, is just about to open his mouth to snap back as well- when you clasp both their perspired scalps and press both of them to your treacly pussy. “Sh-shut the fuck up!” They snap their bleary, pussydrunken eyes to you at the sound of your trilling voice. “Can the both of you just focus on- ngh…this instead of arguing?”

And then they look at each other.

“You heard the missus.”

“Anything you say, girlie.”

And it’s the only warning you get before they’re both delving right back in between your puffy pussylips and lavishing you with both tongues- just the most sensual sensation. 

Those ridged textures slipping and sliding over your pussy and deeeeep inside, they thrash against each other and fight for claim over your wet pussy. They fork out your entrance - both at the same time - and Toji moves over to press on your clit while Shiu tries to fuck you with his tastebuds. They lap over each other and makes Toji moan into Shiu’s mouth as well as your cunt—

Well…Shiu thinks, as Toji starts fingering your slippery hole open now with two of his rude digits, murmuring something about ‘two at once’. 

.

.

.

Later - much, much, much later - it’s Kusakabe that calls Shiu’s bull and cow hybrid farm after a few days without hearing from his friend.

“What—that damned bull hybrid giving you trouble again?” The man asks, chortling into the speaker at the other farmer’s pointed silence. “Or is it your pretty cow hybrid? The one you favor so much?”

“Well…” Shiu starts, about to head into the barn once more- he could hear your pretty moans start up already, and he’d be damned if he let that bull have one over him. “You could say they’re giving me more than just trouble…”

What was that saying again?

If you can’t beat ‘em…join ‘em.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - HibernATE.

Name: Nanami Kento

Age: 27

Hybrid type: Ursus arctos horribilis

Height: 7’6+

Weight class: 1000kg+

Other notes: Mated specimen (to a human, for more see…) is currently in the process of hibernation, though stands to be on the brink of waking up soon. It is speculated that due to his age, size, and rut cycle that the specimen will be rather famished after his arousal. Quite, quite famished.

It’d started off as a little rumble in your living room, a little quake.

You’d been lazily browsing some magazine, barely even registering the words that seemed to slug across the page. They muddled up in your mind and took on the form of Nanami Kento - the days were too long with your hybrid husband in hibernation.

Given, it wasn’t that he’d completely disappeared into a deep sleep; hibernation was a period for Nanami to slow his metabolism, to lower his body temperature, to snooze most of the day away.

He wasn’t here to spoil you with breakfast in bed like he usually would, nor was he here to kiss you goodnight, to read to you with his deep tone, to have a hand on your back whenever you were out in public, to fuck you right—

You’re squeezing your thighs together with a slight squirm, “F-fuck…” Setting aside the magazine that was now the furthest thing on your mind. “God, how I miss-”

And then you’re catching the slight movements in your living room.

It started off subtle- the glass of water atop your coffee table was tremoring, the carpet spread out on the floor seemed to be moving. You’re frantically looking around and realizing that the couch you were seated upon was slightly jumping.

Something seemed to be thud-thud-thudding closer—

“My love.” 

It’s a thick, husky tone enough to make every hair upon your body stand on end.

You almost don’t recognize whose voice it is - simply that ruined. You almost start to feel fear creeping down your spine. You almost don’t want to turn around-

“My love, I think m’in rut.”

Less than a few minutes later and you find yourself on the fucking floor beside the couch - your back against the carpet, your legs strung high in the air. Your calves thrown easily over Nanami’s shoulders as the shoves your wet panties to the side and bullies himself in—

No preparation. No foreplay.

Just pure fucking need.

Your thrash against his hovering body and find yourself absolutely, needily helpless-

“O-oh, fuck.” And you never thought you’d see the day where you hear Nanami fucking Kento’s voice crack…Lips quivering as they drop open, eyes damn near bulging out of his skull- he feels his thickened tip lodge at your hot entrance and gasps. “Fuh-fuck, it needs to go in- oh, fuck.”

A single inch inside and he’s spurting out wettened wads of cum- already! It makes the process slightly easier, with the thick glaze of his sap easing up your entrance. 

“You’ve already- oh, ngh.” Just for the words to be fucked out of your lungs. You’re almost stupid on his cock already, feeling your tastebuds sizzle with saliva at the incredible stretch. “You must be sensitive. It’s already going in, Kento-”

“It needs to-”

“But-”

“It needs to go in, it needs to go in, it needs to go in.” But it’s the only thing he can repeat, like a mantra. Like the only sentence his dazed mind knows right now.

You clench and his bear-like ears flinch- making him claw onto your body even further as he plants a rude half-thrust. 

“P-please—” Body hunching into yours. Blond happy trail scratching your clit. A slick line of drool cascades down one corner of Nanami’s lips, long lashes fluttering as he’s starin’ down at your core. “Need it to go in- want it- have to-”

“Have to?” You gasp.

“Have to.” He’s groaning, eyes wild and widened as he’s pumping out half-ruts here and there and stuffing himself deeper by the minute. And at one point Nanami’s tilting his head and gnawing down on the tender side of your neck, “N-need to…”

You’re sure it almost looks like you’ve been thrown to the bears - literally.

He’s not even halfway inside but you swear it feels like he’s opening up various crevices and hidden spots inside you that you never even knew you had—fuck, had he grown larger since before the hibernation? “You’re- hck! Kento, you’re acting like such an-” And the way you say his name makes Nanami’s pupils dilate even further, until there was almost no honey-brown within his eyes. “-a-animal…”

“Am- n-need it to go inside- s’not worth it if I can’t feel myself at your- throat-” Could barely even string together three words to make a sentence. Could barely even breathe if he wasn’t fully inside you. Nanami’s rude tip bulges its way deeeep inside of you, and you can feel him throb-throbbing away at your very lungs. “Don’t let me down, pussy.”

Your eyes widen, “Y-you’re talking to…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t take it all- oh.” His hoarse baritone quivers at the mere thought, “That would just b-break me-”

Back arching into the perfect curvature against the carpeted floor, Nanami’s reeling his toned hips back and just plunging—feeling your body start to squirm away, and one of his paws come up to clasp your neck and draaag you right back down his cock. And he’s never sounded more serious in his entire life, “Don’t. Move.”

“Y-yes, Kento.” You could feel your cunt throb even harder at his words. You recall his words from just earlier. “Think you might just break me first.”

And what you didn’t expect was for that mere answer to make the blond man’s lips quirk up into a smile, for him to scoff out a chuckle. Something looks feral in his gaze, “Yes and?”

Fuck- your gentleman of a husband was never like this.

Usually, he took his sweet time with foreplay. He’d stretch that tight orifice of yours oooooout with his fingers. He’d tease your entrance all tender and ready to take his massive cock- but right now he was pinning apart your thighs with both of his hands and ramming his entire veiny length in.

But now he’d awoken from hibernation and he wanted you—badly.

And he was just so strong - expected, for a bear hybrid - that you were absolutely no match for the way that Nanami choked his hand ‘round your throat and manhandled you down to meet his length. To meet every thrust.

He’d slam his thick girth all the way until your poor, elastic hole was stretched thoroughly around his girth and could take it no more. Letting his cum splosh! around a little before drag-drag-draaaagging his veiny length all the way back out and inching back in again, puffing apart your innards to his swollen length- you start to claw at his muscular forearm and Nanami’s tightening his hold with a growl. “Oh my- please, Kento—”

“Inside-” He snarls, his pure need making his bass sound even more rugged than usual. And every time he speaks, Nanami punctuates it with a ruthless stroke deep inside, “Was thinking about you- all day- All night. All the time. Missed the feeling of this tight hole begging me to fuck her, and when I woke up I was just feeling s-so…” It’s then that the bear hybrid slowly looks down at your pussy, all engorged open with his incredible length. He gulps back saliva, “-hungry.”

