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aciddrattboyy · 4 months ago

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Wԋҽɳ Yσυ Mҽʂʂ Wιƚԋ Lσʋҽ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "your boyfriend arrives late for your study date and things(sex) happen"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Mark Grayson x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 3.9k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Drama/Rom/Adult Film] smut, both reader and mark lose their virginities, fingering(f!receiving), vanilla sex tbh, there will be eventual angst, set in au where they are in college before... (gulp) chicago incident, two part story ★ soundtrack: karma police, basta ya ★ pls pls pls any invincible fans HIT MY LINE i have no friends in this fandom and i desperately need them ★ 01 . 02 .

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noon. you invited mark over to your dorm at noon. it was three o’clock now, with no text messages or calls from your boyfriend; even after he assured you he’d be there about four hours earlier. mark had been… distant. constantly ditching you, not even showing up to dates or hangouts, or asking for rain checks if he had the decency to do even that. today was supposed to be a typical study date, with exams coming up you thought it would be nice. because even though mark left you hanging seemingly more often than not, the time he was there was, well, amazing. when he did manage to find the time for you he treated you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him, acted as the perfect, doting boyfriend. whether it was picking up your favorite food without asking or buying you a plushie of your favorite animal you didn't even remember telling him about, mark was loving.

but as the minutes ticked by, your phone continued being pathetically dry, and your dorm mark-less, you were starting to think maybe the good no longer outweighed the bad. with a sigh, you push back in your desk chair, slumping in the seat as you tipped your head back. you glanced over at your phone sitting atop a pile of books, almost mocking you with the lack of notifications, and thought about texting mark. again. dragging a hand down your face, you began to spin slowly in your chair, watching the room swirl by out of boredom.

as you spun lazily, you could see your door slowly opening. and then there was mark, peeking his face through the crack, sporting that same guilty expression you were starting to think you saw more than him smiling. you plant your feet on the ground, coming to a halt as you looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown.

“if your excuse is you had to help your dad with work, lost track of time, or ‘had something to take care of’, save your breath,” you turn back to your desk, staring at the open textbook with your jaw clenched and brows pinched together. mark grimaced at your words, his hand twitching hesitantly on the doorknob, not sure if he should even come inside.

“alright no excuses,” he murmured softly, scratching at his nape as he stared at your back. sheepishly, he held up a plastic bag, the contents inside rustling softly. “but… how about an apology? starting with some food from that place you said you wanted to try?” mark’s voice had a hopeful lilt to it, although he knew he couldn’t keep fixing everything with food. he was entirely sure he’s been fixing anything at all, like a bandaid on a broken bone. but he also couldn’t exactly say: “sorry for being late to our study date. i promise i wanted to be here but my alien space dad made me go train with him since i just got super cool powers.” it wouldn't be a secret identity if he started telling people. and unfortunately, people included you, no matter how much he didn’t want it to be this way.

your glare aimed at your text book softened at his words, once again he had gone out of his way for you. acting as if he cared for you even as he was constantly blowing you off. a few quiet moments of you contemplating what to do pass by before you speak, turning in your chair slightly to look at him.

“i guess that’s not a completely bad start.” marks face immediately lit up like an excited puppy as you spoke. it wasn’t a hard get the fuck out of my room and that was as good of a start as any when trying to make up for his major fuck ups. without missing a beat, he steps inside, closing the door behind him before toeing off his shoes, dropping his backpack near the foot of your bed and making his way over to you.

“i uh got you a little bit of everything- well not everything everything but y’know a reasonable amount of-”

“thank you mark,” you cut him off quietly, not entirely sure how mad at him you still were. you take the bag from him, not able to meet his eyes as you set the bag down on your now limited desk space. mark stood somewhere to the side behind you, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

“yeah, yeah no problem,” his voice cracked slightly and he winced at his own tone, feeling helpless and not at all sure how to really fix this without coming clean about his secret identity; something he could not do. the silence seems to drag on as you looked through the different containers. his eyes trailed over your desk and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him when he the notes scribbled into a notebook. “you.. um you got a lot of work done,” mark said awkwardly, grasping at straws to try to fix what he was rapidly breaking between you two.

“yeah well it would’ve been easier if you had been here to help.” both of you freeze at your words that came out just a bit more harsh than you intended. mark frowned, not sure what to say. he reached out a hand, hovering it over your shoulder as he slowly opened his mouth. but you sighed before he can get anything out, running a hand through your hair before you turn in your chair to face with a faint frown of your own. “look, i’m sorry for talking to you like that. let’s just eat yeah? i’ve done enough studying for the both of us” you offer mark a small smile, one that he returns hesitantly. he takes a step back when you get up from your chair, grabbing the bed and heading over to your bed.

“yeah that… sounds good.” mark nods, following you over to the bed. he sits next to you, mirroring your cross legged posture with his back leaning against the wall. he slowly scoots closer as you pull out the various containers until your knees are touching. you didn’t acknowledge it, but you didn't pull away and that was as good of a win as any. his eyes light up with an idea before leaning over the edge of the bed to grab his laptop. “thought we could watch something while we ate.” he offers softly, already turning on youtube and putting on the type of videos he remembered you telling him you watched sometime in the past. you nod at him softly, your smile growing both in size and genuineness just a bit.

“good thinking,” you respond softly, the anger already subsiding just from being with him. mark had a way of making you feel good, even if it wasn't for long, even if he upset you more often than you’d really like. you knew deep down he was still a good guy, and you desperately wanted to see him be better. wanted to see him start living up to his apologies.

the two of you eat in a somewhat comfortable silence, interrupted by laughs or brief commentary on what you were watching. and everything starts to feel normal again. for you, but also for mark. for just right now he wasn’t Invincible. he was mark grayson, a freshman in college with the more amazing girlfriend by his side. it felt nice to feel normal again, even if he had been waiting his whole life to get powers, to be just like his dad. you find yourself curled up against mark’s side, watching random videos with your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. the sun was starting to set, the fading sunlight casting shadows and warm orange light through the blinds.

when you tilt your head to look up at mark, he meets your gaze. his lips slowly pull into a goofy smile that makes you huff with amusement.

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you murmur playfully while tracing idle shapes over the fabric covering his chest. he pulls you closer, the movement almost imperceptible as his expression turns warm.

“you’re just so pretty,” mark answered just as softly, getting lost in your eyes with a stupid smile. only a second passes before he realizes what he’s said; his eyes widen, face flushing red as he sputters out apologies while trying to pull away. “oh shit that was so stupid- fuck im sorr-” before mark could run away and hide, you grab his face and pull him into a kiss. he lets out a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide before his brain catches up to what was happening. then he’s humming softly instead, hands finding your waist as he kissed you back gently. “wha… what was that for?” he whispered breathlessly when you pulled away, your faces only inches apart.

“am i not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” you ask teasingly, smile only growing as your swipe your thumbs over his cheeks.

“no- i mean yes- uh yeah you can kiss me,” he lets out an almost self deprecating laugh, hands squeezing your waist gently. “i’m fucking this up aren’t i?” you pull him into another kiss, languidly moving your lips against his.

“i think you’re doing just fine,” your fingers tangle in mark’s hair, deepening the kiss, starting it off slow, gentle, but one thing led to another and soon enough you’re pulling him closer as you fall back against the sheets. mark follows you willingly, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head. one of mark’s legs slot in between yours, involuntarily pressing his knee against the apex of your thighs. you gasp softly against his lips, grip tightening in his hair. when you roll your hips, a shudder runs through both you and mark when he realized what you were doing. the revelation only served to send blood straight to his already semi-hard dick.

the kissing grows frenzied, the air between you heavy with harsh panting and even messier kissing. your laptop had been precariously moved out of the way and onto the corner of your desk. both of your shirts? thrown god knows where. was this all happening just a bit too fast? maybe… probably… definitely. but slowing down seemed to be the last thing on your mind along with mark’s. who was now practically buzzing with nervous excitement and lust. he’d kissed you before, many times actually. but never like this. never half clothed and making out with you as if you were trying to eat each other’s faces off while you ground your hips against his knee.

shifting slightly, mark props himself up on his elbow, body pressing more firmly on top of yours. he smooths his free hand up your waist, hesitantly thumbing over the hem of your bra as he waited for some sort of signal to stop. but none came, in fact, he could feel your back slightly arch into his touch. he let out a low groan, muffled by your lips, the obvious tent in his sweats pressed snuggly against your thigh. for a brief moment he thought maybe he should be embarrassed. but how could he when you seemed to just as affected. and somehow a lot more confident… with a gasp, and much reluctance, mark pulls his mouth off of yours, panting heavily against your lips.

“have you uh… y’know… before?” his voice was barely a whisper, face feeling hot and eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you.

“no…” you start, your voice equally as quiet as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “is it that obvious?” your brows twitched, just barely pinching together with a hint of worry and newfound self consciousness.

“no- no no!” mark quickly squeaks out, shaking his head with wide eyes. “i just- you seem so- so…” he trails off, not entirely sure what to say anymore.

“we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. do you want to stop?” your voice was soft, a small smile on your face in hopes of making sure mark knew his comfort was important above all. but it only served to make mark feel more… feel more of whatever was making his stomach flip and his cock twitch against your thigh in a way that was getting harder to ignore. he swallowed the lump in his throat when thought about what ‘keep going’ would actually entail.

“um… no. not really,” he murmured softly, a sheepish smile on his face. he feels his face heat up all over again at the admission. but before he can doubt himself, you’re smiling at him. and then you were kissing him, and it was like you had never even stopped at all.

the kissing quickly grows heated, hands fumbling to rip each others pants off through breathless giggles and sloppy kisses until mark was seated between your open legs; both of you in nothing but your underwear and your bra long gone. mark smoothed his hands over your inner thighs, chest still somewhat heaving from the rather heavy makeout session just moments ago. he swallowed thickly, thumbs tracing over the lacy edges of your panties. his head snaps up when he hears a small noise leave your lips. the kind of noise that has his body going hot all over again.

“can i…?” mark wasn’t sure what he was exactly asking permission for. but the way you were looking up at him made him pray to any existing god that he was granted the sexual prowess of a veteran pornstar just for tonight. upon seeing you nod your head, he sucks in a deep breath, feeling both a wave of arousal and anxiousness. with shaky hands, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them off of you. looking at your naked body, mark was afraid he’d bust right then and there. but then your voice, soft and playful, cut through his thoughts currently being led by his dick.

“c’mere,” you reach out, tugging on his hand and pulling him closer until he was hovering over you again. the backs of your thighs resting atop of his, the bulge in his boxers not too far from your pussy. you could tell he was a little nervous. and although you never got verbal confirmation, it was clear to see that mark was a virgin; somehow more a virgin than even you were. you card a hand in the hair at his nape, pulling him into a kiss that seemed to make mark relax just a bit. kissing was good. kissing was familiar territory. and after a small while, you placed your free hand on top of his hand not supporting his weight and slowly inch his palm downwards.

marks breath hitched in his throat, body temporarily going still. that is until he felt how fucking wet you were as you guided his middle and ring finger through your soaked folds. a guttural groan vibrates through his chest, only barely muffled by your tongue in his mouth.

you were panting against his lips now, soft mewls escaping you led his fingers to circle your clit. teaching him what you liked, how you wanted to be touched. and to mark’s credit, he was a very fast learner. soon enough he was moving on his own, your hand holding onto his wrist instead as he pumped two fingers inside of you. he ground his palm against your clit, making your hips buck into his hand as the pleasure just kept building.

“o-oh fuck-” you cry out when he hits that sensitive spot inside you, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face against the sensitive skin just below his jaw. if it were not for the string of muffled moans leaving your lips, even mark was able to tell you were getting close almost embarrassingly fast by the way your thighs trembled against his and how your hips snapped up to meet each thrust of his fingers. “fuck- fuck ‘m gonna- hah-”

mark felt like he was almost there with you; he could feel the damp patch on his boxers growing as his dick continued to throb in it’s confines, leaking a lot of precum. his hips twitched involuntarily, searching for some sort of relief. but he would continue to push his own wants aside, breathing heavily through his nose as he peppered your collarbone with wet kisses and focused solely on making you cum. and that he did. biting back a moan of his own at the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers, your whole body going taut under him as you held onto him tighter.

after a few moments filled with only heavy breathing, your body goes limp against the sheets as he pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch. there was a very satisfied smile on your face as you looked up at mark, who somehow looked more fucked out than you.

“you were… surprisingly good at that.”

“ha, thanks… hey, wait what do you mean surprisingly?” you giggle softly at the small pout on his lips, lifting your head just enough to press a kiss against his lips.

“don’t think about it too much,” you mumble as you pull back, trailing your hands down his sides until your palms met the waistband of his boxers. “uh there’s condoms in the drawer if you…” you trail off, eyes widening when you realized what you had just implicated. “i- i didn’t buy them they were uh- a gift from my roommate a while ago…” you look up at mark with narrowed eyes after seeing the way his lips were pursed, twitching with the force he had to use to keep himself from smiling. for now, mark would bite his tongue, not wanting to face your wrath when his dick was so hard it was starting to hurt.

“condoms. got it.” the words were strained under the weight of his stifled laughter, but before you could comment on it, he was already leaning over you. rummaging through your night stand, he was able to pull one out, settling between your legs with the gold foil in his hands. “but are you sure you want to do this?” there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, sounding almost worried that you’d regret being with him, or you were for some reason only doing this out of pity. but then you were giving him that warm smile and nodding your head, and suddenly all doubt jumped out the window.

through more muted laughter and clumsy, inexperienced hands, the two of you manage to get the condom on without mark blowing his load then and there. placing his hands on your hips, he leans down to kiss your lips, rubbing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. you hum into his lips, gently holding onto his biceps as you kiss him back just as passionately. but when mark reaches a hand between your bodies to line his tip with your hole, the energy shifts. less playful and more so intense, romantic. like the both of you realize what you were doing, and what it means for the relationship going forward.

“are you sure?” mark whispers against your lips, eyes fluttering open to gauge your reaction.

“yeah, yeah i am,” you breathe out, eyes shining with something that made mark’s stomach flip in an almost scarily good way. he nods, adams apple bobbing before he presses his lips against yours again. he snakes his free hand up the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head as his hips slowly push forward. it takes a little while of patience and whispering sweet nothings to each other before the two of you are comfortable enough for mark to start moving, the whole situation intense for both of you in a way that was both exciting and a little nerve wracking.

“h-holy fuck-” mark’s voice comes out as a shaky pant, head hanging as he looked down at where your bodies met. his hand in your squeezes gently, the other holding onto your hip as he slowly rolls his hips; pulling out until only the tip was inside before slowly pushing back. “feel s’good,” he groans softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he continued to slowly fuck into your wet heat. his hand leaves your hips, entwining his with yours and pinning you to the mattress. you bite your lip, muffling the whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth. squeezing his hands tightly, you tilt your head when you feel mark starting to suck and nip at the skin of your neck

“y-you can- nngh- go faster,” your breathy words do not fall on deaf ears. mark’s whole body stills for just a second before slightly readjusts on top of you. the moment he quickens his pace, both of you are turning into moaning messes. kissing sloppily and exchanging spit as the cheap bedframe rocks slowly with mark’s movement. he lets go of one of your hands, reaching down to rub messy circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.

it didn’t take long for mark to get close, hips already stuttering as he teetered on the edge as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling any and all embarrassing noises that leaves his lips. your hips buck up to meet his with each thrust, thighs shaking with your own impending orgasm. your nails rake down his back in a way that has mark groaning against your skin.

intense orgasms hit you both at the same time; mark’s thighs trembling right along yours as his hips jerkily buck his dick inside you until he spilled every last drop into the condom. collapsing on top of you, the room is silent save for heavy breaths and the smell of sex. after a few moments, mark presses a soft kiss to your jaw before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his back next to you with a content sigh after tossing the condom into the trash bin under your desk.

“that was…” mark turns on his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his warm chest. nuzzling his face against your hair. “was… amazing,” he murmured softly, voice full of bliss as he held you tight. you giggle softly, letting your body melt into his warm embrace. at some point, you both clean up; with shrugging on a shirt and underwear and mark slipping back into his sweatpants. cuddling up under your sheets, it was easy to fall asleep in his arms, perfectly content and feeling loved.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

#mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #mark grayson fluff #invincible #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson fanfic #f!reader #invincible smut #invincible fluff #mark grayson x you #invincible x you #fluff #smut #ac.drama #ac.adult film #ac.rom #ac.invincible

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cowboysandcigarettes · 4 months ago

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JUNO

summary; watching dean work with some kids on a case leads you to an interesting realization.

warnings! established relationship, canon-typical violence, talk of pregnancy, smut!, praise kink, breeding kink (oops), soft sex, but it kinda unintentionally turned nasty, unprotected p in v (stay safe!)

CASES WITH KIDS WERE ALWAYS HARD. you had a soft spot for kids, especially little ones, even with their sticky fingers and clingy hands.

you had always thought about having kids, but once you became a hunter, you threw that idea out the window. hunting was no life to raise a kid in, god knows you only barely survived in your late teens.

when you met dean, you fell fast and you fell hard. it was difficult to resist his charms and good looks, but your case of lovesickness only grew as you and the elder winchester grew closer. he slowly opened up to you, allowing you to peel back the layers of toughness and defense that he had built up over the years, letting you see the real him.

that only made you fall more in love.

luckily, the feeling was mutual, for as soon as dean had set eyes on you, he was gone. he instantly knew you were the most beautiful thing he had ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on, and as soon as you opened your pink lips to greet him─cussing him out for hijacking your hunt actually─he was completely done for.

neither of you had said anything for a long time, letting the feelings and tension build up over the years until it all came to a boiling point after a hunt almost gone wrong. you had barely had time to take a breath after almost dying before dean's roughened hands were on your face, grabbing you and crashing your lips to his.

you had been together ever since, and although the thought of having kids occasionally popped in your head, you figured dean would never want that. he was a hunter through and through, he could never leave the life, and if you were to have a kid, you could never raise them the way you and him had been raised.

so you pushed those dreams deep down, happy to live your chaotic life with dean, content with just the two of you.

but then you ended up in oregon.

♡ ♡ ♡

the case was a pain in the ass, a couple of rogue vampires taking kids, 'training' them to become a part of their nest.

finding the bloodsuckers was easy enough, they had been holing up in some old farmhouse off the highway, posing as new townsfolk and greeting the neighbors to scout their next victims. it only took the boys and you a day to find the farmhouse and pile into the impala, rumbling off to save the day once again.

the three of you had charged in after a quick surveillance, machetes in hand and dead man's blood at the ready as you crept in, trying not to wake the vamps. unfortunately, they were still up and at 'em, and suddenly ambushed the three of you before you could even process it.

there was only two of them and three of you, but with their enhanced strength and skills, it was pretty much a fair fight. sam and you had been fighting off one of them, dean grappling with the other, when the situation had grown more complicated.

the fight managed to be pushed into one of the other backrooms of the farmhouse, which just happened to be where the vamps were holding the kids. you noticed first, telling sam and calling out to dean before swiftly turning back to your own fight.

"i got 'em!" he calls back, kicking his vamp straight in the chest and sprinting over to where the three kids were tied up, tears streaking down their dirt covered faces.

you manage to get the jump on your own opponent, knocking the monster down. movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you look up to see the vamp dean had been fighting pushing himself up from the ground, fangs bared and snarling at dean, whose back was turned as he untied the kids.

"hey, ugly!" you call, a quick nod from sam assuring you that he had the other creature handled. the one snarling at dean turned in your direction, pausing for a moment before his lips curled again, baring his rows of sharp, deadly teeth at you. you just gripped your machete tighter, bracing yourself in a fighting position. "come and get it."

the creature hissed and charged at you, but you were one step ahead. you noted the flimsy floorboard in front of you and you waited until he was a few steps away before raising your machete over your head, bringing it down hard on the shaky board.

the impact of the blade further destabilized the wood, and as you stepped back, the vamp stepped on that floorboard, his leg crashing through, leaving him stuck. he cried out and growled, hissing and flailing his hands around, trying to reach for you, but before he could even call out to his buddy, you raised your machete again, swinging it around and cutting the bloodsucker's head clean off.

the creature's skull thudded against the wood as it fell, and you stood there for a moment, catching your breath before you lifted your head, trying to find sam. a proud grin spreads across your face as you see him standing at the foot of the other vamp, it's head cut off just like the other one. he meets your gaze, and you both turn to head towards the exit, cleaning off your machetes on some nearby hay bales.

you walk behind sam to the impala, pleased to have come out of the farmhouse with minimal blood staining your skin and clothes. you hear dean's voice before you see him, and as you round the car to greet him, you cut yourself off as you take in the scene in front of you.

the three children are leaning against the door of the imapala, their heads barely reaching the bottom of the window, faces dirt stained and tear streaked. the sight would break your heart if you weren't so distracted by dean, who was crouching in front of them, an easy, comforting smile on his lips as he spoke to them softly.

"see? i told you we'd get 'em for you," he tells them, and the gentle tone of his voice makes you melt a little. "you guys were so brave, doin' exactly as i said and helping each other get out. you guys are real superheroes."

the little boy in the middle, the youngest of the three, looks at dean with wide eyes, still glistening with tears, but there's no more trace of sadness other than the tear tracks on his dusty cheeks. "like batman?" he asks, his small voice slightly wobbly.

dean grins wider at that, and you can practically see the sparks in his eyes as he nods at the little boy. "hell yeah, exactly like batman," he assured the boy. "he'd be so proud of how brave you were, all of you. i mean seriously, i was so scared, but you guys were totally badass."

all three of the children's faces lit up at that, the two girls on either side of the little boy looking at each other and giggling softly before looking back at dean.

he pretended to be confused, cocking his head and looking between the two girls. "what's so funny?" he asks, his lips twitching as he fights off a smile.

"you said a bad word," the girl on the left says, giggling at dean's face.

dean pretends to be offended, quipping something back at the girl to make all three of them laugh again, but you don't hear what, because suddenly you're picturing doing that with another kid.

your kid.

images flash through your head of dean, a little girl in his arms, a sweet smile on his lips as he rocks her gently. dean and a boy with his eyes and your hair standing side by side as he teaches him how to fix up the impala. you and dean side by side as you watch the milestones of your child's life, the look in dean's eyes as he holds them for the first time.

you bite your lip as you watch him with the kids, your heart warming in your chest. but the heat doesn't stop there, it travels through your chest, pooling quickly in your core as you suddenly picture yourself pregnant, dean's hands on your stomach, your sensitive breasts, hips and all over as he takes care of you.

the movement of dean standing up snaps you out of your fantasy, and with a soft smile, you help him and sam load the kids into the impala, offering to sit with them in the back, dean driving and sam in the passenger seat.

the drive back into town wasn't short, but you honestly were content to sit in the car for a couple hours as the kids eagerly conversed with you. they were smart, and you were surprised at their range of vocabulary as they told you about themselves.

you learned that the two girls were sisters, maia and ruby, that they were six and eight, and had a cat named max that they loved to death. the little boy's name was logan, and he didn't talk as much, oddly staying quiet as the girls chatted away at you, but once they turned into talking amongst themselves, he started telling you about all of his favorite superheroes.

eventually, exhaustion dragged the poor kids under, maia and ruby curling into each other, your heart warming when you felt the weight of logan's body leaning into yours. you let him lean against you, gently lifting your arm and resting it over his shoulder, holding him to you.

not so long into his slumber however, logan began to squirm against you, catching your attention as a small, heartbreaking cry left his lips. the poor boy was having a nightmare.

gently, you gripped his shoulders, squeezing lightly as you tried to wake him up. "hey, shh, hey, logan it's okay," you whisper, your heart clenching as another soft cry leaves his lips.

dean's eyes snap to you in the rear view mirror, the cry breaking his concentration on the road. "he okay?"

"he's having a nightmare," you say, meeting dean's eyes for a second, before a pained gasp draws your attention back to the boy next to you. his eyes snap open, brimming with tears as they meet yours, his trembling lips parted like he's trying to say something, but nothing comes out. "hey, hey, buddy, it's okay, you're okay."

you're shocked when he suddenly surges forward, crashing into you with a sniffle. as soon as he does though, your instincts kick in, your arms wrapping tightly around him, one hand cupping the back of his head to you as you shush him softly.

"shh, s'alright honey, you're safe, you're okay," you whisper, tilting your head down to press a kiss to the top of his head, continuing to murmur soft reassurances into his slightly matted hair.

what you didn't see was dean watching you in the rear view mirror. his eyes stayed glued on you and the little boy until he absolutely had to look back at the road, doing so just long enough that he didn't crash, then his gaze returned to you.

something about seeing you with the kids, the way you interacted with and entertained them the whole ride, and especially now, watching you hold and care for this little boy you didn't even know, it did something to him. it started with a pull in his chest, squeezing at his heart, but it moved lower and lower, sparking a heat in his stomach as images flashed in his mind.

you, barefoot and your soft stomach swollen as you grew his child inside of you. you, holding his child in your arms, just like you're doing to little logan right now. a life out of hunting, the life he's always secretly dreamed of, white picket fence and all. dean thinks about how you'd feel, the way your body would change, how he'd be able to mold it with his hands, how sensitive you'd be as he drags his fingers over your skin, up to your chest, making you moan his name.

he's abruptly brought out of his thoughts as a soft melody reaches his ears. he lifts his eyes to the mirror again, and he swears if he was standing up, he would've swooned.

you've got the little boy cradled to your chest, one of your hands cupping the back of his head to hold him to you as you rock gently, your lips pressed to his head, but he can still hear your soft voice.

singing.

dean had never heard you sing before, but he decided then and there that screw his pride, he was gonna ask you to sing for him.

later, after maia and ruby had been dropped off, not going before giving dean a crushing hug, the impala rumbled over to the other side of town to logan's house.

you hoisted the sleeping boy higher in your arms, holding him securely against your chest and covering the back of his head as you step out of the impala, nodding to sam and dean in silent assurance before walking up to the small house.

dean just watched you through the window, his eyes glued to you as you knocked on the door, careful not to wake logan. his anxious tapping of the steering wheel slows to a stop, a contrast to the beat of his heart, which rapidly speeds up as the front door opens, his eyes glued to you as the hysterical parents graciously thank you. his gaze never leaves you, eyes zeroed in on you as you hand over the sleeping boy, his racing heart swelling as you smile at them, leaning down to press one last kiss to the sleeping boy's head before bidding them goodbye.

sam clears his throat next to him, snapping dean out of his daze as you turn to head back to where they wait in the impala. dean tears his eyes from you to glare at sam, who has a knowing smirk on his face.

"what?" dean snaps, a flush crawling up his neck at being caught staring at you.

"nothing," sam replies, shrugging nonchalantly, but the smirk never leaves his face. "just never figured you were the type."

"type?" dean asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. "type to what?"

sam opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't get the chance to as you open the door of the impala, swiftly sliding into the backseat pausing at the looks on the brothers faces.

"am i interrupting something?" you ask, raising your eyebrows as you look between them.

the brothers share a look, doing their silent telepathy trick that you've never understood, but then dean is clearing his throat and starting the car, eyes focused through the window as he pulls out of the driveway. "nope, just ready to get back to the motel," he responds curtly, and you can sense there's more to it, but you don't pry.

the ride back to the motel is silent except for the soft hum of the radio in the background, but you don't mind. all you can focus on anyways if getting dean alone in your motel room.

when you finally do arrive, you practically drag him out of the car, ignoring sam's roll of his eyes as you hastily unlock the motel room, stumbling in with more force then necessary and closing it behind you.

"what's the rush?" dean questions, the signature winchester smirk on his lips as he shrugs off his jacket and flannel, tossing them onto a nearby chair. "didn't know you got hot and bothered over killin' vamps."

you normally would respond with a roll of your eyes, quipping something back at him, but right now you're too focused the way his plain black t shirt is stretched over his chest, his biceps practically bulging in the sleeves making you almost salivate. you bite your lip as your eyes rake over him, lingering on his arms as the images of him gently cradling your child creep back into your head, making a familiar heat curl in your stomach.

he notices the lack of response, taking a step closer to you, ducking his head slightly to try and meet your gaze. "uh, hello? you gonna tell me what's got you all worked up or are you just gonna keep starin' at me like i'm a fresh piece o' pie?" he asks, snapping you out of your daze, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

your face heats up, a flush painting your cheeks as you avert your gaze sheepishly, slightly embarrassed at the thoughts running through your head.

"s'nothing," you mumble, dropping your eyes to your feet, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

dean tuts at you, stepping closer, close enough that the tips of his boots come into view where your eyes are stuck on the ground. "ain't nothin' if it's got you flustered like this, sweetheart," he drawls, lifting a hand to your chin, cupping it and raising your head to meet his gaze. "so, i'll ask again. what's got my girl all worked up?"

you bite your lip again, your thighs involuntarily clenching together at the low timbre of his voice, the heat in your core starting to outweigh your pride. "i just..." you start, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest as you start to ramble. "you were really good with the kids today and i know its stupid, and i know you don't want kids but i saw you with them and it just really got me goin' for some reason and-"

"woah, woah," dean cuts you off, both of his hands moving to cup your cheeks, keeping your eyes focused on his, his thumbs stroking your cheeks gently like he could slow your rapid heartbeat through your skin. "slow down, baby, take a breath."

he just stares at you for a moment and you get the hint, taking in a slow breath, exhaling and letting some of the tension flow from your body. "good girl," he murmurs, tucking some of your hair behind your ear gently. "so, from what i heard, you are all worked up, thighs clenchin' and everything because of watchin' me with the kids?"

you don't answer with words, anxiety too tight in your throat as heat creeps up your neck, so you just nod your head in his hands.

"use your words, pretty girl," dean corrects, but there's something deeper in his voice, and you swear you can see his eyes darken as his grip on your face tightens just slightly.

"yes," you breathe out, swiping your tongue over your dry lips before pulling the bottom one between your teeth.

"oh, that's it, huh?" he asks, his voice lowering to a rumble that sends a shiver up your spine. "you wanna make me a daddy? let me fill you up and make you a mama?"

your eyes widen in surprise at his reaction, and you feel a flood of arousal drench your panties, making you clench your thighs together harder. the shock of his words wears off as he squeezes your cheeks a little tighter, urging you to answer him.

a strangled whine leaves your throat at the images his words create in your lust-hazed brain, and when you nod in his grip, a groan leaves his lips, his pupils dilating so much there's only a ring of shining evergreen around them.

"shit, babygirl, you have no idea what that does to me.." he growls, one of his hands slipping from your cheek to grip your hip tightly. he pulls you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body, along with the hardness that is pressed into your stomach, making your knees weak. "i was thinkin' the same about you all damn night long."

"you were?" you ask, your voice turning into more of a squeak when he dips his head down to nip at your neck.

"uh huh," dean mumbles into your skin, sucking on your pulse point so hard you swear stars flash behind your eyes. "just the way you interacted with the kids, when logan had that nightmare...all the sudden i just pictured you, all barefoot 'n round with my kid."

you whimper at the image, your eyes slipping shut as his hands drag down to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it lightly before pulling back enough to tear it over your head, tossing it who knows where before diving back down to btie at your neck.

"dean..." you moan breathlessly, back arching to give him more access as he trails his hands up to deftly unclip your bra, sliding the straps down your shoulders.

"that what you want?" he growls your name, the heat in his voice so intense you suddenly feel dizzy. "you want me to fill you up? fuck you so deep it sticks, then you can go around tellin' everyone it was me who knocked you up?"

you nod desperately, grinding your hips into him, groaning in frustration when you get no friction. "yes, god yes," you pant, gripping his shoulders to push him back from you enough to look him in the eyes. "please-"

that was all it took for the last of his resolve to break.

the next few moments were a blur of belt buckles and buttons as you both tugged at each others clothes, ripping them off and tossing them onto the floor of the now disheveled motel room. eventually, you both landed on the bed, now bare to each other, dean falling on top of you and immediately crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

you moan into his mouth, arching your back and wrapping your arms around his shoulders to dig your nails into his skin, bucking your hips up into him. the what between your thighs was too much now, an almost painful ache that only worsened when his hands slipped down to grab your grinding hips, pinning them firmly to the mattress.

"dean-" you start to whine when he pulls away from ravaging your mouth, but he cuts you off with another fierce kiss, stealing your breath away before he pulls back again, his eyes burning as they took you in.

"jesus christ," dean murmurs your name, his gaze raking down your flushed skin, lingering on your heaving chest before landing on the now sticky mess between your legs. "you've got no idea what you do to me, pretty girl."

"please dean," you whine, hips wiggling under his grip. when he doesn't acknowledge your plea, your hands drag up his shoulders to tightly tangle in the short strands of his hair, tugging until his eyes are on yours. "fuck me, please."

if possible, dean's eyes darken further, the jade that you love so much almost completely consumed by lust blown black, the sight making your thighs tighten around his hips.

"can't refuse my girl, now can i?" he pants, one of his hands leaving your hip to pump himself a few times before he lines himself up with your sopping entrance. your breath hitches as his leaking head notches at your hole, fingers digging into his scalp. it only seems to spur him on, a deep groan reverberating in his chest before he pushes into you, low moans leaving you both at the feeling. "fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin' good."

your jaw goes slack, your eyes going hooded as he fills you to the brim, your body hyper aware of every ridge and vein as his cock settles in your clenching walls. you both stay still for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other, before the ache in your core starts to build again.

"move, dean, move, please," you whimper, opening your heavy eyes to meet his, wriggling your hips under him.

he groans, nodding before dropping his forehead to yours, his breath fanning over your lips. he's still not moving, and you open your mouth to beg him again, but before you can say a word, he pulls out almost all the way, gripping your hips tightly, then slams back into you, hard.

you cry out, your back arching as your hands move to grip his shoulders for dear life, your nails leaving red crescent shapes in their wake. he doesn't give you time to recover before he's doing it again, then again, and again, until he's building a steady pace that has your legs wrapping tightly around his waist, your toes curling in the air.

"oh fuck- dean-" you choke, words cut off as a particularly harsh thrust has his tip ramming into your cervix with so much force that your vision goes black for a second.

"shit, yeah..yeah that's it, pretty girl," dean grunts in response, the force of his thrusts causing his nose to bump yours, your foreheads still pressed together. "let me feel ya, squeeze this pretty pussy 'round me till she gushes all over my cock."

his filthy words only push you closer to the edge, your nails dragging down his back, making him groan. "fuck, fuck," you gasp as he rubs against that sweet, gummy spot inside you, your back arching as the coil in your stomach tightens.

"mhm, right there, baby?" he growls, his words almost a coo as he angles his hips to hit that sensitive spot with each thrust. "yeah, that's it right there. c'mon, you're so close, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

you nod, clenching your eyes shut as his thrusts punch broken whines and whimpers from you, leaving you breathless. a sharp slap to your thigh has your eyes flying open, a small yelp leaving you at the stinging contact.

"eyes on me, baby," he demands, and you oblige, your mouth hanging open as you continue to fly towards the edge. "atta girl, there you go. such a naughty fuckin' girl, gettin' wet 'cause all you wanted was my cock in you, fillin' you with my cum 'til it sticks. that's what you want, isn't it, baby? to be full of my cum, waiting 'til it sticks, then being full 'n round with my kid?"

all you can do is moan, the harsh movements of his hips and the way his tip his hitting the tip of your cervix perfectly succeeding in fucking you dumb.

"yeah, that's what i thought," dean mumbles, tilting his head to nip at your bottom lip, slipping one hand between your sweat slicked bodies to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. "cum for me, baby, squeeze my cock 'til there's nothing left, ya know you want it. c'mon mama, give it to me."

the nickname is what pushes you over the edge with a scream that you think is his name, but you're too far gone to really know. your mind goes blank as your orgasm crashes over you in white hot pleasure, back arching and legs shaking.

somewhere in the back of your hazy mind, you hear dean groan your name, and you can feel his sticky release painting your insides, the warmth making your toes curl and legs shake as you come down.

when you start to regain some of your senses, dean's head is buried in your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as he brings himself back down to earth. his rough hands run soothingly up and down your sides, sliding down to your trembling thighs.

after a moment, the room silent except for the both of yours heavy pants, dean speaks up, his voice slightly hoarse.