And as if it wasn’t enough to have you at his complete and utter mercy, he was now smacking one hand down on your clit and brushin’ his thick thumb down that favorite nub of yours. “Couldn’t stop thinking of her. Couldn’t stop wanting to be inside her. Couldn’t wait to fuck her all full and make her carry my cubs- bet you misssed me, ngh, inside-” He hiccups, “Will this finally make it go inside- Inside, inside- inside.”

You’re bawling your throat hoarse, seeing stars burst behind your closed eyelids. And you distantly feel Nanami lean his head down and lick away the salty tears rolling down your cheeks- his rough tongue utterly parched.

“It’s- it’s already inside-” You gasp at some point, straining your throat to get the words out. Just so full with his thick, throbbing shaft speared inside of you- now, Nanami’s simplest movements left him hammering at your cervix. “Kento s’already inside-”

“Oh?” As if he hadn’t even realized, simply way too gone on you. He looks down at the sinful sight between your legs - your cunt all stuffed and quivering as you struggle to take him - knot awaiting at his base.

Something that you already know doesn’t bode well for you.

He looks at you intensely, “I’ve just come out from hibernation and next- o-oh, y’know what comes next for bears, right, my love?”

You could barely even think right now, “What?”

“Breeding season.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Eight inches hands

Name: Geto Suguru

Age: 28

Hybrid type: Octopus vulgaris

Height: 6’2+

Weight class: Undetermined.

Other notes: Whilst the breeding habits of this particular type of marine hybrid has remained a mystery for quite some time, it seems that this specimen is overtly eager to receive his mate in this state of rut. Faintly sweet pheromones. Strong tentacles (may perhaps take to use them during breeding with human mate, see page…)

“Eight inches—” Geto’s drawling out in his sing-song voice, letting pure lust seep into his words and leave them all hot and heavy against the column of your throat. 

He pumps his puckered tip against your g-spot and snickers, “Eight inches here-” And then once more against the door to your womb, “Eight inches there—” Before he’s biting down on the side of your neck and rutting up into you so hard that you swear you can feel him there. “Eight inches heeeeere-”

It’s enough to leave you shivering in this filthy full nelson that he had you in.

To leave your heart racing at the sound of his mean tone, cunt clenching as if you’ve just been shocked with countless volts of electricity. And of course Geto Suguru notices.

Of course he’s arching a singular brow at the sensation of your clingy walls, of course he’s slowing his hips down to look at you with an expression of mocking surprise. “Oho?” He pants out, nose crinkling at the bridge as he tries to keep his words composed. “What’s that? Are eight inches not enough for you, gorgeous?”

And to emphasize his point a little more, his thiiiick shaft is plunging so deep between your pussylips that you see the pale skin ‘round Geto’s pelvis burn bright red. You were just coming down from your nth high of the night, and even the slightest brushes against your throbbing nerve spots left you keening. His creamy tip swirlin’ the back of your cervix and making it feel like he was right at your throat—

Your eyes snap open in pure shock, breath catching in your throat as you realize just what he’s hinting at. “No! No it’s not-”

“No?” A thrill was snaking down your body- and so were a few of Geto’s looooong, flexible tentacles. They were a shimmering shade slightly lighter than his hair, with slimy tips that wrapped around both of your ankles and wrenched you open.

That was one and two. Three, four, and five slide all down the your quiverin’ sides- a sixth one of his tentacles slide-slide-sliiiiiding up to flick your throbbing clit in punishment. “So no my cock isn’t enough for this slutty pussy?”

“I didn’t mean that-”

Silenced immediately by one of his slimy tentacles spankin’ down on your pussylips, which makes you keen with the sting. To which you hear Geto’s chuckle pant out against the side of your face- god, this full nelson was the perfect position. He could see the way his vein-covered cock was shoveling in and out, he could see everywhere his textured tentacles were gliding down, he could see those lewd expressions you were subconsciously making- “Ah well, what can I do? This pussy’s just tooooo greedy f’me, I just don’t think my poor cock can keep up…”

You’re whining at the pure pout that you could hear in his tone, “But-”

“Oh, wait.” As you’d expected, he’s cutting you off with a higher octave- as though a sudden epiphany had just dawned upon him. And his voice dips down to what’s almost a purr…“I have an idea.”

“Fuh-fuck—” Your spine arches into the perfect curvature as his slick-covered tip slips between your pussylips and starting smearin’ your cunt all open. Those tendrils of his were just so dexterous, and you’re squirming at the slimy texture of him prying apart your most tender parts.

Swirling and swirling in circular motions to tease your hole.

Just the sheer squelching sounds of it was enough to nearly drown out his husky voice, “Eight-” His words quiver as if he was on the verge of chuckling. “E-eight inches-” Punctuating that little phrase with a thorough strike at your sponged cervix, the rounded circumference of him leaving a bruise. “Eight kisses.”

You babble, “Wh-what do you mean eight ki—oh!” Your question’s immediately being answered by a rhythmic thud-thud-thud at the very back of your cunt.

They’re just so distinct. Mentally, you count about-

“Eight- eight, see?” Geto’s humming out, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the back of your sweaty scalp. “Eight kisses at that cute cervix. Did ya count them, gorgeous?” And you notice that he sounds even more breathy than before, you notice that the air’s sweeter- as if Geto was losing his grip on reality with every slight slip n’ slide of his tentacles rovering in past your cunt.

“I-I…” Your mouth waters, spittle drivelling down either side of your lips. 

Seeing this cute expression on your face, he chortles- hell, he cranes his head down to lick at the glittery sap on your face. “Heh- of course ya didn’t count. Too fucked dumb, are ya?” He was just making fun of you, and he was fucking you like he hated you. “But that was eight—whoops!” Another dull skid of his rotund tip leaves you gasping, “Nine now.”

“Oh, please-” Babbling away stupidly- you were feeling pleasure from so many different points that you didn’t even know what to do with yourself. “That’s just not fair.”

“Wait till ya learn about what’s not fair, heh.”

And before you can stupidly say anything more, Geto has all his slithering tentacles cascading down your body. Two still wrenching your jittery legs open no matter how much you kick and thrash, two more holding onto your thighs, two more wrapping around your tits and twiddlin’ with your hardened nipples, and-

“Eight tentacles.” The hybrid rasps out, and at that very moment you’re feeling the final two of his tentacles plunge straight between your pussylips.

Rutting. Squeezing. Bullying and bullying their honed tips inside and fucking you at a rapidfire pace that matches his hips- “Eight inches. Eight kisses—” A few more bashes at your cervix that leaves you dumbfounded, “Eight tentacles, heh- ya really do have such a fuckin’ spoiled pussy, gorgeous. She just keeps wanting me stuffed all deeeep and haaaaard and kissin’ that cute cervix. She can’t get enough of me so she keeps suckin’ me in for more.”

“Oh- oh, please.” You struggle to stare down at where he was positively ruining your pussy from underneath, the curvin’ lines of his tentacles sticking in and out of you at a blurring pace. Starting off slooooow at the tips that wriggle their way inside- before he’s suddenly shoving most of his prolonged lengths in and repeating the sultry motions. “It just feels so good, is that really only two tentacles?”

“Yes—why?” 

“It just f-feels like more-”

“More?” And you instantly know where you’ve made a mistake- Geto’s voice was breathy with excitement. “You want more, gorgeous?”

“That’s not what I…” You’re simply so stunned that you don’t know what to say. Simply so fucked stupid that before you can even think up a response, Geto has two of his tentacles probin’ apart your pussylips—and a third one lifting off of your hips to veer downwards and suction on your clit.