"goddamn, babygirl, 'f i knew me knockin' you up got you so turned on i would've brought it up a long time ago," he mutters into your neck, pulling a tired laugh from your lungs.

you sigh softly, head falling back against the bed as you try to bring your heartbeat down, his words ringing in your head. "thought you didn't want kids," you mumble in response, your hands stroking gently along his back, soothing the marks you made.

"i-" dean starts, but cuts himself off, pausing for a moment before he lifts his head from your sweaty skin to look down at you. one of his hands comes up, brushing some of your damp hair away from your eyes, his thumb lingering as he brushes the digit gently over your brow. "i didn't, not really. not until you."

the words steal the breath from your lungs again, your eyes widening slightly as you stare up at him. you search his expression for any sort of insincerity, but all you find is a look of love so intense you feel like he's tearing your heart straight from your chest. "not until me?" you ask, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

"not until you," he repeats, his words soft. he stares at you for a moment before sighing, tilting his head as he continue to admire you. "i never thought i would get a chance at the apple pie life, hell i didn't even really want to think about it, but then i met you, and everything changed."

his words, so heartfelt and so real, leave you speechless, your heart still pounding in your chest as you stared up at him in awe.

"you make me want all of those things, make me think i actually might deserve them," he continues, his thumb still brushing softly at your skin. "and i know we haven't...officially talked about it, but i love you, and if it really is somethin' you want, there's no one else i'd rather start a family with. if-if that's what you want, 'f course."

you don't even hesitate before you answer, a smile pulling at your lips. "yes," you breathe out, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. "there's no one i'd rather do it with."

a grin lights up dean's face, a look of boyish joy highlighting his features. without responding first, he grabs your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks and peppering kisses all over your heated face, making you giggle.

"you have no idea how damn happy that makes me," he mumbles between kisses, pressing on last, lingering kiss to your lips before dipping his head again, burrowing into your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you. "you're gonna be the best mama."

you laugh softly, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you wrap your arms around him in return. "we gotta get cleaned up first, then we'll continue this conversation," you mutter into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, but he just grumbles, burying his face further in your neck.

"later," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your pulse point, content with just holding you in his arms. "just wanna stay here."

"okay," you whisper into his hair, relaxing into his hold. "we can stay here."

dean hums into your neck, and you can feel him smile against your skin, making your heart skip a beat in your chest. you knew it wasn't going to be easy, getting out of the life never was, hell just living as hunters wasn't easy, and raising a kid was gonna be harder. but you knew that you had dean, and in the end, that's all that mattered.

he was all that mattered.

bri's thoughts! bri write a position that isn't missionary challenge: fail. (i'm sorry i'm basic i crave intimacy) okay so here it is! finally actually finished something (the 50 unfinished works in my drafts are screaming at me rn) and now i'm gonna go to bed and dream about being on snl because it is my current obsession, especially after the 50th anniversary episode, which i recommend everybody watch! so i won't shut up about that but anyways, here this finally!

tags! @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @titsout4jackles @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @flormpus @star-yawnznn @Jaredpadonlyyyy @grangerously @dclover27 @chronic-fangirl-222 @stevesxwhore @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakingdom

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ cowboysandcigarettes #♡ bri writes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #jensen ackles #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #sabrina carpenter #short n' sweet deluxe #juno #have you ever tried this one?

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wildwestdean · 1 year ago

Text

transposition

summary: a spell goes wrong and ends up with you and sam switching bodies. neither of you tell dean, which ends up being the greatest decision you ever made

pairing: dean winchester x witch!reader; best friend!sam winchester x witch!reader (platonic, obvs)

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: swearing, mentions of magic use, misunderstandings, miscommunication, angst, secrets, accidental love confessions, awkward idiots, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff, cliches, minor use of [y/n], (female pronouns/descriptors used)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam grunted under his breath, continuing to powder the contents of your mortar with more force than necessary. “If Dean finds out about this-”

“Dean asked me to do this,” you defended, eyes skimming over the page in front of you before looking up at him. “Okay, maybe not verbatim, but he asked!” you added upon seeing the look on Sam’s face.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he replied sarcastically, slamming the pestle down with enough force to make you flinch.

“Would you be fucking careful!” you hissed, glaring at him. “That thing isn’t indestructible and it’s important to me, it was a gift-”

“From Dean,” he finished for you. “I know. Sorry,” he added, and even though his tone was sincere, you just knew he rolled his eyes anyway; and you chucked the closest thing you could grab at his back in retaliation.

“Dick,” you muttered, going back to reading the passage before you.

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together.

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients.

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back.

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t.

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying.

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension.

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-”

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands?

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body?

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you.

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around.

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself.

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode.

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!”

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room.

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?”

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind.

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare.

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on.

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.”

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat.

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now.

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling.

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily.

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time.

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?”

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be.

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him.

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!”

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return.

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean.

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again.

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face.

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.”

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room.

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes.

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression.

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you.

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug.

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!”

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.”

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.”

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.”

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish.

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen.

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?”

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!”

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!”

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.”

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!”

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen.

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table.

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.”

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort.

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze.

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head.

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite.

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food.

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere.

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin.

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?”

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?”

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t.

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly.

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier.

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.”

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving.

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle.

“You alright?” you asked tentatively.

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one.

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.”

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better.

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation.

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.”

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word.

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table.

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration.

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.”

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return.

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.”

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation.

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.”

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk.

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously.

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.”

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively.

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.”

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically.

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.”

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.”

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off.

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.”

“Promise?” you asked meekly.

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further.

��Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears.

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly.

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on.

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously.

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question.

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this.

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter.

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you.

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake.

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day.

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there.

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam.

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything.

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore.

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out.

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs.

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat.

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.”

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?”

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?”

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave.

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you.

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards.

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?”

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.”

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.”

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words.

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward.

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response.

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.”

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.”

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name.

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.”

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you?

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.”

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps.

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker.

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently.

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly.

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated.

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.”

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation.

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?”

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her.

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly.

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around.

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!”

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room.

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief.

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar.

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying.

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-”

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room.

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by.

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car.

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him.

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door.

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time.

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?”

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward.

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly.

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.”

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.”

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you.

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet.

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work.

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.”

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him.

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-”

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more.

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.”

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat.

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.”

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked.

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly.

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?”

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?”

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.”

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess.

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?”

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?”

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down.

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him.

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?”

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more.

“You said-”

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin.

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low.

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks.

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips.

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.”

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika

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pathologicalreid · 9 months ago

Text

sweet talker | s.r.

in which french!reader gets caught using a special nickname for a particular genius

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: french. guys i don't speak french. bad french. bad flirting. but wholesome content all around. word count: 639 a/n: i do not speak french but this was a request and i live to serve the people of tumblr. if this offends the french i think that's just a risk i have to take.

Something about it felt like home. Not necessarily like the bullpen compared in the slightest to where you grew up, but the hustle and bustle of the BAU, while they were in the depths of a case, had the same feeling of a home.

As you rushed around the floor, placing files on desks and picking old ones up as you went, dropping soft thank you’s to the people in the office rounding the corner of Morgan’s desk, scooping his files from his desk and placing them in your own collection, “Merci, mon chou,” you thanked quickly.

Your co-worker smiled in response, “Anything for you, sweet talker,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair.

Scoffing, you shook your head. To Derek Morgan, anything said in French counted as sweet talking.

Balancing all of the files against your hip, you prepared to pick up the stack of papers on Spencer’s desk, but he stood up and gathered them in his own arms, “I’ll get them,” he offered. Although, it wasn’t much of an offer, seeing as he was already carrying his files.

It would be worse if you were to attempt to carry all of the files on your lonesome, so you decided to follow his lead to the file room.

Spencer was somewhat of a guiding light for you in the BAU. You considered yourself lucky to have been placed with a team that had two members who spoke French, which came in handy when you forgot certain English words, Emily and Spencer were usually there to save you.

Setting your files down on the spare table in the room, you started to organize them by which cabinet they went in as Spencer went ahead and returned his folders based on memory. “Do you think Morgan knows what you’re saying when you speak to him in French?”

Chuckling, you shook your head, “Non, mon cœur,” the words easily slipped out of your mouth. “I think Derek gave up on comprehending me the first week I joined the team,” you responded, checking the front and back of a file to make sure you were sorting it into the correct drawer.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “His English-to-French dictionary sits pretty untouched.” No one was of the mindset that you shouldn’t speak French at work, and you didn’t ask them to learn for you. Besides, work allowed you to strengthen your English skills.

Frowning at the same folder, you held the folder out to Spencer, “Do you know where this one goes?”

Accepting the folder from you, Spencer flipped through the first couple of pages before deftly slipping it into a drawer, “Sometimes I wish I could just know where things were, I’d never lose my car keys again.”

Spencer hummed in response, “I wish I spoke French like you.”

“Oh,” you said, “I think you speak French very well.”

Sliding another drawer shut, Spencer stepped over to a new one a few feet closer to you, “Thank you, but if I ever go to France, I’m taking you with me.”

You smiled to yourself at his proclamation, biting your tongue as the door swung open and Emily stepped in, “Hey, do you have that file on the Montana killer? I need it back.”

Spinning on your heel, you looked around for it, only to realize that it had already been put away, “Sorry,” you said, forgetting your proximity to Spencer as you stepped to the side.

He closed his drawer, “Pardonne moi, mon ange,” he said, grabbing a folder from your pile on the table and slipping out of the file room, “I still need this one.”

With Emily’s folder in your hand, you turned to look at your shell-shocked co-worker, “Did he...? And you two...?”

Thrusting the file in her direction, you looked at her with equally wide eyes, “Tais-toi.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

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gf2bellamy · 4 months ago

Note

hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days. The kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all.

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

But then, the sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug.

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time.

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment.

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.”

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress.

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.”

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?”

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving.

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears.

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch.

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom.

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together.

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet.

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you.

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart.

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?”

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.”

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?”

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?”

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours.

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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777bae · 4 months ago

Text

HIS JERSEY WILL SMITH

Summary :: Will wasn’t expecting to find you curled up in his jersey, but the sight stops him in his tracks. What starts as teasing shifts into something unspoken—a quiet claim, a piece of him that now belongs to you. (REQUESTED :: prompt 25)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 2.5k

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show you don’t particularly care about, the kind that’s easy to leave on as background noise. The comfort of the silence wraps around you like a warm blanket, the world outside your apartment fading with every lazy minute. You’re curled up on the couch, the soft cushions cradling you as you sink deeper into them. Your legs are tucked under a pile of blankets, the weight of it all settling perfectly against your skin. It’s the kind of night you don’t get too often—one where you can completely let go, allow yourself to just be.

The room feels like a sanctuary—warm, inviting, cocooned from whatever chaos may be happening elsewhere. The walls seem to hum with a quiet energy, and the dim lighting casts long shadows that dance lazily around the space, creating a sense of peace you didn’t realize you were craving until now. Your breath slows, your mind quiets, and the small comforts of home—blankets, the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the air, the soft whir of the fridge in the other room—become everything you need in this moment.

It’s then you realize you’re wearing his jersey.

The realization doesn’t come as a shock, not exactly. You’d noticed the familiar fabric draped over the back of the chair earlier, and without thinking, you’d pulled it on, reveling in its softness and how easily it swallowed you. It’s too big on you—sagging loosely around your shoulders and flowing down over your thighs—but it’s comfortable in a way nothing else is. The fabric feels like it was made for this, made for you to wear in this space, in this moment of complete relaxation. And even though you hadn’t expected him home yet, it feels right, like a part of him has been woven into the fibers.

The faint scent of him clings to the fabric. It’s a blend of ice and cologne, sharp and fresh, with just a trace of sweat from the game still hanging in the air. It’s the scent of him when he’s just finished skating hard, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline, his presence still lingering even after he’s left the rink. You find yourself tugging the jersey closer, as if that scent could somehow ground you more, hold you tighter in the warmth of this moment.

You hadn’t expected him home so early, not with his usual routine after a game. The late-night practices, the media stuff, the need to unwind with the guys after everything winds down. You figured you’d have more time, more space to just sink into the couch, stay hidden under the blankets in your own little bubble. But then, the quiet rhythm of your world shatters.

The front door clicks open. You hear the jingle of keys and the familiar sound of a bag being dropped by the entrance. Your heart skips a beat—shifting from lazy contentment to sudden alertness. The door creaks as it pushes open, and you hear the soft shuffle of boots against the hardwood floor.

And then he steps inside.

Will.

You don’t need to see him fully to know it’s him—his presence fills the space before his face even appears, an easy confidence that always seems to follow him in whatever room he enters. The scent of him—colder now, but still unmistakable—seems to fill the doorway as he walks in, the cool air from outside trailing behind him. His hair is damp from the post-game shower, still dripping slightly, the dark strands sticking to his forehead in a way that only seems to make him look more effortlessly disheveled. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a loose hoodie that looks comfortable, but it’s the way he carries himself that commands attention. His eyes scan the room for a moment, settling on you when he spots the jersey you’ve pulled on.

It’s like the world slows for a second, his gaze locking onto you. You can’t help but notice the way his posture shifts when he notices you—slightly straightening, that familiar grin tugging at his lips. He’s surprised, but there’s something else in his expression too. Something softer, quieter. Like he’s just found something he didn’t know he was looking for.

For a beat, neither of you says anything. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and he stands there for a second, just watching you.

Then, he speaks.

“Well, well.” His voice is a little rough from the game, low and gravelly in the way it always gets when he’s just walked off the ice. “Didn’t think I’d be coming home to this.”

It’s playful, teasing, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your breath hitch. His gaze drifts over the jersey that hangs too loosely around your frame, like he’s taking in every detail of you, and it feels oddly intimate.

Your hands instinctively tug at the hem of the fabric, unsure if you should pull it tighter or let it hang. You were comfortable before, relaxed in the warmth of the jersey, but now, with him standing there, so close, it feels different.

You try to keep your voice steady. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, and that signature smirk of his begins to stretch across his lips, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There’s something about the way he watches you that makes the air around you feel heavier, like the space between you both is shrinking, becoming charged with unspoken understanding. “Clearly,” he says, his voice low and effortlessly confident. The way he lets the word hang in the air tells you he’s already figured it out, and for some reason, the realization makes you feel a little exposed—though you don’t quite mind it.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, the sound breaking the silence, but he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, each step toward you deliberate, measured, like he’s savoring every second of this moment. There’s no hurry in his movements, no rush to break the distance. It’s that slow, easy swagger of his—one that always makes you feel like he’s got the world under control, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, where he’s going. And now, it feels like he’s walking directly into your space, right into your bubble of comfort that you’ve carefully crafted all evening.

He stops just short of you, so close now that the air between you seems to pulse. Your heart skips a beat, caught between the unexpectedness of his arrival and the quiet tension that’s suddenly settled into the room. His eyes—dark and warm—are locked on you, and in that moment, it’s like nothing else exists. He leans down over the back of the couch, his frame towering over you as his face inches closer. You can feel the heat of his body now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sharp, fresh smell of post-game sweat. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes your pulse race a little faster, your breath hitching in your chest.

He hovers there for a moment, his eyes scanning you, lingering on the way his jersey hangs on your frame. There’s a flicker of something playful in his gaze, but then it shifts—just for an instant—into something deeper. Something more intense. His lips curve into that familiar, teasing grin, but it’s softened now, edged with something unspoken. And then, as though the weight of it all hits him, he asks in a voice that’s a little quieter, a little more intimate than before:

“That mine?”

His words seem to hang in the air, his tone a little lower than usual, like he’s considering something more than just the obvious question. His eyes move over you, not in the usual way, but with a kind of focus that makes you feel both exposed and utterly seen. He’s not just looking at the jersey—he’s looking at you, taking in the way it fits on you, how you’ve made it your own, how it’s become a part of you in this moment.

You want to act casual, to brush off the weight of his gaze, but your heartbeat picks up, skipping erratically in your chest. You can’t quite keep your voice steady, but you try. “No,” you say with a light laugh, even though your throat feels dry. “I went out and got my own personalized Smith jersey.” The words feel almost ridiculous coming out of your mouth, because you both know that’s not the truth.

Will lets out a soft laugh, rich and warm, and the sound wraps around you like a comforting blanket, but it’s the way he says the next part that makes your stomach flip. “Looks good on you.”

His words settle between you both like a quiet confession, a whispered truth that wasn’t there a second ago. You weren’t prepared for the weight they carry, for the way they shift something in the air, in the way you feel. He says it with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like it’s obvious, undeniable. The way he’s looking at you now, with that half-smile still playing at the corners of his lips, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes don’t leave you, they linger there, and suddenly, the room feels smaller, the space between you both much less comfortable than it was just moments ago.

Your skin tingles under his gaze, a heat rising to your cheeks that you can’t quite explain. You want to brush it off, to pretend like it doesn’t matter, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—so effortlessly and with such intensity—that makes you feel like you’re both standing on the edge of something.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but even as you do, you know it’s half-hearted. His grin is contagious, that knowing, easy smile that makes your lips curve despite your attempts to resist it. The playful spark in his eyes pulls at you, and before you realize it, you’re tugging the jersey down a little further, trying to hide behind the fabric, but it doesn’t really work. Will isn’t looking away. He’s still watching you closely, his focus sharp, like he can see straight through the act.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he just shifts, his body moving closer, closer until his hand brushes against the back of the couch where you’re sitting. The light touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, the air around you suddenly charged. He settles down beside you, that easy confidence never leaving him as he leans back against the cushions, his knee brushing against yours in the most casual way, but you feel it all the same.

“Hope you weren’t too comfy,” Will teases, his voice warm and playful as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, the movement casual but somehow deliberate. His knee grazes yours just as he settles in beside you, the faintest touch that sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He’s making himself at home—his presence completely filling the space in a way that only he can. The familiar ease with which he claims the space beside you makes everything feel… different.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, breathless and slightly nervous, but it feels good—genuine in its lightness. “I was fine until you showed up,” you admit, glancing up at him with a half-smile, feeling the quiet shift in the room, like the atmosphere has become just a little bit heavier.

Will shrugs, his movement effortless, the way he always does, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But then his fingers reach for the blanket, pulling it more firmly around you both, his arm curling just a little closer to you. It’s subtle, almost instinctual, but there’s something in the way his hand brushes the fabric that feels different, like an unspoken promise. “Well, now you’re stuck with me,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a softness underneath the words, an undercurrent that makes you pause, your breath catching for just a second. The playful glint in his eyes is still there, but there’s something more behind it now. Something steady and quiet.

You shift slightly on the couch, trying to adjust your position, but the feeling of the jersey—his jersey—around you feels suddenly more charged, more intimate. You hadn’t noticed before how the fabric clings just a little more to your skin now, how the weight of it against your body seems to amplify every small shift, every breath you take. It feels like a piece of him, like something that’s meant to be close. But you’re not sure if it’s the jersey itself or the way he’s leaning into your space, closer now, his presence surrounding you completely.

His gaze doesn’t leave you, that same confident but knowing look in his eyes, like he’s made some quiet decision that this moment, this space, belongs to both of you. You can feel it without him needing to say it aloud—he’s not rushing, not forcing anything. There’s a calm, patient certainty to him as he watches you, and it makes something stir inside you.

Then, as if to seal the unspoken promise between you, he leans in just a little closer, his voice quieter, his words hanging in the air. “Keep it,” he says, and there’s no playfulness this time, no teasing edge—just pure sincerity. “It looks better on you anyway.”

His words hit you like a soft wave, unexpected and gentle, but somehow grounding. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth—makes something inside you shift. You weren’t prepared for that. Not for the weight those words carry, not for the quiet implication that goes beyond the jersey itself, beyond what’s happening between you in this moment.

For a heartbeat, you blink, your breath catching in your throat as you process it. You’d expected him to joke, to keep up the playful banter, but instead, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now—a softness that you hadn’t seen before. It’s not just about the jersey anymore. It’s about something more—something deeper between you, something unspoken, but heavy with meaning.

The words feel like a quiet confession, a little piece of something shared between you both, something that feels real in a way you weren’t prepared for. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you threw on the jersey, but you sure as hell didn’t expect it to feel like this. The fabric still hangs loosely on you, a little oversized, the edges of it crinkling around your thighs, but now it feels right. It feels like it belongs—like this moment belongs.

The world outside fades away, and in that quiet stillness between you, everything feels perfectly aligned. You don’t need to say anything more. There’s no need for words when the weight of the unspoken feels like it fills every inch of space between you, when the simplest act of wearing his jersey feels like a connection that goes deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

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dameronspector · 7 days ago

Text

Willow

(A Pjo and Mcu!AU)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!ExAvenger!Reader

Chapter Summary: You are were an Avenger. But before becoming an Avenger, you were a demigod— were half human, half god—rescued and trained by Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. You were only 15, then. Fast forward 10 years later, here you were, with the three people that you looked up to, and who had saved your life, being dead. Leaving you alone and too old to go back to your camp. That left you with no choice but to pick up odd, free agent work to keep your life going with the support of your remaining family. What happens when you meet a meek, vulnerable yet the most powerful man who made you relive your worst traumas?

Warnings: No Bob in this chapter, world building + character background, Mentions of Injuries, Blood, Demons, Monsters, Canon Typical Violence, Depression, Death of a parent, Insecurities, Isolation, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Found Family content, CW+IW+Endgame timeline, Reader has magical abilities of the goddess Hecate (eg: necromancy, pyrokinesis, hypnokinesis, dark magic, etc. you can find the rest on rioridanwiki!), that’s all i think!

**this is a work of fiction. I don't own any of these characters and I have made some changes to fit the storyline better and because it's an AU. I have taken all the information from google and riordanwiki. Incase I have gotten anything wrong, please let me know!**

AN: oh i am so IN for this pjo x mcu crossover like... this is literally my childhood and adulthood mixed in one. But im also nervous omg. Also, the title is inspired by the lyirc: 'life was a willow and it bent right to your wind' from Willow by Taylor Swift. (Btw, my godly parent, as per riordanverse, is Apollo, which is yours?😁)

PS: let's assume civil war took place after the reader was recruited.

Look, you didn't plan to abandon your camp.

But when your godly mother is Hecate, you inherit the misfortune of having night empowerment, that is, your magic was the strongest at night and the weakest during the day, which is why you were left powerless when Luke betrayed the camp and joined Kronos, poisoning Thalia's Tree. This weakened the borders and allowed monsters and demons of all kinds to target Camp Half-Blood. It's even more difficult when you were not allowed to use your godly powers in front of the whole world even if the mist would protect you. On top of it, Chiron had strict schedules and rules for your trainings so that meant no excessive or exhaustive training exercises combined with your 15 year old self, you had to heavily rely on your magic, which would often drain you if you used it incorrectly or without proper preparations.

As Hecate's daughter, you preferred solitude and so did the rest of your siblings. But that didn't mean you weren't protective over each other. In fact, you were fiercely protective, and you joined the fight to defend your cabin and your camp from the demons unleashed by Kronos. Since you were an older demi-god, it was your job to look after, and protect, the younger ones as well. And you did exactly that. In an attempt to save one of the newly claimed demi-gods, Percy Jackson, you ended up throwing him out of the way and stood way too close to the camp's border.

"Percy, stay back!", you shouted at him while using your magic to turn one of the demons into a pile of ash and golden ichor. It was nearing sunset, so you could slowly feel your powers coming back to you, but still felt your body shutting down gradually because of the overuse of your powers.

Percy was a very stubborn and reckless kid, you realized that the moment he went head to head with Clarisse La Rue. And when he got claimed by Poseidon himself, you understood where he got that hero complex from. Nevertheless, you found yourself feeling protective over him, especially since Grover and Chiron themselves vouched for him. You had taken it upon yourself to protect him, Chiron's words of worry echoing in your mind.

You had lost your father in an unfortunate accident when you were just 10 years old and that's when Hecate had officially claimed you, protecting you and guiding you to the camp. Having no family in the mortal world, you easily grew attached to your fellow campers. Which lead to you protecting them even if it costed you your life.

On top of it, you stayed up at night everyday, wishing you’d get a chance to say goodbye to your father, at least once. Wishing you’d lead a normal life. You knew how different you were from your half siblings, how it took you time to perfect your magic. All of this made you insecure of yourself, blaming yourself for any shortcomings. Chiron tried to reassure you time and time again, but the mind was a tricky place to get out of.

Percy was grunting and using all his might to fight back the angry Minotaur, his sword glinting in the yellow-orange hue of the sky. His shoes scuffed against the ground, the Minotaur using its huge obsidian black horns to push him back, Percy’s dirty blonde curls shaking violently, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. There was chaos everywhere, sounds of weapons clanking against each other and hums of magic and spells that came from the enchanted cabins, groans and roars of the creatures and a faint smell of smoke coming from somewhere behind you.

"I'm fine!", Percy called back in his breathless voice, his chest heaving with the effort. You finished off the demon that was fighting you and joined Percy, casting a protection spell, a purple bubble of your powers surround you and resist against the Minotaur. Suddenly, a Fury startled you and latched onto your back, a pained groan leaving your mouth. It lead to you breaking the protective shield around Percy, your attention diverted to the Fury.

The Furies were attacking you relentlessly, leaving scratch marks against your arms and back. You managed to conjure a spell and hurl it at them, when you heard a shout of pain. You turned your head to see that Percy was on his back while the Minotaur approached him, nostrils flaring in anger and Percy still trying to come to his bearings. Luckily, someone shot arrows to distract the Furies and you stood up quickly, your head spinning and knees weak. You rushed over and stood in front of Percy, faintly hearing Annabeth's distressed call for him to get up.

Your ears were ringing and all you could see were the Minotaur's glowing eyes and flaring nostrils, it's muscles tensed before it charged and you quickly shoved Percy down the hill before casting a spell as a barrier between you and the Minotaur.

You could see Annabeth cradling Percy against her and you sighed in relief, your eyesight turning blurry because of the exhaustion and unshed tears when the Minotaur managed to charge, pushing you out of the camp border. A choked gasp left your mouth and you could just see Annabeth's mouth open in a scream before you passed through a mist and entered the outside world. You fell on your back, the hard ground hurting your ribs, before promptly passing out.

When you came to, your saw a white ceiling above you and a persistent beeping on your right. The harsh light hurt your eyes, which made you close them while letting out a pained wince.

"Hey, it's okay..", a calm and composed voice muttered next to you, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion because it didn't sound anything like Chiron or Mr D. Slowly opening your lids, you turned your head to the left and saw that a huge, muscular man was sitting next to you. He had cropped blonde hair, light blue eyes, and was wearing a grey t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, his hands pressed against the railing of your bed. You felt like you had seen him somewhere before, but you couldn't recall it.

Licking your dry and chapped lips, you finally spoke up, "W-Who are you? Where's Chiron?"

The man's face shifted in confusion, "Chiron? I'm sorry, I don't know who that is but--I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

That's when it clicked you, your eyes widened in realisation, "You—oh my gods, you are Captain America...", you let out in a breathy whisper and the man-Captain America, smiled shyly.

Of course you know who he was. An advantage of being a demi-god was that you had to be aware of what was going on in the world. So obviously, you were all aware (and fans) of the Avengers. You and Grover always fought about who was that strongest Avenger—Hulk or Thor (he was Team Hulk, you were Team Thor. #demigodssupporteachother or whatever.) And you'd be lying if you said half of the kids in your camp didn't have a crush on Steve or Thor.

Which is why, him sitting so close to you was sending you, and your heart, into a frenzy, the monitor on your right beeping louder and Steve furrowed his brows in concern.

"Are you okay? Should I call a nurse-"

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, "No! No, I-I am okay. Thanks. How...how did I get here? Where are we?", you stammered, still a little out of it. You could make out faint memories of asking Percy to stay back and facing a Minotaur, but everything was a blur after that.

"Well, we are at the Avengers Compound. We found you near the woods at Montauk beach. Thankfully, we were doing some recon stuff and Tony informed us about a heat signature. When we got off to check it out, you were lying unconscious with a few cuts on your body. How did you even get there? It's pretty far away from civilisation", Steve asked you in confusion.

You froze. Although it would've been just another Tuesday for him, you remembered your 'oath' as a demi-god—act normal and unassuming in front of the world outside the camp. So you decided to lie for now.

"Uh- it's...it's a long story. Can we discuss it later?", you asked him hesitantly, hoping he'd believe you.

Steve nodded before helping you sit up and handed you a glass of water. You accepted it gratefully and took a few soothing sips.

"That's alright. We'll probably debrief you later. You should rest, you have a few cuts and bruised ribs. The doctor will come to check on you soon. Do you wanna contact somebody at home...?"

You froze. Since you had travelled all the way across from one end of New York to the other, you assumed that the fight must've simmered down by now. You needed to contact Chiron and inform him about your whereabouts as soon as possible.

"Uh-yes. Do you mind giving me a phone? I must've lost mine somewhere..."

Steve nodded and fished out his own cell, before leaving the room to give you some privacy.

You let out a sigh of relief after the door shut and put his phone aside, casting a mist with your powers and focusing intently to call upon Chiron. It took some time to conjure it in your exhausted state, the mist disappearing and your hands shaking after a while.

After trying for the fourth time, you finally made the connection.

"(Name)? Where are you?", Chiron's aged and worried face shimmered in the rainbow.

"Chiron! Oh gods, I'm so sorry. The Minotaur pushed me out of the borders and, you're not gonna believe this, The Avengers saved me. I'm at the Avengers Compound, right now", you explained to him and his face shifted in understanding before he let out a sigh.

"That's quite far away. When are you coming back? Are you alright?"

"I'm okay. A few cuts and bruised ribs. I- Chiron, they're gonna debrief me. What do I tell them? It's not exactly believable to say that a 15 year old came to this remote beach alone and passed out in the woods."

"Well...they're the Avengers, right? This is probably not a big deal for them. What do you think?", Chiron asked curiously.

You pursed your lips, already having made up your mind about what to do.

"I think...I think I'm gonna tell them."

Chiron gave you a knowing smile, as if he could already see what was going to go down, but he didn't stop you. He never did. He was always a very supportive and anchoring presence in all of your lives.

2 days later you were discharged, arms and legs bandaged and a few bandages scattered across your back.

Steve escorted you to the debrief room, where you met Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark, who smirked at the perpetual look of awe and wonder on your face. You almost laughed at their laid back looks and how they looked ordinary out of their supersuits. Almost, because your hands were shaking at the fact that you were standing in front of literal superheroes.

You were absently picking at your chipped black nail polish when Tony addressed you.

"So...(Name)? Right?", Tony began. You nodded and he read something on a tablet before speaking up, "Apart from your father and your early school life, I couldn't find any information on you. Why's that?", he stared at you in scrutiny while Steve and Natasha sat next to him, observing.

You cleared your throat and wrung your hands together in nervousness. Not only were you sitting in front of the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, but also you were going to talk about your real identity. You just hoped they wouldn't arrest you or worse.

"Well—Before I say anything, you have to promise you won’t rat me out", you stated and the three of them hesitated before agreeing to your condition, Tony squinting his eyes in judgement.

You sighed, "I am...not completely human. I'm a demi-god. Demi-titan actually, but yeah.”

The three of them whipped their eyes to look at you, their faces frozen in shock. How was this unassuming, docile, 15 year old girl, a demi god? And how did nobody find out about this?

"I'm sorry, what?", Tony blurted out and Natasha put a hand on his arm.

"Wait, how does nobody know about this? And why should we believe you?", she questioned you sternly.

You pursed your lips before opening up your palm in front of you, a small flame hovered on it, your eyes glowing purple.

"Whoa", Steve murmured in surprise, Natasha staring at you in wonder and Tony's eyes widened in disbelief. You slowly closed your palm and extinguished the flame, your eye colour returning back to normal, hands inside the pocket of the Stark-issued jacket that they had provided you.

"You can't speak of this to anyone. In fact, whatever I'm about to tell you, none of you can ever mention this to anybody. Or you will risk multiple lives. And I mean it", you informed them in a solemn tone and they understood the gravity of your words.

All of them dutifully nodded their heads and asked you to begin, Tony activating a privacy shutdown around the room.

So you began. You told them about your father who died in a car crash and how the Greek Goddess of Magic and Witchcraft, Hecate, had claimed you. That's when you had found out that you were her daughter, her and your father being lovers. Their faces were slack with surprise, the fact that greek gods and goddesses actually existed as the same time as them was unbelievable to them and you smirked at that. You had managed to shock the Avengers themselves.

You told them how Hecate showed you the way to the camp and you spent the next 5 years of your life there, under the guidance of a centaur named Chiron and the god Dionysus. You told them about the attack, how you were thrown outside the camp's borders and that's why you landed in the woods, making sure to not reveal the exact location of the camp. You also told them about your powers, what you can do with your magic, how much can you handle and how it is the strongest at night and dark places and the weakest during the day.

"I-Wow. This is a lot. You are a lot. I have a lot of questions", Tony replied and leaned his head against his hands.

You shrugged, "I really can't tell you anything more than this. I can't risk my family's life. Please, may I go now?"

All of them exchanged looks and asked you to step out for sometime, before calling you back in after 15 minutes.

"(Name)...look. We...have someone like you on our team now. Her name is Wanda Maximoff. Both of you share the same powers, minus the godly parent thing. You'd be an useful asset to the team and she’d help you train. Plus, we'd protect you in return. No more ending up in random woods, no more fighting demons and what not", Tony proposed and you froze.

"What?", you asked in disbelief. Did he really just ask you if you wanted to leave behind your old life and start this one like you knew any of them personally?

“I can’t just leave my home and be an Avenger!”, you said incredulously.

Natasha and Steve sighed before Natasha spoke up, “Look, I get it. It’s not exactly easy to just join us and there’s probably complications that we can’t even imagine. But, think about it. You’d get a place to stay, protection, and appropriate training. You’re only 15, (Name), don’t you think you should be going to school instead of having to constantly look over your shoulder? I know why you went to the camp. It’s so that you don’t end up lonely. I get that, trust me”, she tried to reason and you felt your stomach twist in indignation.

“I’m sorry? I’m not gonna let you sit there and guilt trip me like that, Ms. Romanoff. Let’s not act like you guys live any better lives than we do. And I do go to school, by the way”, you said heatedly, your eyes glowing a muted purple, feeling defensive over your home. Natasha and Steve were silent for a moment while Tony was too busy typing something in the tablet.

You clenched your fists and let out a breath, calming yourself down, “Now, if you’re done, I’d like to leave”, you conceded before standing up and leaving the room in a haste.

“Wait—(Name)!”, Tony’s voice called out and you reluctantly stopped, turning around in irritation.

“Sit down for a moment, will you?”, he requested you and sat down on the sofa outside the room. You grumbled and sat opposite him on the cushioned chair.

Tony began by holding out his hands to placate you, “Listen. We’re not trying to guilt-trip you. I swear. You’ve got potential, kid. And I know how difficult it must’ve been for you to navigate after your father’s death. I get that, I’ve been there. You’re just 15. And we can help you. You mentioned a name—Chiron, right? I assume he's your camp counselor or something?"

You gave him a hesitant nod.

"Why don’t you talk about this with him?”, he offered.

You paused for a moment, mulling over his words. You swallowed in nervousness before replying, “Okay.”

Tony pulled out his phone but you stopped him, “Uh- we can’t use mobile phones. Alerts the monsters and all that.”

Tony made a face, his eyes wrinkling behind his tinted glasses, “How do you talk to people, then?”

You gave him a smirk and conjured a mist, both of your hands splayed out in front of you, before closing your eyes and calling out to Chiron.

“What the fuck?”, Tony muttered next to you and you opened your eyes, seeing Chiron in the rainbow covered mist.