So hard that you’re seeing complete stars—

“Aaaaand look at that-” Geto sighs, “Yer cumming already, gorgeous. Look what happens when you ask for more.”

Begging, you’re  tearing up with the sheer intensity of your orgasm. “Mmm, please-”

“Mmmore?” You couldn’t believe the audacity of this hybrid- and the way he was lifting off his second tentacle from your hips. He now had two of his tendrils sliding inside your entrance, gliding and massaging against his red-hot cock.

And then two more that tugged and teeeeased your poor clit to no end, setting two of his suction cups on top to give you lil’ sparks of your high. They were rolling over circles. Rolling over hearts. Matching the ministrations on your tits. 

Geto made you jolt with even the lightest touches that to your overstimulated body really didn’t feel light. “Seriously- am I the one in rut or are you the one in heat?”

“Maybe both?” You dazedly ask, “I don’t even- hck! know-”

“Can’t think, can you? S’my cock leaving you speechless? My tentacles making you all stupid?” He tuts, almost sympathetic - though you knew that in reality it was far from that. “You wanted to be fucked so baaaaadly by me and now you’re getting it, aren’t ya?” At your gurgling mess of responses, “S’alright, gorgeous, I just need to know your answer to this one question.”

Yet another one of his slimy tendrils lifts off of your body - this time from your tits - to manhandle your head to the side to face him. “Yes- fuck!”

“Clean that mouth out before you speak t’me.”

Before you know it, the tentacle wrapped around your neck slips its slimy tip into your mouth and dangles it wiiiide open for him to spit inside. “There- all better. And now would ya like to hear what my question is?”

And obviously that’s going to pique your interest, even with the pistoning sensation from all angles driving your pussy wild. “And th-that is?”

“What do you think about eight kids?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - HOTEL FUCK-SYLVANIA

Name: Choso Kamo

Age: ??

Hybrid type: Desmodus rotundus

Height: 6’4+

Weight class: 80kg - 90kg.

Other notes: Subject is mated, interestingly it seems that this particular vampire bat hybrid has the ability to replace his appetite for blood with other bodily fluids. Particularly in relation to the bat’s mate, it seems that this ability takes effect twofold during times of rut.

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” Utahime asks, and by the worried expression on her face you know she means well. It’s only when you nod your head in a gesture for her to continue does she finish her sentence- “-but isn’t it, like, scary being with a vampire bat?”

You tilt your head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

To which the purple-haired girl looks around the bustling café the two of you were in before continuing with her impromptu interrogation, “Aren’t you scared you’ll wake up one day and he’ll be drinking your blood or something? I don’t know, I’m just a little worried…”

“Choso would never do that.” You’re crinkling your nose in amused distaste, even the thought of your lovely boyfriend doing such a thing is enough to make you want to laugh out loud.

“But how does he fulfill his cravings, though?” She swirls around her drink a little, as if expecting it to turn into said crimson liquid any moment now. “Because I read somewhere that their cravings are quite strong, especially during a…”

“Rut.” You finish for her, “And yeah, I suppose they are- but Choso always satiates his cravings with something else.”

“With what?”

“Um, alternatives.”

“What alternatives?”

Well…

.

.

.

“P-please…” Choso groans, voice trembling at the back of his throat. And the sounds he’s making right between your legs are plain sinful- they almost make you shy to hear. 

Just squelch after solid squelch! being wrung out of your sloppy cunt any time he’s pumping his tongue between your folds. Pistoning in and out, in and out, in and out at a feverish pace. 

And he’s not shy about getting it all filthy with your clingy wads of sap. Letting his ridged tastebuds swirl all ‘round your tender channel a few times, fishing around for those sweet wads of white before gulping them down. Choso was kneeled at your feet and practically worshipping your pussy with his mouth—

“Th-think that’s all there is, baby-” Gasping, your hands claw atop your boyfriend’s scalp. With a feeble push, you’re trying to get his spit-slicked mouth to detach from your cunt. “I think m’done-”

“But I’m not done.” Choso stubbornly says. And even from here you can see the way his pinkish, swollen lips wobble out of pure frustration where they were sucking on your clit- moved past lickin’ up your sweet, sweet juices to toy with your pussy.

And as if on cue, you swear you could hear the rumble of his hungry stomach—bat hybrids always did get extra famished during ruts, the doctor had told you.

She’d also warned you that Choso might just suck your pussy dry if given the chance - and that seemed to be exactly what he was hellbent on doing. With his puckered lips spreading even wider open and pokin’ his tongue away into your hole, he’s slurping up any and every remnant of his own cum from mere minutes ago. 

Your slick glazes all down his chin, creating a shimmery effect that made him look completely gone. “Look- look at her.” Eyes wide, completely crazed. “M’just starving for your pussy, baby—dying. I could eat her out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Arching your cunt against his face with a whine, “S-so you’re just never gonna be full, Choso?”

“Hmmmm…” He pretends to think - or, at least, you think he’s pretending to. But with how utterly ruined he was from your honeyed sap left you wondering whether Choso Kamo was actually serious about brainstorming the answer- taking a single lick at your folds and nodding. “Yeah- never gonna be full, baby.”

“You seriously needed to taste me to get your- hck! answer-” You’re panting, sheer disbelief in your tone. “You can’t be serious, Cho-”

“Dead. Fucking. Serious.”

And then he’s wriggling his crowned muscle back between your pussylips and makes you cry out, “Oh p-please—” Two doughy pads of his fingers pryin’ aside your folds to help him get to where he wanted to taste the most. 

Now he’s fingering you as well as makin’ out hotly with your pussy. Just the cushy edges of his digits searching for your sweetest spots, “S’the sweetest dessert I’ve ever tasted- the most delicious fuckin’ thing. Tastes so good. Tastes so fuckin’ good.” He murmurs wetly between your lips, long lashes fluttering as your velvety walls clench ‘round his tongue. “Always so good f’me trying to suck m-my tongue back in- never met a dessert that wanted to be eaten so badly.”

“Choso!” You’re gasping, “I’ve never heard you speak like this-”

“I’ve never been this hungry.”

But he wasn’t just hungry right now - he was absolutely starving, and eating you out like just so.

Almost experimentally, you’re pushing on Choso’s sweaty scalp and watching as he scrambles to grab onto either side of your thighs and crush himself nose-deep between your folds. “No- no no no no- don’t even joke like that, baby.” All serious. His two fanged canines peek out from underneath his upper lip, and it makes you shudder. His bat-like wings flapping behind him- “Not yet. Please not yet. You can’t seriously expect me to remove myself from your p-pussy when she’s creaming down my tongue like this—?”

“Well, I was just thinking…” You mumble, “Wouldn’t it satiate your thirst more if-”

He nips at your clit with his canines, “More if?”

“If you filled me up again, Cho?”

And then he’s peering up at you with those deep, dark irises of his - giving absolutely away in his expression. Mouth stalled. Spit drivelling. Throat bobbing with a singular gulp—

Before Choso’s on you in an instant- hands at your throat and pinning you down onto the bed, meaty thighs pushing your own apart and letting him lodge his red-hot cockhead-

“F-fuck-” Just a singular smooch at your precious cunt and Choso’s already throwing his head back in ecstasy. Back arching. His wings bolting out straight. He can’t stop himself from dribbling out in pearly beads of white that cling n’ drip down the front of your cunt, smearing it all in a glossy white shade. “Fuck- oh my god-”

“You’ve cum already?” You’re marvelling at the sticky warmth that fills you up from the inside, splatterin’ the bed around you.