“Chiron…h-how’s everything there? Is everybody alright?”, you asked him tentatively, your leg moving up and down in anxiety, worried about your fellow campers and your siblings.

Chiron sighed in exhaustion, “I won’t lie to you and say it’s alright. Many of the kids, your cabin included, are injured. Grover, the nymphs and the Apollo cabin are tending to all of them. The camp…it’s a mess. Part of our stables is completely burnt, Thalia was barely saved, the hill is covered in small fires, dining area is destroyed…and since the borders are yet to be closed, it’s going to take a while to rebuild.”

Your chest ached, you didn’t want to pile this up on the old man right now. He was already going through a lot.

“Just say it, (Name)”, Chiron quipped. You snapped your head up to look at him. Of course Chiron already sensed you wanted to share something. On your left, Tony was staring at you and Chiron closely—with wonder and something else shimmering in his eyes.

“This is Tony Stark, you know him. Iron Man and Billionaire”, you introduced them before Tony slid in close to you and waved at Chiron. You swallowed before deciding to just bite the bullet, “Chiron, they’ve proposed that I join the team”, you let out in a breath and lowered your eyes in shame.

“Okay. What have you decided?”, Chiron’s calm voice asked you.

You stuttered, “I’m-”, but you knew your answer.

You wanted to get away from the camp for the past 3 years. The place reminding you too much of your father and how you were lesser than the others. How you stuck out like a sore thumb.

But even if you joined the Avengers, you’d still stand out. You’d have to constantly hold back and be careful to avoid hurting others, stay focused and train harder to gain control over yourself and avoid contact altogether, to save them from the monsters that would follow your scent.

But you wanted to do this. The thrill of attending school without getting distracted by some Greek mythological creature following you and finally leaving the camp to try and lead a mundane life was too strong to ignore. You steeled yourself and looked at Chiron.

“I’m doing this, Chiron. I’m sorry”, you could see Tony’s eyes widen next to you and Chiron’s understanding smile.

Chiron was the next thing to a father that you had. His progressive and supportive energy kept you going for the 5 years that you spent in the camp. You would always be grateful for his wisdom and protection.

You felt your eyes tear up before Chiron instructed, “Don’t apologise, my child. You can come to the camp tomorrow. We’ll see you then. Take care.”

You gave him a wet smile and broke the connection, staring at your hands in intense concentration. A few quiet moments passed before Tony nudged you lightly, garnering your attention. You turned your head to the side to look at him with tearful eyes.

“You did good. We’ll discuss the rest when you come back tomorrow, hm?”, he murmured.

You simply nodded in agreement.

You went back to the camp to meet your family for the last time. Bidding farewell to your siblings and your favourite trio—Annabeth, Grover and Percy—along with Chiron and Mr. D. It was a tearful goodbye, Grover and Annabeth crying and Percy trying his best to stifle his. When you went to hug him, he begrudgingly returned it, murmuring into your shoulder that he was upset at you.

You cried harder at that.

After gathering all your stuff from the cabin and bidding everyone goodbye, they walked you to the camp’s borders. Chiron asked you to make a small promise to him, that while you would lead a double life now, you’d try your best to keep this part of it hidden, which meant no sudden iris messages or surprise visits. You vehemently agreed, reassuring him that you’d do anything to protect them and him promising his support to you, anytime.

And then you left. For your new life. As the Demi-God Avenger.

"Well, this is your room, I tried my best to design it to suit you, but if you want any changes, just let me know or shout out to FRIDAY."

"FRIDAY?", you asked in confusion.

Tony smirked in that classic manner of his, "FRIDAY, welcome our newest member."

"Of course, boss. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Miss (Name). This would be your room and if you need anything, you can just call out my name. I'll assist you at any time."

You jumped when you heard the dismembered voice. It was coming from the entire room, it seemed. Now, you were used to hearing voices out of thin air, but this? The fact that this was achieved without magic was so fascinating to you.

"Whoa...", you breathed out in disbelief, your mouth falling open in awe and your eyes flitting around the entire room.

Tony chuckled next to you, "Yeah, I know. Anyways, settle down and you can join us for lunch or order somethin', if you want. I'll be busy in a meeting and Natasha has gone for an assignment. Steve must be in the gym or the library and it's your lucky day because Bruce is in the labs as well. So, if you need anything, you can go to those two, yeah?"

You nodded absently, and he took your leave. Looking around the room, you took notice of how Tony had personalised it for you.

The room was painted in a terracotta colour, a huge bed in the middle on your left side that was covered in a cream coloured bedsheet, purple coloured duvet, a mountain of cream, purple and yellow coloured pillows. Next to the bed were two side tables, both of them a dark mahogany wood, the one closest to you had a beautiful moon lamp on it. There was a desk lined by the wall in front of the bed, it was in the same dark mahogany wood as the side tables, a purple coloured chair placed in front of it. The bed's left side had an in-the-wall book shelf, and next to it was a huge floor-to-ceiling length window that sprawled across the wall, it was covered in glass and had a sliding door to give you access to the lush green lawn of the compound. The window swathed the room in a golden hue of the afternoon sun, the view of the sun peeking through the trees and leaves moving in the slight breeze putting you at ease right away.

You took in a deep breath, the scent of a lavender candle tickling your nose and you felt like this was home. Your eyes welled up with tears at that.

You see, as the child of a minor goddess, you and your siblings did not have your own cabin. You had to share with the Hermes kids who shared with other minor gods' kids and it was chaotic. You never had a chance to have a place of your own. The fact that Tony, a man you had just met, had done this just to make you feel at home and even allowed you to make any changes as you desire, was everything to you. You'd be forever grateful for how he took you in and let you live at his place as if you always belonged.

You decided to spend the whole day in your room, unpacking your stuff and arranging it. There was a door on the right of the desk that was most likely the bathroom. You opened it and were shocked at the sight in front of you--the bathroom was huge, with a large bathtub and a shower cubicle on the left. You didn't notice it at first, but as soon as you entered, there was another door on the right which lead into the closet, which was substantially big enough for you. After arranging your clothes in it and taking in your room once more, you decided to walk out and thank Tony for all of this.

Tony just waved you off, stopping your attempts at thanking him, telling you to feel at home and pull up your socks for the training, instead. After having dinner with them and introducing yourself to Bruce, you went back to your room and just crashed, falling asleep immediately for the first time in your life.

2016

It's been a whole year since you became an Avenger and moved into the compound. You had settled in quite well, making a friend in Wanda who trained you everyday to control your powers (which, you were sure, that Hecate must have rolled her eyes at), and had a dysfunctional family of superheroes now, being extremely close to all of them. Even if that was the case, you were the closest to Natasha, Tony and Steve--the three people who had given you this life. Soon you met Vision, Rhodey, Clint and Sam, and you got along with all of them quite well except Clint, whom you found a little annoying.

You were still undergoing training, so Tony put you on schedules with Natasha, who taught her widow techniques to you and Steve, who taught you how to make proper use of your body's natural strength. Sam was another great sparring partner, his flexibility and agility as a gymnast and athlete was fascinating to you and he was fun to talk to, always cracking jokes and treating you to lunch later.

You were the unofficial baby of the group so they all took turns to be protective over you and babysit you (you'd be lying if you said you didn't like that.) All of them were fond of how smart and polite you were, but at the same time fearful of your powers and did everything to avoid upsetting you as any tumultuous emotion caused you to lose control, destroying anything around you. You had accidentally burnt down a part of the kitchen when Clint wouldn't stop annoying you, a purple burst of irritation blazing the entire right side of the kitchen, narrowly missing the gas pipes.

Clint was banned from talking to you after that incident.

As for the school part, you did attend school and made new friends there as well- Peter Parker, Ned Leeds and MJ. You were an year older than them, but the school required you to retake your classes so you had to start in the same grade as them. This was your little bubble, the three of them keeping you company everyday and Aunt May spoiling you to her heart's content. You loved how motherly and caring she was, always looking forward to the days she'd invite you over for lunch or dinner or when you and Ned went to Peter's for a movie night.

Safe to say, you had settled in like you always belonged here. No interference from any titans or demons or gods, enjoying your mundane life with your new family and friends. You had gotten inspired to change your room as well-- your godly gifts also included being an amazing interior designer and innovator--so you turned your bed into a four poster with beige curtains hanging from it, an enchanted sky ceiling that showed you the constellations any time that you want, your bathroom was transformed into half covered by dark, moody purple tiles and you had casted a spell to increased the size of your room, turning it into a gym, or a kitchen, or a garden, if you had one of those days where the commotion in the compound became too much. Everyone was freaked out by the way you could transform things into whatever you wished to but they got over it soon, watching you in wonder and requesting the same for their rooms (which you politely declined because using too much of your powers exhausted you.)

Imagine the whiplash when a few months later, your family was arguing over some papers, had split into two, had asked you to pick a side, and were now fighting against each other in the middle of an airport.

Steve had told you about his best friend, Bucky, when you came across an article of them on the internet. Now, you knew who he was and what happened to him, but hearing it from Steve, who had lived to see what happened, was an experience and it gave you the real story instead of the gossip-y and juicy stories squeezed out by media outlets. When you saw the news that Bucky had assassinated King T’Chaka, it was a shock. You didn’t believe he could’ve done that. In fact, you didn’t blame Bucky for whatever he did for most of his life.

But when that man in the footage looked eerily familiar to Bucky, who was going to listen to a 16 year old new recruit?

Tony and Steve argued. Steve, Sam and Natasha broke the law for Bucky and were branded as criminals. The rest of them picked sides. Tony supporting the accords, Steve being against it. And your family broke apart. Now you must be wondering, what did you do?

You opted out. It went against your morals and your affection for the team. The betrayal you felt, when Wanda chose to broke out of the compound and join Steve, was something serious. You hadn’t expected that to happen and you surely hadn’t expected for Clint to be an even bigger asshole and convince Wanda to break out. You argued with the two of them but they did not give you a chance to placate, leaving in a haste while Wanda put Vision six feet under ground when he tried to stop her. If she could do that to Vision, whom she liked, you didn't want to imagine what she could've done to you.

Rhodey had asked you for a last time, whether you wanted to join them or not. You strongly opposed, stating that you’d stay in the compound or at a friend’s. After Wanda left, you were originally going to stay back but then you received May’s call, that Peter had left for a study tour and you straightened up in alarm. There was no study tour. You packed up an overnight bag and left for Queens, choosing to spend the night with May instead.

Come morning, May was rightfully worried as Peter’s phone wasn’t working anymore and he didn’t answer any of her calls or texts. You were proper annoyed. You just had a hunch that he was at the airport, but when you summoned a connection through the mist—it was confirmed. There he was, in Tony’s private jet, on his way to Germany.

See, you always found his excuses for missing out on stuff dumb, the nervousness and lies practically bleeding through his clothes and body. But you chose to humour him, not wanting to stress him out. But there he was, sitting in the jet, in a fucking Spider-Man suit. As if that’s not a big deal.

You were worried you’d scare May off by accidentally blasting out your powers, so you decided to meditate instead. You stayed with her for the whole day, keeping her company and distracting her. And the next day, you received an alert on your watch from FRIDAY that everyone had returned. You hastily took May’s leave and arrived at the compound to find out—a whole chunk of your family was missing, Tony was sporting a black eye and a broken arm, and him and Natasha looking at you with grim faces.

“What the hell happened?”, you muttered carefully, the compound’s common area was way too quiet.

Tony looked away in guilt, Natasha looked at you in concern.

“Hey…are you okay?”, she asked tentatively, as if preparing you for the worst.

“Nat, I asked you something. What the hell happened? Where is everyone?”, your voice wavered, a lump lodged in your throat.

Tony shook his head, avoiding your eyes at all costs while Nat let out a tired sigh.

“Well, to cut the story short—Steve, Clint, Sam and Bucky are in the raft. They are declared as criminals of the state”, your eyes widened in shock, “Wanda and Vision are on the run. Don’t know where they are right now.”

“What the fuck? Tony? What—and what happened to you? Where’s Rhodey? What even happened between you all?”, you growled, irritated with Tony’s non-verbal stance.

Tony took a deep breath before finally meeting your eye, his black eye making it difficult for him to focus without wincing.

“Rhodey…got shot out of the sky. Paralysed from the lower spine and below. He’s getting operated on right now. Might— Will need prosthetics. And uh-I fought with Cap and Barnes”, his voice was low and heavy with guilt, like he was already blaming himself for everything.

Your eyes widened, “What”, you breathed out, “How—what the fuck even happened, how did it escalate so badly? Huh?”, your voice rose in anger, eyes lightly glowing a muted purple, a purple-blue flame simmering at your fingertips.

Natasha held up her hands to placate you, “Hey—kid, it’s okay. I know this is a lot—”

“Of fucking course, it’s a lot! What were you guys thinking? All of this over a piece of fucking paper? And now—now most of them are on the run, are wanted as criminals and in the hospital? And Tony—”, you pointed a finger at him, “what was Peter doing there?!”

Tony’s eyes widened in surprise, “How—”

“Yeah. He’s my friend. And my classmate. And I have powers that help me track down someone who’s miles away from me”, the flame at your fingertips was slowly engulfing your hand, your eyes turning a brighter purple now. Natasha came close to you, her hand slowly settling on your shoulders in support.

Tony swallowed, his face shifting in pain, “I’m sorry. I’m really—I don’t know what to say, kid. What’s happened, happened. We—I fucked up. I’ll…I’ll try fixing it”, his eyes turned glassy by the end of that sentence and he turned back, walking away from you and Natasha.

You gritted your teeth and clenched your hands into tight fists, your eyes glowing a brighter purple now. The lights started flickering, a few scattered objects and frames shaking, Natasha looked at you in shock and fear.

“Hey-hey, hey, come on. Look at me—(Name), come on. Don’t do this. It’ll be alright. I got you, sweetheart”, Natasha said in a gentle voice, wrapping you in her safe arms. You closed your eyes in resignation, hands relaxing, the common area going back to normal, and you leaned into Natasha, a few tears slipping from your eyes.

You weren’t afraid of being alone, no. But you were human. And somehow, you were that one defective child of Hecate that craved for human connection. You had already lost your blood family. You had to leave behind your half family. And now? Now your found family was broken too. And slowly, your brain started working overtime to convince you that maybe, maybe you were the problem.

2018

2 years since your family broke up. 3 since you became an Avenger.

A lot had changed since then.

You grew up, of course. You were 18 and you were a trained Avenger now. Which meant you could assist the rest of them on missions.

But it was of no use because Steve, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Clint—they were all still estranged from the rest of you. You found out about Scott, who was put on house arrest along with Clint. You found out that Bucky was in Wakanda, undergoing treatment for his arm and the trigger words. You were really happy when you found out about that. Natasha was also on the run with Steve and Sam. You didn’t know where they went, originally. Rhodey had recovered, his new prosthetics helping him move around easily.

Steve and Tony had made up, for the most of it. Steve sent a letter and a burner phone for Tony to call him on, which felt awfully similar to an exes to lovers thing. You also found out that Steve had lied about Bucky killing Tony’s parents. That one gave you a massive shock. You couldn’t believe that Steve could do something stupid and...immoral like that. And suddenly, you understood Tony’s anger towards him and Bucky.

But he had already forgiven Steve and the others, that much was clear. It was clear to you the moment you saw him in the sling and black eye 2 years ago, his shoulders drawn in like a small child, and you sensed it immediately on him. That was the thing about Tony, he was quick to take all the blame on him and forgive others in his own begrudging and annoying way.

Then you confronted Peter about his superhero activities.

He stuttered his way through the confession and you eventually stopped grilling him, taking pity on his poor face that was red with nervousness, and decided to let him in your secret. He was positively buzzing then, unable to wrap his head around the fact that his best friend was a "fucking--demi-god/demi-titan, whatever, oh my god!" (his words, not yours.) He even made you show your powers to him, ooh-ing at every single spell that you cast in Latin and Greek and the purple shimmer of your magic.

You decided to train yourself harder, wanting to be prepared the next time your help is required in any mission. Practicing with the book of spells and witchcraft that your mother, Hecate, had gifted you after a quest, with your room shut out from the outside world, the smells of burning incense and herbs permeating your bones and every corner of the room. Tony would be freaked out at your training rituals but you assured him that it was just for concentration purposes.

Chiron would contact you every now and then, you would chat with him, Annabeth, Grover and Percy and that would make you feel lighter. They kept you entertained and updated about the stuff happening around the camp or in their lives, with Grover--being your favourite gossiper--subtly hinting at Percy and Annabeth getting closer to admitting their very obvious crushes on each other. That made you happy and sad at the same time because you couldn’t witness that first hand.

You even introduced them to Tony and Peter. Tony and Annabeth had a long nerdy conversation, after which Tony told you that he was greatly impressed and asked if he could give her an internship, while Grover and Percy had a great time exchanging memes and pop culture with Peter.

It was pretty mundane for these two years. You gelled in with Pepper and Happy, becoming an unofficial member of the Stark family along with Peter, who was also an intern at Stark industries now, you kept an eye on Steve and the others, just to reassure yourself that they were okay, although Wanda was keeping you out, wanting to stay hidden for longer and Bucky was still undergoing his treatment. Sometimes you'd see him step out of his hut and feed the sheep, play with the kids, take walks with Princess Shuri minus his metallic arm, but most importantly—you were happy to see that he looked healthy.

But then came the ugly purple giant and his army of equally nasty alien soldiers and ruined your life. You went to space with Tony, he was fully against it but you insisted, because your powers could actually be helpful against an extraterrestrial. You fought along side Tony, Peter and the Guardians. You even came close to removing the godforsaken gauntlet from Thanos' hand.

But then it suddenly ended. Time stopped. And everyone started disappearing.

Peter disappeared into a pile of ash right in front of you and Tony, departing with a quiet 'I'm Sorry' and you waited for the same to happen to you, but it never came. You leaned back against the debris of the fallen moon, your blown wide in a state of shock, hands shaking violently while Tony tried to bring you back to life.

You were stuck in that space ship with him and Nebula for god knows how long. Tony's cheeks were hollowed, skin pale, movements slower and you couldn't bear to watch that. You weren't doing any better. You had gone quiet and sluggish, half heartedly listening to Tony and Nebula playing a game of paper football. He fed you the remaining rations, forcing you to eat but eventually he lost his own energy, filming one last message in the helmet of his Iron suit and leaned back into the pilot seat in exhaustion. You had passed out long back, falling unconscious with hunger and the lack of energy or hope.

You opened your eyes to a white ceiling, eyes straining against the curtain of exhaustion and confusion, your body weak and limp on the soft bed. You noticed a figure move in the corner of your eye and notice a mop of blonde hair, the whole scene giving you a sense of deja vu, and then you heard his voice.

"Kid?", your eyes flew open. Steve was sitting next to you. Alive. It's been 2 years since you saw him. Your eyes welled up with tears and he laid an empathetic hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing it gently to soothe you.

"W-where are the others..", you managed to get out and his face turned solemn.

"Nat, Clint, Scott, Rhodey, Bruce--they're all here. The rest..", he trailed off and shook his head. It was enough to make you aware of the situation, swallowing harshly against the lump in your throat as you froze.

Your chest ached as you realised-- you had lost half of your family once again.

2023

It's been 5 years since the snap. 5 years since you lost your family again and 5 years of you wallowing in your sorrows, your magic slowly inching towards a darker side. All that anger, sadness and frustration was simmering beneath your blood, ready to unleash at any moment.

Steve and Natasha kept you close, keeping a vigilant eye on you--almost helicopter parenting you--which was funny, because you were 23 years old now. Tony had retired. Completely given up. He had chosen a secluded cabin and shifted there after his and Pepper's marriage. You were glad he took the decision. But a part of you felt angry, because you couldn't have that luxury and you couldn't check on Camp Half-Blood either, the fear of attracting more monsters making you paranoid.

So you simply sat back and observed, waiting for the right moment to strike back, your magic pulsing beneath your veins, waiting to be released.

Slowly, people started joining--Thor came back extremely depressed with a talking raccoon who was a part of the Guardians' team, then there was Carol Danvers, who was cool and looked every bit of the leader that she is, and suddenly it was a full house again.

You, Steve, Natasha and Scott had gone to convince Tony to help out when Bruce's (or Professor Hulk's, honestly that was a little scary to you) attempts at making a time machine failed miserably. When you reached the cabin, you stopped dead in your tracks at the visual.

Tony and Pepper had a daughter now, the sight of him cuddled up with her making your eyes well up with tears, wishing you had the same. It was difficult to convince him, naturally, with him having a family now.

"I'm really happy for you, Tony", you whispered and gave him a soft smile, waving a hand to Morgan who shyly returned it before running back inside, "But please, think about it. It's been five years", you requested him and he pursed his lips, the gray in his hair catching the light and his brown eyes glassy with emotion. You knew he would join you. You knew you were asking a lot from him, that he wouldn't sleep peacefully if he did this.

And he did do it. He made time travel possible. And he remade the gauntlet. Only Tony Stark could make it happen. All of you, joined by Clint, went back in time, to gather those stones. And Clint returned without Natasha. It took Tony and Steve together to calm you down before you destroyed the entire set up. You didn't even get time to recover from it when the entire compound collapsed. It was infiltrated and attacked by Thanos and his army again.

You had exhausted yourself thoroughly, casting spells left and right to protect someone or to kill an alien. You protected Clint when he had the gauntlet in his hand, you protected Nebula when she was attacking another alien, you conjured a spell to create the Empousai, who sucked the blood out of the aliens, you used your pyrokinetic powers to light up anything on fire and deflect attacks, you even tried to use your time manipulation powers to reverse the events but the stones and Thanos' power was too strong, him using the power stone to fling you across the field where you dropped down harshly, knocking against the hard ground violently.

That's when you saw, felt and heard, the buzz of a million spirals in the field, the magic of the mystical arts, cast by Strange, Wong and their supporters and you faintly made out blurry figures whizz past you. Suddenly a strong hand clamped around your arm, pulling you up slowly and letting you lean against them, your eyes flying open in surprise when you saw that it was Bucky.

This meant that everyone was back. Bucky handed you over to Tony, who helped you sit up and you heard a thwip above you, hands helping the two of you stand up, the field around you was engulfed in chaos and sounds of pain and fighting. When the person started speaking, you and Tony snapped your heads up to stare at Peter.

Your best friend, Peter. Tony's son, Peter.

The two of you were crying, listening to Peter's nerdy ramble with fond attention before Tony wrapped him up in a hug, Peter quieting down and returning the hug, his eyes closed in contentment and he grabbed your arm to pull you in, the three of you embracing each other in silence.

You thought everything was okay now. You thought it was over and all of you could go home, try to mend each other again, when suddenly a bright light blinded you, your concentration breaking and hands coming up to cover your face. When the light faded away, you noticed that it was too quiet.

Everyone had stopped fighting, looking at each other helplessly, trying to figure what just happened when you heard a sound of metal against metal, a body dragging down a piece of debris. You whipped your head to the side to see--Tony. His right side was charred and gray, like he had walked through a wild fire, his eyes were blank, body language sluggish and exhausted.

You felt it--His heartbeat was slower. His breathing too thin. You could feel his soul fighting to stay alive, and you fell to your knees, Steve's arms coming around you to keep you grounded, your eyes brimmed with tears and face damp with them as you saw Rhodey, Pepper and Peter say their goodbyes to Tony.

Peter was held back by Rhodey, his body shaking violently with sobs, Pepper was murmuring something and every single person standing around them had tears in their eyes. You crawled over to Tony, placing a careful hand on his cold forehead, and you whispered a soothing spell, one that would lessen his pain in his last moments.

"Thank you for everything, T", you whispered wetly, his blank eyes shining with tears as he tried to move his head to look at you and abruptly stood up, crying into Steve's shoulder for god knows how long.

As if losing two of the most important people in your life wasn't enough, right after Tony's funeral ended, Steve decided to leave you.

He left you, Sam and Bucky behind, without any warning. Well, you assumed Bucky knew but Steve had still betrayed you and Sam. He left the shield behind with Sam, passing the mantle of Captain America to him. You felt proud but empty, unable to celebrate as you were shaking with annoyance at Steve's nonchalance and ignorance.

"Take care and don't underestimate yourself. You still have a family", he told you and gestured towards the two men standing at the end of the grassy path, the wrinkles and white hair making him look like a stranger.

In a way, he was a stranger. This wasn't the same Steve Rogers that you knew. You had walked away furiously, your chest hurting with the pain and frustration. Sam and Bucky watched you leave helplessly, the three of you caught in the same dilemma.

First it was your dad. Then it was Natasha. Then Tony. And now Steve.

Your life had completely uprooted itself and you weren't the same anymore. So as Hecate and fate would have it, you went back to your old friend: isolation.

2024

Yeah alright, you had said you would isolate yourself blah blah blah.

But turns out, you can’t resist Sam Wilson, with his big brown eyes and gentle voice working overtime to convince you. He had been the one to coax you out of your depressed state and the dingy apartment that you lived in (that wasn’t dingy at all on the inside, but the exterior helped you to stay undercover. Sam lost his mind when he discovered that you could do the decor stuff too.)

You’d been out of service for a whole year, choosing to keep to yourself, keeping your head down, leaving your apartment only to go for grocery runs or food—that’s all. You didn’t contact anybody, didn’t take up any assignments, didn’t use your magic for saving-the-world-purposes-nothing. You felt like an empty shell of your previous self and there was an ever lasting ache in your heart, your mind constantly sending signals that something—someone was missing.

But when Sam came knocking on your door, scolding you for being off the grid and so difficult to track, he managed to convince you to join him and Bucky for a small party at Sam’s hometown.

You refused, shutting him down quickly. He observed you closely with the eyes of a soldier then--taking in your black sweats, dark blue oversized hoodie dwarfing your body, the bags under your eyes, the smell of lavender and herbs that seemed to stick to you, the dim yet large ambience of your home, the constant fidgeting with your hands--and he let out a big sigh, his heart squeezing with empathy for you.

In way you reminded him of Bucky, who was nothing less than a wounded animal in the initial days. That’s what you looked like.

He then tried to break you by telling you that Bucky wanted you to come, knowing you had wanted to talk to him for a long time, and you perked up at that, reluctantly agreeing to his invitation and also because you couldn't say no to Sam's big-eyed-kicked-puppy-look anymore.

You went to Louisiana with him and joined his family’s cookout. Sam encouraged you to dress up and you did it for him, making yourself presentable after months--wearing a striped blue and white shirt, paired with your most comfortable pair of jeans, your favourite shoes, a brown handbag that Natasha had gifted you, your hair pulled up in a neat hairstyle and your face touched up with light concealer (those eye bags were serious.)

When you got there, the entire place was bustling with happy families and deliciously smelling meals. You eventually spotted Bucky, noticing that his hair was shorter now, and he was playing with 2 teenaged boys. That brought a tiny smirk to your face, happy yet surprised to see him so free and excited like this. Bucky spotted you and ran over, shocked to see you. He tackled you in a hug, a surprised squeal leaving your mouth before you returned the gesture. Sam’s sister and his nephews welcomed you with opened arms, making you forget your pain and suffering for sometime.

That night, you hugged Sam close and cried into his shoulder, him reassuring you that he’d stick around and that he wanted you to work with them. After Sam went to bed, you sat by the dock and looked at the water, the moonlight making it sparkle and Bucky joined you, the two of you chatting for a while before he extended his hand for a possible friendship and acquaintance, and you hesitantly but happily accepted.

This is how you began your new journey, with your new family.

Chapter 2

AN: whewwww this was a lot! I'm sorry if this was rushed but there's so much content i wanna fit in it and a lot of characters too! i hope you understand <3 i hope i did justice to the characters and the original material!! Please like and reblog and let me know your thoughts.🥹

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fawnwilde · 3 months ago

Text

Taboo III Ecstasy .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sean MacGuire x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

A storm has torn the camp to shreds. The Van Der Linde gang is lucky to have you around to help them pick up the pieces of the camp.

But you're lucky there's a certain Irishman who knows how to lift your spirits, in more ways than one...

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, cunnilingus, piv smut, arthur has high honor so sean lasts longer, goofy smut bc it's sean macguire, he's a goofy guy

word count: 5.0k

The night before, a storm damn near flooded Clemons Point.

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and heavens opened up in retaliation.

You were sitting at the campfire, whittling arrows while listening to Javier idly strum his guitar. A distant rumbling made you sit straight.

Like a bloodhound, you looked around, sniffing the air for the earthy aroma of rain. Years living outdoors gave you a sixth sense, knowing when the weather brought danger to you and your nomad lifestyle.

Lo and behold, the warmth of the early evening sky was being interrupted by blackened clouds. A storm was brewing.

“Not good.” You said to no-one in particular, as you tucked away your knife and arrows.

“What’s wrong, señorita?” Javier had asked, ceasing his music to give you a look.

“A storm.” You responded, looking at the others around camp, “Looks like a bad one. We need to move quickly, find sturdy shelter.”

Within the hour, you and the gang were scurrying through rain, thunder, lightning and harsh winds, trying to protect and save what you could of the makeshift camp..

Dutch listened to your instructions, and together you managed to get people to transport valuables to the safety of the trees nearby. The group huddled together in a large, makeshift shelter created by two wagons and a canopy.

A very rushed solution which did little for the camp, that was bombarded by elements. All you could do was watch the camp flood and disperse, a blanket wrapped around you with Dutch’s chin resting against your shoulder.

You tried to get some sleep, used to the sounds of winds and rain. The effects of the storm would have to be dealt with in the morning, you had said.

In the present, you just sighed dejectedly.

The camp, for lack of a better word, is a disaster.

Tents destroyed by rain, wagons submerged in mud, horse escapees that had to be herded back to base by an exasperated Charles and a rather hysterical Kieran.

The sun above feels like it's taunting you all. Everyone else busies about, following the instructions bellowed out by Grimshaw. No-one has the energy to complain in their various states of exhaustion, lugging around whatever was still intact and grouping together destroyed items.

You’re standing beside Pearson, trying to salvage his supplies, half-listening to him recounting an event in the navy where his ship almost went overboard during a storm.

Another cracked bowl is put into the growing pile of unusables, another bottle of beer is found full of muddy water, and the world keeps turning.

What a dreadful day, you think as you rub a hand over your face.

“Hello, whore.” A female voice greets, and Karen joins your side with a wink.

You smile at her, “Careful. That’s Micah's favourite nickname for me. Don't want him to get jealous.”

Karen scoffs, but smiles at the easy banter between the both of you.

It’s taken you a while to get used to Karen’s way of talking with you, especially now that she knew about your rendezvous’ with the gang’s leader Dutch Van Der Linde and the resident hot mess John Marston.

Two weeks have passed since you began warming both of their beds, and somehow you worked in perfect harmony.

The gang was just happy Dutch seemed to have an outlet, and John was starting to turn his life around.

Speaking of which, Arthur and John walk past, carrying a wagon wheel between them towards Strauss’ worse-for-wear wagon.

When John sees you, he brightens up, sending you a wink. You smile back, putting your hands on your hips.

John realises you’re wearing one of his shirts, and he does a double take, dropping his end of the wheel and making Arthur lose balance. The wheel goes crashing onto the ground below, knocking off two of the wooden spokes. John winces as Arthur exclaims angrily.

“What happened?!” Strauss demands angrily, storming across camp.

“Ah! We broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur groans, glaring at John.

“John!” Dutch laments, coming between the angered Austrian and his two unruly sons.

Karen bursts out laughing, nodding to you to try to fix the problem you had somehow inadvertently caused.

As Arthur grabs a hammer and takes Strauss over to amend the wheel, Dutch sighs frustratedly. He’s stormy as he passes you, so you gently take his hand, pulling him closer.

Dutch raises an eyebrow at you. You smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lip. His mustache tickles, but he hums into the kiss, his posture relaxing for a moment. As you pull away, a small smile rests on his lips, anger forgotten.

He nods to you and Karen, tipping his hat, “Ladies.”

As he disappears from view, John follows him. You lean into him, kissing his cheek. He chuckles rapidly, nudging his forehead with yours before he wanders off.

Hosea, who was stood waiting for Dutch at his tent, awaiting an argument between the gang’s leader and John, was left surprised when both men just nodded to one another and went on with their day.

Turning back to Karen, you smile at her bewildered looks “Problem solved.” You say, shrugging.

“Witch.” Karen laughs.

“Am I a witch or a slut? You laugh, poking her arm.

“You’re a goddamn miracle of nature, that’s what you are.” Mary-Beth laughs as she joins the two of you, followed by Sean and Tilly as they bring over chairs and crates.

“At least someone can control those two.” Tilly laughs, “When you’re fully healed, I reckon you’re a real force of nature.”

You’re reminded of your wound, looking down at the bandage that peaks out from the sleeve of your dress. It had been healing well over the past couple of weeks, but there had been a scare a few days ago where you had a fever, and Grimshaw realised it had gotten infected.

Another reason to stay with the gang for a little longer. If you had left when you originally wanted to, the infection would have killed you.

“Aw, yer poor arm.” Sean coos, poking your forearm.

You shrug, “It ain't too bad.”

“Ain't too bad? If ye were a horse, ye woulda been shot ‘fore ya went lame.”

“Oh, that's not…” Mary-Beth sighs.

“Sean, why are you like this?” Tilly slaps his shoulder. The Irishman just stares at the women, shrugging without a care in the world.

“See, this is why we ain't together no more.” Karen says with a roll of her eyes.

Sean scoffs, “Please, like that wasn't my decision.”

“It wasn't.” The girls say in unison.

You join in their laughter, and Sean catches your eye.

His eyes twinkle with life, making a small blush appear in your eyes. Sean is undeniably handsome, in an unkempt, boyish way.

“If I hav'ta be the butt of the joke to hear tha' lovely laugh, then I’ll gladly take the blow to m'pride.”

“You always are the butt of the joke, Sean.” Lenny laughs as he walks past the small group.

“Everyone, hurry up! We’ll be moving closer to the lake until this area has solidified again.” Dutch calls out, walking through camp with Hosea at his side.

You smile at the thought of being on the waters edge, having confided in the Van Der Linde gang leader about your affinity for water.

Dutch winks at you as he passes.

“Sean! I told you to move the firewood an hour ago!” Hosea yells at him, storming towards the younger man looking ready to reconstruct his bone structure.

Stuttering out excuses, Sean heads off, Hosea on his trail, sending the girls back into hysterics.

Sean MacGuire always knows how to lighten the mood… even when he doesn't realise it.

You’re stood on the outskirts of camp, trying to salvage the girls’ lean-to cover, which got torn pretty awfully by the torrential rain.

“Ah, come on now.” An exasperated voice whines.

Looking up, you spot Kieran across the way, trying to lead the horses away from their old spot to the new one across camp. The grass at the hitching posts has turned to sludge against the mud below, yet the horses seem content to stay there.

And poor Kieran has the bad luck to try to move them all to their new home.

Which they are clearly unhappy about, if their whinnying and motionlessness is anything to go by. Kieran tries feebly to lead Boaz away by his reins, but the horse shakes his head and stomps his hooves at him.

“Please, just listen to me.” Kieran sighs, “You’ll be happier over there, I promise!”

“Having some trouble, Kieran?” You call, folding up the canvas as you come to his side.

“You have no idea.” He sighs, looking dejectedly at Boaz who huffs at him and stays in place. If he had arms, they would be crossed in unimpressed protest.

Bo stands a few feet away, happily grazing on a lump of soggy hay. Definitely not a picky eater, you laugh to yourself.

“Bo.” You call, whistling.

He looks up, nickering happily when he sees you. He trots over, nudging at your head, and you press a kiss to his nose.

“Take him over, Kieran.” You nod.

Kieran sighs, taking Bo’s reins limply, already prepared for another embarrassing defeat.

But Bo just sniffs, leading Kieran away as if he were the horse instead. Kieran sighs in relief, “Thank you, Bo.”

As Bo and Kieran meander off, you nudge Boaz to follow, who seems to get the hint and trudges over, followed by Old Boy and Brown Jack.

Slowly but surely, the horses trickle over to the new space, and Kieran grows more and more at ease as more of the horses take your lead.