Something that Choso quickly takes care of by roverin’ his greedy fingertips down and pressing them inside—in and in and in. In sinful synchronization with the constant thwacks! of his heavy base against your puffy folds, just fucking those webs of seed even deeper. 

His fingers are stretchin’ aside your tight orifice and somehow managing to squeeze in—your eyes damn near bulge out of your skull at the sheer stretch of him fitting in something else. Something you hadn’t even noticed until now - the prominent knot at his base- “Mhm, told you m’ravenous for ya.” It’s a rounded ring of flesh that bullies into your entrance, shutting it tight. “S’like a never-ending feast, I get to eat your pussy out until she doesn’t know what it feels like n-not to have my mouth on her.”

You’re gasping at the feeling of him plugging your hole - feeling that lump at your very throat. “B-but how can you eat me out when you’ve got your knot in for now? Not to mention just how deep you’re fucking your cum in…”

“Ah, no worries, baby~” Choso hums, and his cock twitches inside of you. “It’s more fun that way.”

.

.

.

The next time you’re meeting up with Utahime at your usual lil’ café it’s with Choso in tow.

Hand-in-hand.

Shoulders brushing shoulders in your booth.

Positively glowing after his last satiated rut.

You’d say that the meeting went quite smoothly, to be quite honest. Utahime had gotten over her initial trepidation over his hybrid species, and the conversation was flowing smoothly. 

So smoothly, in fact, that at one point in some dramatic recounting of her last mission- Utahime’s hitting her fork off of the table top. Brushing aside your motions to pick it up, she herself ducks under the table to get that traitorous silver utensil.

Still continuing with her story, “—and then my dear Shoko came up to me and said-”

From above, both you and Choso look at each other in confusion as your friend abruptly stops in the middle of her story.

From below, Utahime felt the soul escape her body the second she accidentally caught a glimpse of your legs, of the short skirt that covered none of the…rabid bite marks littered all across your thighs. She didn’t even have to look too hard to see the way that inched up the inner parts of your legs, closer and closer to…

When she finally resurfaces, the two of you notice that she seemed rather…pale.

You start, “Is everything alri-”

“I think I just figured out what you meant by ‘alternatives’.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Fire-BENDER!

Name: Ryomen Sukuna

Age: Don’t ask.

Hybrid type: Genitive draconis

Height: 9’7+

Weight class: 10000kg - ??

Other notes: It is quite rare to come across a dragon hybrid specimen, and this particular one is an exceptional example of the male dragon. Approaching rut it seems that horns have grown larger, wings have grown stronger, and overall body composition has become much more imposing - all likely in the hopes of seducing his mate, the human (further research see page…)

It must be noted that this particular subject is rather temperamental, and this attitude may pass over to the hormone-fueled rut, as well.

You were arranged to be married to Ryomen Sukuna.

It was not a deal that you had a hand in making, nor one that you had the right to reject.

It was the union between two clans, the marriage between human and myth, the collision of two worlds once thought to be forever separated. And thanks to the ingeniousness of your clan’s elders, it seems that those power-fueled daydreams are now becoming a reality.

And there you were, the scapegoat of it all.

They didn’t care whether you were killed by the infamous King of Hybrids - that had no matter to them, they’d still have the fame of being the first in hundreds of thousands of years to successfully barter a marriage between human and dragon. 

Which might have been why no one showed up to your wedding day.

It was quite the solemn affair, if you do say so yourself. Decent, perhaps, at best. The stiff routine of pledges to one another that should have been romantic passed by you in a blur, until ultimately you were bowing to the pink-haired hybrid before you and realized that you were bowing to your husband. To each other. Husband and wife.

Until you found yourself steeped in the most important tradition of all—the wedding night.

You sat on the farthest corner of a bed far grander than king-sized - fit for a dragon, you supposed. And as you waited for your new husband to do something - anything - you contemplated just what that hulking figure of his might mean for you in bed-

“Before we do anything, should you so wish-” He gruffs out, turned away from you so you didn’t have to see his expression. Though, you could make out the faint dusting of pink at the very tip-tops of his ears, “-you should know something.”

“Yes, anything.” You answer, brows furrowing.

“I’m in rut.”

It comes out so matter-of-fact, and you find yourself speechless for a few seconds.

A few seconds in which Sukuna finds himself exhaling, “Look- I understand if you don’t wish to consummate our marriage tonight, I won’t take fuckin’ offense if-”

“Apologies for interrupting-” Though you didn’t feel a speck of remorse, “-but I was actually about to say that I’m glad for the fact.”

He turns to you with hungry eyes.

You’re taken right then and there on the edge of the expansive bed, the velvety sheets drenched in all your sappy juices. Sukuna smacks! down both his plush, reddened tips between your pussylips (dragon hybrids had two, it seemed) and grins at the way your cunt tries to sluuuurp him up- “Are you sure yer a human, brat?” He’s asking for the nth time this past hour.

“F-for the last time-” You gasp, eyes shuttering shut at the teasin’ feeling of his matching cockheads gliding all down your quivering orifice. “-I-I am—fuck.”

Only for your mouth to fall into such a sultry oh! of pleasure, eyes rolling all the way to the back of your skull once Sukuna engulfs one of his tips inside of your cunt. That curve at the end of his shaft was just delicious, opening up your dewy wet entrance in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Stretchin’ out that adorable hole of yours so wiiiiidely around the dragon’s cockhead that you swear you’re seeing stars—

“And yer soooo fucking sure?” Sukuna scoffs, crimson eyes rolling. “How m’I supposed to know that’s not just that pussy talking, huh, mama?”

Before you can bite out a response, his slick-glazed tip was raaaapidly pumping in and out of your core. Not even waiting for you to get used to the sheer primal stretch, not even waiting for himself to get used to the suctioning sensation of your soaked walls.

Sukuna’s using one tattooed hand of his to hold onto your pretty throat and smack! you back down onto his honed v-line. The ridges of his muscles against your thighs driving you absolutely wild, “Because there’s no way- fuck, takin’ me so well like this…” His bleary eyes lock down at the spread-apart lips of your cunt, the way you spurted out just a bit of gloss with each ram. “You’ve gotta be some type of- of pussy hybrid, or something-”

“P-pussy hybrid?” You gape, and for a moment you’re not sure if you heard him correctly with the way that Sukuna was shovelling his achin’ erection into you so hard that you eardrums pop!

“Mhmmm—” He’s confirming, a primal waver in his voice. You can only watch as the King cups the second of his stacked cocks- whilst one was rudely plummeting in and out of your cunt, the other was being guided by him to knock against your cute asshole. “Tell me the truth, brat- are ya seriously just some fuh-fuck- sort of hybrid sent to ruin me? Maybe a succubus?”

“I’m not a- ngh.” But you’re being cut off by the feeling of his incredible second girth kissin’ your other hole. Just barely stretching out the outer rim before pulling back as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll give those cute holes of yours what you want if you give me the- ngh, truth.”

“But I am, I am!” You’re crying out, your spine arching against the soft mattress as he starts striking at your cervix rhythmically. As if he was trying to fuck the answer out of you. As if he was trying to plug up your shattered throat with all his gluey wads of pre.

You reach your hands out to claw at Sukuna’s sculptured deltoids and he groans, “Mhmmmm—that can’t be.” He’s looking down at you seriously, a pink-colored brow raising with a scoff. “How else are ya gonna explain how this is the s-strongest fucking rut of my entire life?”

“I can’t-”

“And what about the way I just can’t- stop- fucking you-” Two of his roughened palms hold onto your waist tight and fill up your geysering orifice, pressing you down onto the plush mattress as he drills into you. 

The pistoning of his hips was rude on your cunt- but utterly teasing against your backside. Simply stretching on your hole with his flared tip, “The way I can’t stop listening to wh-whatever this pussy wants- fuck, and the king never bows to anyone.” Sukuna scowls, entire face furrowing into an expression you couldn’t differentiate between fury and ecstasy. “The way I can’t stop fucking you- fuck. The way I know m’gonna me dreaming of this pussy tonight and the night after, and the night after. The way—” He puffs out a heaving breath, smoke curdling out of him. “-the way I think m’gonna fucking die if I stopped fucking her- you’ve got me hypnotized. You’ve got me addicted. You must be some- some succubus hybrid. Some pussy hybrid-”

“I’m just human.” You’re blatantly replying, and you squeeze your slurping walls in emphasis-

Only for that single act to nearly break Ryomen Sukuna.

He damn near collapses on top of you, with his sweaty forehead pressed into the crook of your neck. “Y-you lie.”

“I do not-”

“How else are ya gonna explain how I c-can’t even-” Even as he says it, Sukuna’s scaly wings flinch and flutter open. The feeling of your cunt clamping down on him was just too fucking good- “-control my fucking pheromones anymore?”

As the saturation of spiced wine grows stronger in the air, your lungs attempt to gulp the addictive scent down. “M’seriously just a human-”

“And you’re trying to tell me that the King of Hybrids has fallen before a mere human?”

You open your mouth to answer—but your new husband’s merely shutting you up with a vulgar few pumps that leave you gasping for air. Your eyes shuttering as he thrusts you into a high in absolutely no time.

One you didn’t even expect.

One you didn’t even know was coming.

One so strong that it makes his crimson wings snap! open and tremble sensitively at the squeezing of your cunt.

The white-hot pleasure rips through your body and leaves you whining, mouth falling agape. “Oh- oh my god, you’re such a—” Without warning, you clamor a hold onto Sukuna’s red horns- gripping onto it for dear life as the orgasm bubbles in your veins. “-fuck, keep going, Kuna.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

And you don’t know who’s more surprised by the response that falls out of Sukuna’s mouth - your or him. 

But almost as if to make you forget just what he’d said, he’s roverin’ his puckered tip down the side of your walls- easily locating your g-spot and ruuuuubbing down that particular area with his veiny shaft. “Y-your ears did not hear that.” He rasps out, something seething in his tone. And before you know it, his second dribblin’ tip eases its way through your second hole - both swollen cocks massaging your channels in one go. So big that you could almost feel them rub against one another- “If I g-give you both, you did not hear a thing, brat.”

Still trembling from your last high, you mime zipping your lips shut. “Didn’t hear a thing.”

“That’s my wife—”

.

.

.

After your honeymoon was over - a trip through the serene countryside, as organized by Sukuna who willed that a proper honeymoon was only befitting for a marriage that had been less than planned from your end - you were met with a surprise once you arrived back home to the Sukuna Estate.

Your attendants had informed you that you had guests waiting in the meeting hall. And who you might have assumed to be your friends, or perhaps your parents, had been none other than…your clan’s council.

Here to check whether the King of Hybrids had left you alive until now, you presume. Though not out of concern for your health.

They glanced over you and straightened immediately at the sight of Sukuna following just behind.

And while you hear your husband’s tail swish in annoyance behind you, you’re raising your hand to him as a gesture that you could handle it. Because, of course, you could handle it.

“My dear-” You’re starting off, barely looking in the direction of the elderly men seated in the room before you. “-would you mind letting the house staff know to prepare some tea for our ah- guests?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

How you relished in the look on their faces.

♡ INO TAKUMA - Hop to it!

Name: Ino Takuma

Age: 21

Hybrid type: Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus

Height: 5’10+

Weight class: 75kg - 85kg.

Other notes: Unmated however seems to express interest in a companion close to him (human?) Even for a rabbit hybrid, subject seems rather…exciteable in relation to his rut. Healthy pheromones, above-average stamina, exceptional desire to breed.

“A-am I pregnant yet, pretty?” Ino somehow manages to babble through his teeth, barely even audible through the constant wrecked moans and the bubbles of spit that just keep on leaking out of his mouth.

At least…until you’re swervin’ your gummy cunt back down his length and it makes Ino throw his head back with a whine. Just the prettiest noises you’ve ever heard, it’s enough to make your pussy throb a few more times before you’re speeding up your pace down his slender hips.

Watching as the bunny hybrid below you squirms n’ whimpers with each gyration, “P-please-” He gasps out wetly through his tears, and you feel both of Ino’s hands come up to plaster upon either side of your hips. Cute nose twitching, “Please, I need to get- ngh, I don’t think it even works like that but…”

“Oh, Taku—” You’re cooing out fondly- and the mere sound of your voice was enough to make his bulbous tip empty out a few more wads of cum. “I don’t think it works like that, baby. I don’t think you can get pregnant-”

“But how do we know if we don’t try—?” He insists- and you swear his adorably bush-like tail must be quivering by now. He’s just so pussydrunk right now that logic wasn’t even an existing concept in his brain right now.

His rut had him completely stupid. Your pussy had him completely stupid.

All creamy and soaked with how many times he’s emptied his balls out into you by now. 

And as if to prove his nonsensical point, Ino’s lifting you slightly - just slightly, he couldn’t possibly handle anything more - off of his achin’ hot cock. It makes your entrance leak out in the webs of Ino’s high, so much of it streaming down your inner thighs and making the man below you gulp at the display.

You certainly couldn’t forget that rabbit hybrids might cum fast—real fast, but they sure did have the stamina to last all night. Especially Ino.

Almost as if he was hypnotized, he’s reaching a hand up and thumbing along the mess that he himself had made. Pushing just a few of those creamy white dollops inside of you, mouth gaped and awestruck at the sheer amount of volume that’d been stuffed in your cunt. “S-see?” He breathily whispers, more to himself than anything. And Ino had such long, silken ears the same chestnut shade as his hair - they raise in alertness as they look between your glistening folds. “See- there’s just soooo much, sweetness, ngh- s-surely at least one drop of this s’gonna end up with me pregnant?”

“Oh, Taku—ngh.” Back arching as his hips start funnelling upwards into yours.

Providing your greedy cunt with so many inches- Ino was just the perfect thickness. Not too slender so that his flared edges hit each one of your tender spots, not too thick so that he didn’t have to wait for you to get used to the size before fucking you hard- fast-

“S-see how much I’ve filled you up?” He’s gurgling out, his nose twitching with keen interest. “See how much of my cum is dribblin’ out? I keep fucking it inside and it’s still- ngh, coming out-” Pleading with you. Begging to you. The air grows even more saturated with his sweet sunflower-like scent, “So s-surely…don’t tell me we can’t, pretty. I’ve cum inside you so much that I feel pregnant—”

You have to stifle a giggle - he was just too cute. “Baby, it won’t end up with you pregnant-” Enough to make his entirely pretty face become crestfallen, long ears drooping with sadness. Aw, it was just too cute. “-but it might just get me pregnant, if that’s what you want…”

“Y-you?”

Nodding, “So hop to it- if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And it only takes a split-second for him to brighten back up like a Christmas tree - ears upright, eyes shining with interest, the reddened tip of his cock jolting once, twice, thrice—

“So it’s you that gets pregnant- it’s your pretty pussy that I get to fill up until she- hah, can’t take anymore.”

Before he’s thumpin’ it straight against the back of your womb and cumming with a wet squelch! Again. The noise rings in both your eardrums and makes Ino groan at the realization that he was filling you up again-

“Oh- oh, I’ve…” His spit-slicked lips fall open, and a blush grows even stronger on the tips of Ino’s ears. “I’ve cum again- that must be a sign of good luck, right, pretty?” Urging his hips up even higher, “A sign that you’re gonna give me the cutest son?”