With only two horses remaining, you tie your skirt up at the hem, grabbing the Count’s reins in one hand and Taima’s in the other. They hesitate for a moment, before following you forwards.

“And I thought I was good with horses!” Kieran beams, giving you an appreciative nod, “Thank you for helping, miss.”

“Of course-”

“Bollocks!”

You and Kieran jump at the sudden, Irish outburst.

Sean seems to have drawn the short straw, or is currently being punished by Hosea, because he is attempting to independently push one of the wagons out of the mud.

And looking positively pathetic as he huffs and heaves while trying to shove the wagon.

You lose the battle against laughing, trying to hold it in but a chuckle escapes your pressed lips. Sean looks up, and his eyes widen when he notices you’re watching.

Clearing his throat, Sean nods at you, “Lass.”

“Mr MacGuire.”

He presses his lips together, rolling up his sleeves dramatically. He takes a big breath, before throwing his body against the wagon.

It doesn't budge.

It’s strange to see Kieran looking at someone pityingly, “Do you need some help?”

“Shaddup, O’driscoll!”

“Not an O’driscoll.” You and Kieran say. He smiles at you, avoiding your eyes as you chuckle.

The horses notice the lack of human supervision, and Baylock tries to make a break for the old land, with Boaz on his tail.

“No, come on guys!” Kieran yells as he runs back to them, herding them back to their new home.

Turning back to Sean, you put your hands on your hips, “I don't think that's moving.”

“It-’s almost- there- woah!”

A slippery patch of mud sends the wagon sliding forwards, much too quickly for Sean to regain his balance. He falls into a heap into the floor, making a loud squelch against the mud.

“Sean!” You shout, a laugh escaping you as you rush forward to help him.

Pulling him from the mud, he looks up at you with a somber face, half covered in mud. He spits out a mouthful, mumbling words that you don't understand.

You wipe off the mud from his nose, looking at him and bursting out in hysterics.

“Aw, you look like Bill Williamson.” You point to the mud surrounding his mouth.

“How absolutely dare you- ow…” Sean winces, rolling his wrist with a grimace, “Definitely fell on that wrong.”

“Here, let me look.” Laughs stifled, you extend your hand to his.

He shows you his wrist, a grimace on his face. Looking it over, you carefully run your fingers over the sharp bones and wiry muscle. Sean hisses when you out pressure to his joints.

“Think you might have sprained it.” You sigh, “It's not broken, but it'll hurt for a while."

“Gah, ain't too bad then.” Sean shrugs, though he fails to hide his scrunched up look.

“If you were a horse, you would be shot before you go lame.” You smirked.

“Hardy har, she's a comedian.”

You just giggle, rolling up your sleeves, “Let’s get this thing out of the mud, then we can swap jokes.”

Sean rolls his eyes playfully, wiping off some mud on his face before coming to your side at the back of the wagon.

“I’ll push it, it isn't too big.” And you’re not lying when you say this. It’s the cart used for simple journeys taking supplies, a donkey could pull it.

But Sean doubts your abilities, huffing out a laugh while he wipes mud off his hat.

“Just warning you, it's heavier than it looks.” He says, “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

You brace your hands beside his, giving it a sturdy shove and sending it forward.

It moves easily, the strength you have gained from hunting, riding and running coming in useful once again. Looking over your shoulder victoriously, you’ve earned a look of pure astonishment from the Irishman, before his face falls and he gives you a playful pout.

“...show off.” Sean grumbles, traipsing after you as you push the wagon further into camp.

Lenny whistles as he passes the both of you. He’s covered in muck, clearly also fighting a losing battle against sorting out the camp.

“You sure are helpful, miss.” He muses, before rolling his eyes at Sean moping behind you, “And stronger than this buffoon, clearly. Bet you could push that thing with me on it.”

“Hop on if you want.” You joke.

He chuckles, prodding at Sean’s wounded arm. The two squabble behind you, indignant defences from Sean and quips from his friend.

Trying to look over the top, directing the wagon towards the shore of the lake, most people avoid your path respectfully.

But Micah Bell nearly walks right into you, a sneer on his face and his hands full of weapons. He huffs out a laugh at Sean's expense, “Need a woman to do your job for you, Irishman?”

“Notice how no-one's offering to help you?” You say as you pass, noting the gun that has fallen out of his arms.

Sean gives Micah a goofy, self satisfied grin, “She's entranced by my Irish charm.”

He clicks his heels, making you and Lenny laugh.

Before long, you're depositing the wagon by the horses. You and Lenny share a smile and a wave before he returns to helping with rebuilding tents.

Sean goes to the water's edge, squatting to cup water and wash it over his face. It’s ineffective with only one hand, but every time he lifts the other, he winces. Dramatically, you know. Sprains ache but you’ve had enough to know he's exaggerating.

With a pout, he looks up at you “Help a poor, injured fella out?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but relent to his puppy dog eyes. Pulling a rag from the laundry pile, you join his side, dunking the rag to wet it before bringing it to his mug.

Sean watches you as you drag the cold fabric over his chin, cleaning the mud off before washing it out in the waves of the lake.

“Big baby.” You chide.

He gives you another frown, batting his eyes at you, and you splash water at him. He guffaws, shaking his head like a dog when the water gets in his hair.

“Mean.” He says, but smiles when you resume washing the last bit of dirt off his cheek.

Once he's clean, you look over his face, taking a moment to admire his tiny freckles and crooked nose.

“There’s that handsome face.”

Sean blushes redder than his hair, clearing his throat. You stand and ring out the rag, tossing it back the laundry pile and leaving the bright red Irishman without another word.

He watches you leave, you pretend not to notice.

The camp has settled in for the night, newly constructed tents on the bank, and a campfire on the shore of Flat Iron Lake.

Home sweet home, for now.

Uncle had already fallen asleep face down in the sand, and people have started betting on whether or not the tide will sweep him out before dawn.

The gang is in high spirits despite all of the chaos.

Javier plays a light hearted song and the remaining alcohol is distributed. Even Charles has had a good few, laughing along to one of Hosea’s stories.

You’re quietly enjoying the atmosphere, sitting with John as the both of you listen to the sound of music and laughter.

You don't even realise he's dozing until his head begins resting on your shoulder.

Deciding he should better go to sleep, you rise and take his hand, leading him to the lean-to he's been sharing with Javier.

Once he’s down, snug as a bug in the salvaged blankets you wrap him in, you walk over to one of the only surviving tables, taking a moment to yourself with a borrowed cigarette from Mary-Beth.

Smoking is new to you, and it's entirely unpleasant. But it calms your mind as you bask in a moment of solitude.

It’s like you summoned the mouthy Irishman by asking the universe for peace and quiet.

Lo and behold, Sean strolls past you, carrying a crate of bottles towards the main campfire while whistling a tune.

You narrow your eyes looking at his supposedly mortally injured wrist being used to carry a heavy looking crate without any fuss from him. He looks almost cartoonish with his bouncing stride and smirking face.

Fucker just wanted princess treatment, huh? You think to yourself.

A turn of his head and Sean sees you.

Eyes widening, he drops the crate with a racket of rattling glass, dramatically grasping his wrist like a soldier fresh from the battlefield.

“Oh, my wrist!” He winces, leaning against your table, “Oh, it's pure agony, I’m telling ya.”

You huff out a laugh, blowing smoke at him, “Is that so?"

“Oh aye, aye. Thought I could carry that crate, out on a brace face. But lordie am I in pain, you’ve never known the likes of it.”

“Right.” You chuckle, “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Ah, I don't know.” He makes a show of thinking, rubbing his ‘sprained' wrist, “Haven't ya got any special healing powers or nothing? Karen mentioned yer a spooky witch or something of the like.”

You snort, “If I did, I wouldn't have needed to be saved by Dutch after getting shot saving you outlaws.”

Sean joins in your laughter, before he stops, looking you up and down appreciatively, “Oh… well, maybe there's something you can do…”

He’s shameless.

Narrowing your eyes, you finish your cigarette and give him a scrutinising look, “Oh? And what's that, Mr MacGuire?”

“Maybe you could kiss it better?” Sean suggests, voice low with obvious flirtation.

“That's all?” You ask, leaning forward, “You could have just said.”

Sean’s smirk drops, taken aback, “Wait, really?”

“Sure.” You shrug, standing, “It's just a kiss.”

He stares at you, and you can practically see the cogs turning.

Taking your hand, he leads you away from the rest of the camp, away from prying eyes, “A special healing kiss demands privacy.”

He pulls you into a tent, shrouded by darkness away from the campfire’s warm glow.

You raise your eyebrows when you realise whose it is, “This is Hosea’s tent-”

You're silenced by Sean’s lips.

Taken aback, you freeze. He stops, looking at you worriedly.

You stare at him, before shaking your head, “Fuck it.” This time, you kiss him.

Sean kisses like he does everything else, unmeasurable amounts of energy, little skill. But it's good, in a messy way.

You lean into it, arms wrapping around his neck to grasp onto his scruffy hair, knocking his hat off in the process.

“I thought-” kiss, “You wanted-” kiss, “Me to-” kiss, “kiss your wrist-” You say in between kisses.

“Nah my wrists fine, it's my lips that hurt.” Sean pouts against you, “Need you to kiss em better.”

His tongue seeks entry, and who are you to deny him?

It’s heated, your hands gripping onto his hair, his hands gripping onto your waist. You mesh together greedily, seeking the warmth of each other's bodies.

Sean nips at your bottom lip; and you frown against him. You can feel him harden against your hip.

“Fuck, get that skirt up.” He groans, gripping the fabric of your dress, “If I don't have my face between yer legs in the next five seconds, I think I’ll die.”

You giggle breathlessly, letting him push up your skirts to the tops of your thighs as he drops to his knees.

With nothing to balance on, you almost topple over when he begins biting your inner thighs, teeth scraping against soft flesh. Sean tugs at your ankle to push your thigh over his shoulder, steadying you while also opening you up to him.

“No underthings?”

“The ones I borrowed got wet.”

He groans, “Yer bloody spectacular.”

You barely have a second to brace yourself before he’s burying his face against your cunt.

Gasping, you grab onto his head, finger nails stretching against his scalp. Your other hand comes up to your mouth, teeth sinking down onto your knuckles as Sean begins devouring you.

Kitten-licks to your clit, digging his tongue into your hole, groans coming from his mouth sending vibrations against you. His hand leaves your ankle to plunge two fingers into you.

It’s too much too quick, your orgasm begins riding close to the surface with startling speed and urgency.

Sean shakes his head like a dog, mouthing at your cunt like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Biting on your knuckles, you mewl out as you cum against his mouth, shaking and gasping out, murmurs of Sean's name on your lips.

He doesn't let up, sucking on your clit with possibly even more vigour. You whine, trying to move away, but he locks his hands around your thighs, pulling you back.

“Sean- too much.”

He groans, saying something against your pussy, sounding suspiciously like “Nuh uh.”

“Sean…” You laugh breathlessly, squirming.

Reluctantly, he pulls his head back, looking up at you with blown out pupils and mess all over his face.

“Haven't eaten something this good in years.” Sean sighs against you, mouthing at your inner thigh as he catches his own breath, “It’s just mean to take it from me.”

You roll your eyes, but run your fingers through his hair affectionately, “Fine, just… gentler.”

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

He returns to his ministrations, though making an effort to take more care. His tongue runs along your cunt gently, drinking up everything he can find, kissing your clit with his own moans.

Another, smaller orgasm runs through you, making you clench your thighs against his head. He breathes out a quiet, “fuck yes”, as if he wishes you would keep him locked in place forever.

You’re tempted to do just that.

After a moment, he rises to his feet. His hands grasp your hips, kissing your face, “Let me fuck you? Please?”

“Well… seeing as you asked so politely.” You chuckle, nudging your nose against his stubbly cheek.

Sean smiles giddily, like the cat who got the cream. A flash of fear crosses his face, eyebrows furrowing, “Dutch won’t kill me, will he?”

“Nah. He hasn't killed John yet.”

Sean whistles, “You naughty, naughty girl.”

Separating, the both of you begin hastily tearing off your clothes. Your skirt and shirt are in a pile across the room, and you get comfy on the bedroll, hot skin shivering against the cold blankets.

“Knew you were a minx when I saw you in the woods.” Sean says, pulling his shirt off.

“Oh?”

“You’ve got the look.” He smirks, “A siren, you are, luring us sailors in.”

“I hadn't done anything before Dutch.” You laugh, shredding the last of your garments and stretching out on the bedroll.

“No way.”

“Way.” Leaning forward, you tug Sean close by his belt, “I guess something's been awoken in me.”

“And aren't we a bunch of lucky fuckers for gaining your affections.” Sean groans, cupping your cheeks and kissing you deeply.

You lie back as Sean removes his belt, busying your hands by playing with the blanket below.

Sean steps out of his trousers, and clears his throat for your attention, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Your eyes land on his cock. Both Dutch and John had been impressive, and Sean was… less than. Smaller than them both, nestled amongst wiry red curls.

But Sean stands proudly, gesturing to his hard member with a flourish, “Meet MacGuire junior!”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head at him while you cover your face. You’re starting to really like this silly guy.

“Don’t laugh at him, he’ll get shy!” Sean fake pouts.

“I’m sorry.” You apologise, not at all genuinely.

“It ain’t much, but trust me I know how to use it.” He smirks, confidently sauntering over to where you recline.

He climbs on top of you, settling between your thighs with a satisfied sigh. You press your knees to his sides, bringing him close while he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Perfect, just where I’m supposed to be.” He murmurs as he begins peppering kisses along your bare chest.

Sean reaches down, one hand gripping your thigh while the other lines himself up with your entrance. It takes a few seconds of fumbling, while you press your lips together to avoid laughing again.

You feel him press against you, before Sean thrusts forward until he’s buried to the hilt. The both of you let out groans, relief filling you at being filled.

Sean sighs, shutting his eyes as he begins fucking into you, humming to himself as he increases the pace, wasting no time before he begins pounding into you.

“Oh… oh, yes…” Sean moans, “That’s the ticket.”

He’s about to start monologging, you sigh internally.

You silence him with a kiss, which he hungrily receives. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you urge him to keep going.

Sean is greedy as he takes you, hands running over every inch of skin he can find, hips slamming against yours, desperate for the warmth and pleasure of your cunt.

His pace is quick, hard, and uneven. He clearly had less experience than he likes to lead on, and he’s working with less equipment than most men.

Given all of those facts, you would have thought sex with Sean would be sorely disappointing

You’re pleasantly surprised.

Something about the feral way he fucks you hits perfectly, and you have to separate from the kiss to moan out. His hand travels down to your clit, running it vigorously and making you cry out and clench down on him.

Nothing about this is slow, it’s fast like the steam trains you watched from a safe distance.

Sean chokes out a high pitched moan, shuddering on top of you. He only gets louder with every pump of his cock within you, and he tries to silence himself by sucking on your chest.

You keen, arching against him as he sucks on one of your pebbled nipples, teeth nipping and sending jolts of electricity through your spine.

Sean adjusts his position. He sits back on his haunches and grabs your hips, pulling you up and down his cock. Sean’s pelvis catches your clit, and you arch against him, letting him use you as he desires.

You’re surrounded by a cacophony of moans and slick sounds, the tent echoing all the delicious noises produced by your writhing bodies.

It’s filthy, it’s messy, it’s ravenous, like you’re both animals in the wild.

Sean damn near sounds like an animal, in any case. His volume increases as he gets closer, crying out and moaning.

“Oh god, oh yes- almost there-!” Sean whines, body shaking as he jackhammers into you, head thrown back.

Another jolting thrust hits your clit just right, and you shake as your third orgasm erupts through you.

Sean grins when he feels it, prideful of making you peak again. His face twists into an ecstatic grimace as he twitches and begins cumming.

“Oh, oh, oh!” He howls out, his hips flush against yours, warmth spreading through your insides.

He collapses on top of you, keeping himself nestled deep within you as he huffs out warm breath against your neck.

Something about the situation, and what just happened, makes you begin giggling, cackling like a mad woman while Sean huffs.

“Can’t believe- you're laughing again.” Sean groans between taking panting breaths, “Like I didn't just fuck the shit outta you.”

You huff, “Don't know about all that.”

He lifts himself up to rest his chin on your sternum, adjusting his hips to get into a comfortable position while keeping his softening cock inside of you.

“How’s MacGuire junior feelin’ now, love?” Sean asks teasingly.

“Shut up.” You scoff, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear, “How’s that wrist feeling?”

“Better.” He sighs, “Still need that magic kiss, though.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Taking his hand in yours, you press your lips to his inner wrist, nuzzling against the skin.

He gives you a sleepy smile, kissing your cheek. For a moment, it's just you and Silly MacGuire, and the world outside has ceased to exist-

The moment is cut short when someone dangerously close to the tent yells out, “Who left this crate here?!”

It’s Hosea.

Sean’s eyes widen, panicked as he looks out into the horizon, visualising his own imminent demise. You press your face to his chest to muffle the laugh threatening to escape you.

“...Oh he’s gonna kill me.” Sean sighs.

AN/ i don't care about canon, MY sean macguire would eat pussy until he suffocated. he'd literally get lost in the sauce. literally those videos of those cats who shove their whole face into their food until their owner has to pull them back by the scruff of their necks.

wrote the smut on my break while listening to chase icon and smoking a cheeky fag hope it hits xoxo

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee @straows @bixjan

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l4ndonorizz · 9 months ago

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cooking stream gone wrong / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: disclosure - latch

summary: cooking stream is not something lando does often, but when he does it's worth it. and gossip is his middle name.

wc: 1.3k

“Alright, we’re live!” Lando grinned at the camera, adjusting his headset as you stood beside him in the kitchen, waving to his thousands of Twitch followers tuning in for what was supposed to be a simple, fun cooking stream.

“Say hi!” he nudged you with his elbow, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

“Hi, everyone!” you laughed, feeling a little awkward but excited at the same time. Cooking was not your strong suit, but Lando had convinced you it would be fun—how hard could making pasta be?