You’re shivering at the sultry sensation that you don’t think you’d ever get used to, “Y-yes, baby—”

“Baby—oh.” And you could practically see his dark pupils take on the form of hearts at the very sound of you calling him that. Though- in Ino’s pussydrunken brain, it’s registering as something else entirely. Whispering, “We’re gonna have a baby- m’gonna fuck a baby into you.”

“You’re so- mmm, insatiable.” You gasp, placing each of your palms atop his pecs to balance yourself as you start roverin’ your hips back down.

And you might think that meant he would be happy about the way you start to bounce down his toned pelvis- you might that meant he would be happy to see you trying to fuck his gluey white wads even deeper. But no—Ino takes one look at the way you were bouncing out sultry figure-eights on his erection, and he’s immediately tightening his hold on your hips.

He doesn’t care if he’s leaving nail marks on your poor skin for daaaaays- “N-no, don’t do that, sweetness.” Gritting through his clenched teeth, Ino pins your hips down whilst he bucks his ravenous hips into yours. Taking control now, he pecks and glides his puckered tip against your cervix- “Like you said, I’m s’pposd to be the one fucking you pregnant- me. So let me feed this pretty cunt my cum, m’kay? She must be so tired from r-riding me by now…”

“But I like it, Taku—” You’re insisting, and yet you still let him slam his parched tip inside your every tight orifice like he was addicted to the feeling - and he was. 

He couldn’t last even a single second without slide-slide-sliding along your g-spot, the curved edge of his cockhead swabbin’ into every crevice and making the ivory mess inside you splash about. His pinkish lower lip juts out in a pout, “Well you can’t do that when you’re all round n’ glowing n’ pregnant- m’kay? S’gonna tire you and the baby-”

“Oh, I see…” You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your lips.

And Ino can’t stop the way he’s fervently nodding, “S’my duty, m’kay? M’your mate now-” Before you can register a single thing, he leans over and gnaws down on the side of your neck. “-so you hafta let me do all the w-work to get you pregnant okay?”

“Yes, Taku, ngh.” Dazedly nodding, “And what do I do until then, hm?”

He thinks for just a few sultry seconds, before his ears twitch with the idea—“Pull on my ears, pretty, s’gonna make me cum even faster.”

.

.

.

And the next time that Ino’s heading to Dr. Shoko Ieri’s clinic, it’s with you hand-in-hand. And she doesn’t quite need a check-up to diagnose what that rounded belly of yours meant.

“Congratulations.” She’s droning out, and you glimpse her thin brown brows raising behind her clipboard. “You’re pregnant.”

And before you two can celebrate, she deadpans.

“You might want to sit down to hear just how many you’re pregnant with.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Cuffin’ season.

Name: Gojo Satoru

Age: 28

Hybrid type: Vulpes vulpes

Height: 6’5+

Weight class: Got offended when asked.

Other notes: Unmated subject, particularly prideful in his ability to woo though remains at odds with the object of his affections (interestingly, a rabbit hybrid—for more on the dynamic see page 2). Warned against displaying rut symptoms due to the sheer intensity.

Exceptional coat. Exceptional looks. Also note that subject is an exceptional pain in the ass.

“Felony tax evasion.”

The fox hybrid’s face drops at the words that escape your mouth- so infuriatingly handsome, he looked better when he was taken by surprise instead of insulting you.

As a new patrol officer, you’d been assigned to investigate this particular fox hybrid in Tokyo, known for swindling people out of their hard-earned money. And you’d found him, of course - you just didn’t think that he’d be so attractive.

It’d taken six minutes of him flirting with you to realize that you were a cop.

“$200 a day, 365 days a year since you were twelve- that’s two seconds, so times 20 which is $1,460,000 owed in taxes—I think.” You’re reciting those numbers off of the top of your brain, as if it was absolutely nothing. And the more you spoke the more flabbergasted the man before you looked- oh, how it made you smile. “I mean, I really am just a dumb bunny - but we are good at multiplying.”

“H-hey now-” Gojo rasps out, looking down at the cutesy police officer that he was slowly but surely learning not to underestimate. “-let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. In my defense, I’m in rut!”

“Ruts don’t make you commit tax evasion.”

“…”

…”

“You got me there.”

“And according to your tax forms, you reported- oh! Zero.” You falsely gasp, flipping through your clipboard. Before looking up at Gojo with a bat of your lashes, hands reaching for the cuffs on your belt. “Unfortunately, lying on a federal form is an offense punishable with up to five years in jail.”

“Aw, c’mon!” He seethes, “What’s a man gotta do to make a dishonest living ‘round here-” Though at your deadpan look he shuts up, “Fine- what’s something else that’ll get you to let me off easy, sweetheart?”

“Let you off easy?” You question, slightly leaning backwards.

And his eyes sweep down every corner and curve of your body, “Yeah- let me off easy.”

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuck—” Gojo’s breathing out into the crook of your neck, nostrils flaring as he drinks in the saturated scent of your pheromones - so fuckin’ sweet that he can feel his mouth start to water at the idea of simply taking a bite.

Shaking his head free of that particular day dream, he shovels his reddened cock into you with such explosive fervour. “Fuck, this is the perfect pussy. This is the perfect lil’ cunt to suck me up- ngh, are all bunnies this cute when they fuck- or s’it just you, sweetheart?” Just thud after thud! of his rotund tip.

It was the perfect curvature to leave your toes curling, and your teeth gritting at the rhythmic pleasure. You’re looking over your shoulder at the fox and struggling to keep your voice steady, “Just sh-shut up and fuck me, Toru.”

“Mmm, s’what I’m doing, silly bunny.” He rolls his eyes, knees digging even deeper into the cushion of your backseat. “And shit—” You’re clenching instinctually around him and you can feel his entire sculptured body behind you shiver- “-shit it just feels so fucking good.”

“God, I don’t know how but you’re hitting all the right spots.” You’re whimpering, feeling his glazed tip satisfy carnal itches within you that you didn’t even know you had. He was just so big that he was easily rub-rub-rubbing his swollen cockhead over your g-spot, and then thrusting right in to massage you with his prominent veins.

“Heh, you’re welcome.”

It’d taken mere seconds to drag you to your police car and bend you over in the back - mere seconds.

And mere split-seconds for Gojo to take a niiiice long look at the globes of your ass and decide he wants to give your ass cheeks a good squeeze. And decide to grab onto the fluffy tuft of your tail and pull you to him—“H-hey! Where’d you think you’re pulling-”

“Your tail, duh.” He’s unapologetically replying, “Honestly- I can’t tell if you really are just a dumb bunny or m’just fucking you dumb.”

“You’re too f-full of yourself.” You scoff.

“Too f-f-f-full of myself?” Gojo dramatically whines, quite a few octaves higher than what you actually sounded like. And as if he’s irritating you on purpose (he most definitely is) he’s tuggin’ on your sensitive tail once more and letting his cock’s hilt spank your drivelling hole. “Actually- I think it’s you who’s full of me, sweetheart.”

Your jaw drops at the sheer audacity of him, “K-keep talking and that won’t be the case any longer-”

“Oh, so I’m gonna be full of you—?” He’s cooing out, and you’re not sure whether these were the fox hybrid’s genuine pussydrunken babbles- or he was simply driving you wild. And succeeding. “You’d be the first to peg me, you slutty bunny, but I wouldn’t be ngh- opposed-”

“God, do you ever just shut up-” You’re bursting out, followed almost immediately by an elongated keen shattering from your throat. It was at that very moment that Gojo had decided to lurch his hips backwards and sloppily smooch at your throbbing g-spot, so hard that your entire body goes limp.

His fox-like ears twitch in the direction of your lecherous sounds, as if he was committing them to memory. “It seems neither you nor this pussy can…h-heh.” As if on cue, the background noise of your cunt seems to increase in volume. 

And Gojo’s feeling his ruby-red tip twitch at the lecherous noise, like he couldn’t get enough of it. He’s rutting and rutting and rutting until his swollen shaft is feeling all red and raw- until he shakes with the phantom shivers of your walls clenchin’ all around him and he still wants more. “And I can’t help it- just can’t fuckin’ help it.” He’s the one falling apart on your gooey wet walls, and yet you’re the one being teased. “Just love chattin’ with this pretty pussy- you’ve got such a sweet pussy, bunny, she loves me too m-”

“Satoru, if you don’t shut up then m’banning you from this.”

“Please no, ma’am.”

“Then do it.”

He swishes his tail in excitement, “And what you want me to do is—?”

“Fuck me properl- oh!”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. 

Because within mere moments, Gojo has his hand tightened around the puffy part of your tail and disrespectfully hauls you down to meet his hips. As if you were nothing but a ragdoll, he targets a few hits to your cervix that leave you bawling from both pairs of lips.

“Dangerous thing to ask a fox.”

Blinking back the tears in your eyes, “Wh-what do you-”

“Don’tcha know what you just asked, lil’ bunny?” Gojo questions, and it’s in a strangely…quieter tone of his voice. One that felt more primal. One that sent shivers down your spine.

When you’re not answering quickly enough for him, he’s slithering his second hand down to tease between your pussylips. That softened index and thumb pinching your clit until you’re seeing stars, “Don’tcha know what sly, cunning foxes do to c-cute lil’ bunnies like you?”

“Wh-what-” Even though you damn well knew- you were swerving your hips down onto his plump cockhead like you were addicted to the stretch of him in your deepest insides.

“Foxes eat bunnies like you.”

You shiver, and Gojo’s increasing the pace of his veiny shaft pummeling inside of you. He’s striking your spongy cervix one-two-three times a single second, he’s twisting his fingertips over your clit. He’s hauling you straight back down onto him using your tail—and acting as if he wasn’t just driving you maddened.

“And espeeeeecially for a fox in rut- oh, you’re just lucky I don’t wreck this pussy until she doesn’t remember anything but the feeling of my cock- ngh. M’one of the good foxes, see?” Dollops of Gojo’s saliva strike the arch of your spine- and you’re realizing with a jolt that he was drooling at the feeling of sloppily gliding his length between your pussylips. “You’re lucky I haven’t carved my name out into the back of your cervix…yet.” Dangerously, his puckered tip throbs at the very back of your pussy. “Fucking lucky I don’t shut you up by filling you up with so much of my cum that you feel it at your throat.”

“F-fuck-” You try to lurch fowards on instinct, and Gojo casually manhandles you down as though it was nothing. Hand still gripped firmly ‘round your tail-

“Don’t make me pull on those ears, too, bunny.” He’s hissing, hips growing just as slopping as his slurring was. Gojo flicks his fingers on your clit and you almost don’t hear his next few words, “Fuckin’ lucky I don’t- mmm, breed you until you hafta carry around a child with my name- hey.”

“What now-” You bite back at his sudden change of tone at the end.

“If I did knot you—” And you swear you feel the slowly-thickening hilt of his cock pulsate readily against your pussylips, “-d’you think we’d make foxes or rabbits, heh?” 

“Shit, are you pussydrunk-”

Gojo fucks that shocked impression clean off of your face, feeling the slightest twinges of something sizzling at the pit of his stomach. “Just kidding—!” Muddying his mind. Making him actually think of certain possibilities as he pumped you full of milky white- “Unless…”

And then you’re both stumbling into your high.

Your taking you over in a startled flash, Gojo’s making him shake and quiver and quiver and gnaw down on the damned inside of his cheek to stop himself from gnawing down on you-

“Fuck-” The fox hybrid streams out a slew of sweears underneath his breath, blue eyes clenching as he rides out the blissful waves on your cunt. It was making his toned body shake, it was making him hold onto your cute body like a lifeline as he emptied out his swollen balls into your cunt.

You were just so damn soft around him that it felt as though you were molding to each of his sensitive twitches. Your velvety walls fluttering around him as Gojo fucks you through both of your highs, “How’s it feel- being fucked by the bad fox- hah, having him cum inside you?”

Toes curling at the white-hot pleasure of your own high, it ran through  you like electricity. “So good—I feel so f-full inside.”

“Mmm, shit.” He marvels at the way that only makes his overworked divot start streaming out in even more gooey wads of cum. It fills you up until it’s overspilling, and Gojo’s blushin’ tip can only endlessly swab those gluey ribbons into your tiniest of orifices. “Fuck fuck fuck- bunny, we really might just make ngh- the cutest kids ever.”

“Please-” You gasp, your hips reaching a feverish point simply papping! down onto his. You’re turning your teary face over your shoulder to look at him, “Please- w-won’t be able to do that if you don’t knot me, Toru…”

And oh, fuck—

Gojo Satoru thinks he could’ve creamed all over again right then and there.

Gojo Satoru thinks he just does when - with a rough few thrusts -  he somehow manages to sink his incredible girth inside. All the way till the hilt. All the way till the rounded swelling of his base manages to bully inside- stretching your cunt out so wiiiiiide that all you can do is let out muffled mewls.

You gasp once his knot finally plops! inside- hot and thick and throbbing inside of you. You squirm, “Fuck- fuck, s’too fucking big. I should arrest you just for this.”

“Oh yeah-” And to your surprise, Gojo simply responds by letting go of your tail (finally!) to duck a hand down onto the carpeted floor and bring up his discarded button-up. Fishing for something in his front pocket-

Your jaw drops once he shows you an official police badge.

“Gojo Satoru, undercover agent, at your service, bunny.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - RIDE ‘EM, COWGIRL!

Name: Higuruma Hiromi

Age: 30’s (approx.)

Hybrid type: Equus caballus

Height: 6’6+

Weight class: 900kg - 1000kg.

Other notes: Sleek coat. Intelligent. The mature type. Subject has revealed that he has not been having regular ruts, with the last one being over ten years ago and yielded with no mate. Likely obstructions of stress, hormonal imbalances, and pure chance. Symptoms of upcoming rut persist. 

It must be noted that, even for a horse hybrid, the specimen is rather…well-endowed. And considering the fact that the subject’s mate is of the human type (with no prior experience in horse hybrid ruts)—further investigation must be conducted as to the procedures during the upcoming rut period.

It had started slow at first.

It had started without Higuruma even realizing.

He’d simply come back home from his law firm one day, exceptionally tired with no particular reason as to why. Somewhat feverish. Somewhat out-of-breath. It couldn’t have been the extra cases he was taking on (Higuruma had trudged through even higher workloads than this before, relatively this was a piece of cake), it couldn’t have been any illness (he visited the doctor, of course, and she’d said that there was absolutely nothing to worry about). But Higuruma had been worrying far too much that he hadn’t even had the time to flip through his medical report as thoroughly as he might have liked.

And it’s only because of you—“Hiromi, have you read through this?” Asking him in that sweet voice of yours one night. With his medical report propped open and your lips slightly parted as you swept your eyes through it.

To which he’d absent-mindedly looked up from one of his law books - Higuruma had dismissed himself from work early today, for the first time in his life. Though he was determined to get himself back in the office by tomorrow- that burning heat underneath his skin be damned. “Pardon, my angel? I don’t believe I have.”

“Well, you might want to open up another book then.” You’re grinning at his visible confusion, “A book of baby names.”

You’ve never seen the stoic man so stunned, gulping. On the verge of being ruined. “E-excuse me?”

“You’re experiencing pre-rut, Hiromi.”

It’s less than two hours later when your husband has you splayed out across his chiselled front, sweat-slicked abs moving and massaging against your back at a fervent pace as he fucked you from underneath. Such a filthy full nelson.

Your drivelling maw agape. Your legs spread wiiiide open. Your pussylips being funnelled with his thickened, throbbing inches from behind—he barely even has to try to give you particularly rough thrusts that make your mouth water.

It was the only position in which Higuruma’s absolutely massive length could fit inside you - the perks of having a horse hybrid as a husband, you guessed. And while you weren’t used to Higuruma’s entire size on a normal day, attempting to take him during his rut?

Oh, you were hopeful.

One look at his furious erection, and you knew that you won’t be making it out of this alive. He was much, much larger than usual - with his blushin’ tip almost doubling in size whenever he pumped himself viciously inside, with his girth looking almost engorged right before he was tunneling himself in. Red-hot. Veins pumping.

Higuruma was just so damn hard right now that you swear you can taste the creamy, salted-caramel flavor of his precum welling up at your throat—and you whine as he’s pulling out.

“Oh, fuck-” He’s whispering gruffly into the crook of your neck, with the edges of his canines grazing down your soft throat. Now, you knew that Higuruma wasn’t exactly the predatory type- but it still made a carnal part of you shiver to feel him leer down at your pulsating pussy. “Fuck, you don’t know how hah- how fuckin’ long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this.”

Your eyes widen, “You- you have?”

“Mhmm—not that I wouldn’t fuck you right even w-without my rut.” Murmuring- almost as if to prove his point, his rounded tip ends up lodged at your cervix with a wet thwack! “I would. I did. But with this I get to…mmmm, fill your cunt up until she remembers my name and nothing more. I get to smack at her pretty lips whenever she talks back.” Right on time, the tight curve of his ballsack ends up slamming against your treacly front. “I get to watch myself go in and out, iiiiiin and out- fuckin’ lucky that you have a horse hybrid for a husband, sugar, I get to see when exactly m’kissing that cute cervix of yours.”

“P-please-”

And one of his wide hands cascades down the front of your core, with his palm splayed out right above your womb. Higuruma was just so damn big that his thick, cylindrical cock was outlining a damn tummy bulge on top of your womb. “See- there. Mwah.”

One hit bruising your gooey pussy.

“And there again.”

Two hits.

“And again.”

Three hits.

He continues through a raspy groan, “And th-that’s not all…”

Before you can question that little sentence of his, his rude palm glides over where the globular edge of his cock was chasing your cervix. And Higuruma wastes no time squeezing his doughy palm doooown on that lil’ bump (well, not quite little…).

“-I get to fuck you like I disrespect you, my angel.”

“Oh my-” You don’t even have the words. The coherent trains of thought. With either of your feet planted flatly on the bed, you’re jerking your limbs up and attempting to move—whether back down onto him or away, you’re not quite sure. “Holy fuck, I didn’t know that you could fuck like this-”

“Ah ah-” And before you can even register it, Higuruma loops one arm ‘round your waist and draaaags you right back down onto his hilt. Feeling the scruffy trail of his hairs tickle the back of your cunt, feeling him press his bulbous tip against the  back of your pussy and bruise—“-n’ just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean you can- ngh, run away.”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“Good.” Higuruma’s cutting you off with his stern tone, striking your gooey pussy so hard that you see damn stars- “Keep it that way then.”

And then you can’t move, you can’t even squirm.

He had one hand wrapped around your body, and the other flicking at your throbbing clit. The crowned edges of your husband’s fingers tease all down your slobbery slit, squeezing between your pussylips and pinching your cute clit. 

And no matter how much you’re jolting in his arms, you’re completely at his mercy.

Because not only is Higuruma ploughing into you like an utter madman, he’s holding you down to him. He’s holding you hostage on his cock that even breathing means you can feel him plunging straight into your lungs. “Isn’t it greeeeeat? You know exactly when m’getting into that womb of yours- see- see, giddy up, girl, you can see it. Heh…you’re shaking, angel.”

He’s tightening both hands on your body so that sparks of white-hot pleasure rush across your body and make you mewl—

“What did I say?” He draaaaags on your throbbing clit until you cry out, ramming faster and faster and faster. An incredible pace, three direct strikes to your g-spot and your cervix per second. “Don’t run. Simple as that.”

“B-but-” You’re reaching blindly above your head- somewhere beyond you to hold onto for dear life. But the only thing your greedy fingertips manage to grab onto are the sweat-stained locks of Higuruma’s hair. It seems even that’d grown longer during the transformation of his rut, silky and flowing. “-but then what am I even supposed to do-”

“Why, that should be obvious-” He breathes, scorching hot from somewhere behind you. “-all you have to do…”

You’re yelping as he bucks his hips just a little higher, further splaying you out helplessly on his lap. On his swollen cock. On his honed thrusts. 

Higuruma furrows his dark brows as the hand restraining your restless body slides down your front and presses pointedly on your cylindrical outline. “All you have to do is wait until I can fuck this cute bump—” Making you whine on the way he massages that spot, sending pleasure bubbling twofold at your voice. “-into a bump tha’s even bigger, hm?”

“You mean-”

“Yes.”

He was going to fuck that particular spot at your channel - your womb - until he’d fucked a baby into you. A baby bump is what he meant. Perhaps it’s this realization, perhaps it’s simply the way he increases his cadence, but you’re hurtled into your high and Higuruma fucks you right through it-

Mouth agape.

Toes curling.

A kaleidoscope of tears formulating behind your eyelids as he hits each peak precisely- somehow pinpointing each tender patch of nerves with his flared tip. “Mmm—” As you keep on riding your wave of bliss on his slick-glazed length, he feels himself empty out in wadded pre. Puddled out way deeply into the back of your cervix- “-I might hafta call out of work tomorrow…”

.

.

.

The questions hit you the instant you’re stepping into the office.

Well, given that it wasn’t your office so the questions were bound to come had they not known you - but more so because of the fact that everyone here already knew you.

Higuruma Hiromi’s wife.

The boss’s wife.

They crowd around you with concerned expressions - and you couldn’t blame them. Had you not been the one to let Higuruma know of his little ah- condition, then you would have been worried as to why your workaholic husband wasn’t at work, either.

The queries are thrown at you—

“Oh my god, he’s dead-”

“He’s not dead, he’s likely sick-”

“The Higuruma Hiromi I know would be at work even on his death bed.”

“Maybe he got caught up in a really tough case-”

“Is he really okay, ma’am?”

“Calm yourselves, calm yourselves.” You’re placating your husband’s coworkers and employees with an open smile.

All you’d come here for was to drop off the letter of your husband’s temporary leave- though he’d begged and begged for you to stay. Though, to be quite honest, you think if he had his way then you wouldn’t ever be able to leave the house.

But you did - no matter how much trouble you had…walking.

You answer them, “Hiromi is alright, you could say he’s just a little bit ah- out of sorts, at the moment.” Before anyone can rush to any tragic conclusions, “He’ll just be taking a much-needed break for a few days before coming back better than ever, I promise!” 

There’s a sigh of relief, before-

You think to yourself, “Oh, but he might need some considerable time off in the future.”

“Time off?” One fresh intern squeaked out amongst the burst of whispers, “I-I mean- we obviously would love for our boss to have some for himself! But what sort of time off, ma’am?”

“Ah-” You smile, “Paternity leave.”

A/N. HYBRIDSSSSSSSSSSSSS- Canva broke down like twice while making this.

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.