“So, here’s the plan,” Lando started, turning back to the camera. “We’re going to make...well, attempt to make some pasta. Easy, right? We’ve got everything set up, and—”

“And by ‘set up,’ you mean we threw everything onto the counter and hoped for the best,” you interrupted, earning a laugh from Lando as the chat started flooding with comments.

"Lando can’t even boil water."

"This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?"

"Who’s the better cook?"

Lando squinted at the screen, reading the comments. “Who’s the better cook? Honestly, neither of us, but I think I’ve got this. Easy win,” he said, confidently reaching for the flour to start mixing the dough.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s see how that confidence holds up when we burn your kitchen.”

As you both got to work, the chaos started almost immediately. Lando spilled flour all over the counter while trying to measure it, and you couldn’t stop laughing as he attempted to save it by brushing the mess into a pile.

“Mate, I’m a racing driver, not a chef!” he exclaimed, looking at the camera as if that excused the growing disaster in front of him. The chat was already spamming laughing emojis.

“And yet, here we are,” you said, reaching for the eggs. “Okay, let’s at least try to make the dough...not a total failure.”

A few minutes later, you both had something that vaguely resembled dough, though it was sticking to your hands and the countertop. You exchanged glances, trying not to burst out laughing.

“This...doesn’t feel right,” you said, holding up your sticky hands.

Lando shook his head, grinning as he swiped some flour from the counter and smeared it across your cheek. “You’re doing great.”

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. “Seriously? You’re just making it worse!”

The chat exploded with more comments.

"What’s happening here?"

"This stream is pure chaos."

"They are so bad at this!"

“Alright, alright, let’s focus. We’re gonna make this work,” Lando said, trying to regain control of the situation. “We just need to roll it out, right?”

You nodded, grabbing the rolling pin. But, in true chaotic fashion, you accidentally knocked over the bag of flour, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Both of you froze for a moment, staring at the mess before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

“Okay, this is an absolute disaster,” you managed to say between laughs, wiping the flour from your face.

“Disaster? Nah, this is quality content,” Lando grinned, gesturing to the camera as he brushed the flour off his shirt. “Everyone loves a bit of chaos.”

The chat seemed to agree, with viewers sending donations and spamming messages about how this was the funniest stream they’d seen in a while.

With the dough finally rolled out (though not exactly perfectly), you both moved on to boiling the water. Lando confidently set the pot on the stove, turning up the heat.

“See? Easy,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “We’ve totally got this.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you warned, but the damage was already done.

Just a few minutes later, the water started boiling over, steam rising from the pot. Lando scrambled to turn down the heat while you frantically grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.

“I said don’t jinx it!” you laughed, trying to keep the chaos under control.

“Okay, okay, I might’ve messed that one up,” Lando admitted, wiping his forehead dramatically for the camera. “But we’re still going strong!”

As the chaos in the kitchen continued, you both got more and more caught up in the moment. Between the flour, the boiling water, and the laughter, it was easy to forget about the camera still rolling. The playful banter between you and Lando became more flirtatious as the minutes passed, and you couldn’t help but notice how close you were standing to each other now.

Lando leaned in, a grin on his face as he pretended to offer you a bite of the pasta that had somehow ended up slightly burnt. “Care for a taste, chef?”

You laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Oh, I’ll pass. Looks like you’re trying to poison me.”

But instead of pulling away, Lando stayed close, his hand resting gently on your waist. The playful energy shifted, and suddenly, the laughter faded, replaced by an unfamiliar tension. His eyes stayed on yours, the teasing glint in them softening as the air between you thickened.

You felt your pulse quicken, your heart racing in your chest. "Lando..." you started, unsure if you should break the moment or let it take its course.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, and before you could even process it, his hand slid up your side, pulling you closer. His lips found yours, softly at first, as if testing the waters, but then something shifted, and the kiss deepened with an urgency neither of you had anticipated.

Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt as you kissed him back, completely caught up in the moment. Everything else faded away—the kitchen, the mess, the stream. It was just you and Lando, lost in a kiss that felt far more intense than anything you’d ever shared before.

His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. You could feel the counter digging into your back, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the way his lips moved over yours, the way your heart raced uncontrollably in your chest.

Then suddenly, the shrill sound of a phone ringing pierced through the haze.

You both froze, your lips still inches apart, breathing heavily as reality crashed back into the room. Lando’s phone continued ringing, and you blinked in confusion, your mind scrambling to catch up with what had just happened.

Lando reached for his phone, glancing at the screen with wide eyes. “It’s Max,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Lando answered the call with trembling fingers. “Uh...hey, Max.”

“Bro,” Max’s voice came through the speaker, half-amused, half-panicked. “Are you guys seriously still streaming? Because, uh...you’re about two seconds away from getting banned for...whatever the hell you were just doing on that counter.”

Lando’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced at the camera, finally realizing that the chat was still going crazy. His hand shot out to shut off the stream, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You stood there in stunned silence, your face burning with embarrassment as you covered your mouth with your hand. How could you have forgotten about the stream?

“Well,” Lando finally said, breaking the silence after what felt like an eternity. “That...happened.”

You let out a nervous laugh, still feeling the lingering heat from the kiss. “Yeah. That definitely happened.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly still trying to process everything. He looked at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and something else—something unspoken.

Before either of you could say anything more, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I guess...we’re going to have some explaining to do, huh?”

You nodded, still breathless from the chaos of the last few minutes. “Yeah. But...I don’t regret it.”

Lando grinned, a hint of that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Neither do I.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 one shot #formula 1 #lando imagine #lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando x reader #Spotify

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harmonyrae · 27 days ago

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Vow - Part 3

Synopsis: You need to fix this. It’s not about protection anymore, you need him. Just him. And what you don’t know yet… he needs you too.

AN: I've decided to post shorter parts instead of ~20k chapters. It means I can post more often and enjoy the process a lil more. I can also provide more cliffhangers. Smile. Cover image from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: Explicit language & sexual themes, serious injuries, blood, graphic violence & implied death, medical terms/procedures described, HEAVY praise kink, Cunnilingus, Genital Piercings, Dom!Sylus & Domestic!Sylus in one chapter (delicious), Sub/Brat!FMC (reader), Mating Press (yas pls), 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8.1k

Sylus’s POV

She hates you. She thinks you’re a monster. And she’s right. Becoming the leader of Onychinus wasn’t exactly agreed upon over a business luncheon. You killed for the right to bare the title. But it's not all about violence and illegal protocore trading, you’ve made an impact. Legal businesses, safe places to live, it’s better than it was when you arrived. But she’ll only ever see your darkness.

You’re not even paying attention to how fast you’re going at this point. You know the roads to take, the alleys to avoid and officers won’t pull you over. Police in the Zone have given up chasing your bike - they know better. You also pay most of them to keep their noses clean. Yes, technically they’re still dirty cops since they’re taking a bribe, but they’re actually protecting people now that they’re well paid.

A warehouse on the water, your intel wasn’t rock solid, but it was enough to go off of. You’ll burn the whole complex down if you need to. Once you spot the Escalade you try to ignore the feeling of disappointment. A little arson would have been nice.

You park your bike behind a box truck and remove your helmet. With every step closer to the entryway, you feel the ground pulse with energy, you sense 6 distinct sources. One of which is approaching the door you need to get through. Wouldn’t it be nice…

“Fuck –”

The man who swings open the door immediately recognizes you, but he’s thrown back before he can utter another word. Chaos ensues as the other men rise to their feet and unholster their weapons. To your surprise, their weapons are advanced and definitely use protocore power. Seems Onychinus has a rat, Volkova has been building his arsenal with your weapons.

Okay, well, maybe the rat is doing you a favor, these weapons are absolute shit. Letting the bullets phase through you is easier than dodging at this point, so when half of their guns jam it just means time saved. You disarm the men, their guns dismantled and displaced. A stray bullet from the man upstairs rips through your jacket and into your upper back. You’re accustomed to pain, but it still stings like a bitch.

“Annoying…” You mutter.

The man disintegrates where he stands. The other men, who’ve barely regained their footing, barrel towards you. Paying them half-a-mind, you continue walking to the back office where your primary target most likely has dick in his hand, celebrating a victory that hasn’t come to pass. He really needs to stop doing that, has he learned nothing?

A knife wedges itself deep between your ribs. If it was a normal knife you would have laughed, but Volkova has smuggled protocore knives from Linkon. Of course he has. The knife erupts, sending a burst of heat through your side. Falling forward, you try to yank it out, but two men pile on top of you.

“I got him!”

“Sure about that?”

One’s sent straight up in the air, knocking the other man aside. You pull the knife free and roll over. As the man descends, you hold out your arm so he lands directly on the knife, the blade buried in his stomach. Using his corpse as a weapon, you fling him across the room to knock down the other men. With the rest of them unconscious, you brush yourself off and try to ignore the brutal sting in your side.

You bring the only worthwhile weapon in the room back to you with a snap of your fingers. A knife with explosive capabilities that localizes to the wound? Sure, you’ll keep this one. You wipe the blood off on your pants and head into the next room.

As soon as you’re inside, a door flies open and a large man - no, large isn’t the right word… A colossal, behemoth, a monstrosity of man steps through. You didn’t realize the Hulk’s body was attainable. He doesn’t have a weapon, he doesn’t need one, he is one. Your mind buzzes with anticipation, immediately calculating the size of the room, your current injuries dampening your evol, his fist size… This one might hurt.

“Malen'kiy chelovek, ukhodi.”

“I’ve never been called little before. Well��”

She had suggested “Lil S” as a nickname. The way her eyes twinkled as she giggled, so pleased with herself. Did she get home safely?

“Malen'kiy chelovek umret.”

Damn, your Russian is rusty.

“Bol'shoy chelovek, zatknis' nakhuy.”

Big man is not pleased, telling this beast of a man to shut the fuck up may have been a bad move. But he did just threaten to kill you, so it’s only fair. He roars and only needs three steps to reach you. His massive hand is around your throat and if your evol hadn’t been on autopilot, your head would be rolling across the floor like a bouncy ball right now. You grunt and gasp as he lifts you up, your feet kicking to find some kind of leverage.

The knife in your hand rips through his suit and slices at the flesh of his forearms. He shouts and hurls you across the room, so this is what it feels like… Your body slams into the wall and the room dims for a moment. Ears ringing, blood trickling down your forehead, a few bones definitely broken, you lay on the floor and regain control of your lungs. Your giant friend stalks over. You keep your eyes closed, feeling the vibrations through the floor, his energy pattern forming a bright outline behind your eyelids. Closer, just a bit closer.

“Malen'kiy chelovek ne sootvetstvuyet legende.”

Rude, he’s catching you on an off day, you write your own legends of course they’re accurate. He crouches and your eyes flutter open, barely able to make out his face as he blocks out the light above you. But his smile is unmistakable.

“Arrogant…”

With your last bit of energy, you roll and jab the knife between his eyes. The son-of-a-bitch staggers and falls forward. Sitting up on your knees you put all your body weight onto the knife, ending the poor bastard's miserable existence. You have to use your foot to pull the knife free, like hell you’re leaving it now.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve emerged from a fight looking bloody and beaten. And you haven’t even confronted Volkova. You sigh and limp up the stairs to the final door, only one pulse of energy is in this room. Kicking the door in, you see Volkova lounging in an armchair in the corner, like he’s been waiting for you.

A monitor on his desk flashes, scenes of the wreckage you’ve caused. You smile.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Volkova stands, walking to the desk to lean against the edge.

“Watching you get thrown around was certainly entertaining.”

You take a cautious step forward, then another, slowly closing the distance.

“You should learn to fall from grace with… well, grace. Maybe then you’ll finally earn the respect you crave.”

He smiles and lifts a hand to run his fingers through his beard.

“You think I haven’t noticed? How your plot to fuck me over by using her has become… well… Sylus, you’re the one who told me that happy endings don’t work out for men like us. Or do I have to remind you of what happened last time you tried?”

Your scream is raw and unfiltered, barely recognizable. He doesn’t get to mention her. You lunge for him, tackling him over the desk to the floor. He lands a punch to your jaw which knocks you back. He tries to get on top of you, but you send your knee into his gut. You’ve hit your limit, there’s no energy left in your tank. So you rely on your training, forcing the knife in your hand against his throat. The asshole smiles, even as a trail of blood begins to stain his shirt collar.

“Touched a nerve? What makes her so special?”

“She’s mine.”

You flip the knife around and place the tip over his heart. He glares at you, his wicked smile remains, making your head pound. The pressure behind your eyes becomes unbearable and the familiar silence that precedes the glow begins. Volkova notices, you’re sure of it, because he finally shuts his mouth. A voice, you know it to be your own, but ancient and rigid, echoes through the small office.

“The only reason you are still alive is because of her. An angel begging the devil to change his ways. You will leave the N109 Zone. You will stay away from her. Or you will watch everything you’ve built, everything you care about, burn before you have the honor of meeting your fate. Do you understand me?”

Volkova nods, but his eyes tell a different story. His rage knows no bounds, but he’s finally afraid. Like he should have been all along.

By the time you reach your bike the front of your shirt is soaked in sweat and blood. If you can make it home without crashing you’ll have a hell of a mess to clean up. What if she left? The thought sobers you and you push your bike to the limit to carry you home.

Stumbling through the elevator door, you nearly collapse onto the entry table. Taking small steps, you carefully shed your clothing. Your favorite jacket ruined with a large caliber exit through the front, shredding the leather holding the sleeve up. Your previously ash gray tank top stained brown with drying blood, a tear where the knife pushed through. Even your gloves are soaked as you peel them off, droplets of blood drip off your fingertips.

The door to the bathroom slams against the wall, so much for being quiet. You close the door with your foot and limp to the sink, opening the mirror cabinet to retrieve the medkit and a few extra bandages. You look back and realize the mess you’ve made, footprints, a smear over the door, the sink spotted. Opting to use the shower as your recovery room, you slide down the cool tile wall. You hold a gauze pad over the wound on your side and close your eyes.

“Come on… Come on…”

If only willpower was enough to refuel your evol. It’ll be awhile before you’re strong enough to close these wounds. Searching through the medkit you find some antiseptic wipes and spray, surgical tape and compression bandages. A single spritz of the spray has you groaning, why does that sting so goddamn much…

You’ve barely secured the compression bandage when a wave of dizziness overwhelms you. Resting your head against the shower wall, you hold pressure on the leaking wound to your side. With your other hand you feel your pants pockets only to realize you’ve left your phone in your jacket. Which is out in the hallway. Which is too far for you to crawl at this moment in time. You should have called Zayne before driving home… There’s another option, but she’s probably asleep. And she hates you.

Waking up after crying yourself to sleep is never pleasant. Your eyes are puffy, your nose is stuffy, your head hurts, your pillow is wet with tears. You sit up slowly and press your palms over your eyes. You’ll never be able to go back to sleep with a headache like this. You need to wash your face again, maybe that will help.

You wrap a throw blanket around your shoulders and shuffle out the door. The kitchen is dark, but you don’t want to risk Sylus finding out you’re awake. If he’s even home… You grab a water bottle out of the fridge and lean against the counter to down half of it. The “medical stuff” box is still in your closet, you might have some painkillers in there.

As you walk back to your room, you notice the light by the elevator is still on. It’s automatic, which means Sylus must have just come home not that long ago. You take another step, but a heap on the floor by the elevator stops you. Curiosity gets the better of you and you get closer. It’s his jacket… And there’s muddy footprints all over the place.

It’s not raining.

You look closer and cover your mouth to swear under your breath. It’s blood. You shrug off the blanket around your shoulders and toss it over a chair in the entryway. Following the bloody trail down the hallway, you find a smear of blood on the door to the bathroom. Just as you’re about to open the door you hear a low groan. Panic overwhelms you and before you can stop to consider what you’re walking in on, you throw open the door.

Jumping over the bloody boot prints, you enter the room and immediately spot Sylus sitting in the shower. You rush over to him and crouch down, dropping to your knees next to him. He’s patched himself up as best he can, but you can already tell there are a few wounds that need sutures. He hasn’t looked up so you assume he’s unconscious. You reach across his lap to retrieve the medkit beside him and scream when he grabs your wrist.

“Fuck! Sylus… oh my god, I thought you were unconscious. What happened?”

“I’m fine.”

His voice is strained and his breathing is labored. You’ve been a doctor long enough to know better. Why is he being so stubborn?

“You’re bleeding, you’re obviously not fine.”

“My evol will… fix it… I just need time… “

“Well your evol isn’t fixing it fast enough, you’ll bleed out. Let me –”

“Just go. I’m fine.”

“Sylus, stop. Let me help you.”

Is he pushing you away because he’s angry? Or because he’s in pain and doesn’t want you to see him like this? It doesn’t matter, you’re not going to let him bleed out. You grab the medkit and take inventory of the tools you have at your disposal. It’s not much, but you’ll make do. You reach out to lift the gauze on his side that is soaked through, but he stops you.

“Sylus…”

“Go.”

“No, I’m not leaving!”

He tries to move away, but you grab his shoulder making him wince.

“Sylus. Stop.”

He closes his eyes, he won’t admit defeat, but he won’t keep pushing you away. You’ll take what you can get at this point. You replace the gauze on his side and stand to scavenge through the medicine cabinet. To your surprise, you find another medkit with a small sewing kit inside. The kit labels the thread as a nylon material, so you hurry to the sink to wash your hands. When you turn around you see Sylus look away. You’d forgotten you were only wearing a thin t-shirt and panties to bed. It’s not like you’re going to throw on scrubs, he’s seen everything now… You return to his side and put on a pair of gloves out of the first medkit and sanitize the needle.

“You’re wasting your time, they’ll be closed by morning.”

“I don’t care.”

You clean the area as best you can and hold the wound closed. Sylus grabs your hand again.

“I don’t need –”

“Sylus, stop it! You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had! Now sit still and shut the fuck up!”

He stares at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell if he’s angry or amused, but it seems he’s done fighting. He lets you go and leans back. He winces and swears under his breath as you begin suturing his wound closed. You work quickly since you don’t have any anesthetic and if you think about the sight in front of you for too much longer, your hands will start to shake. You spread an antibiotic cream around the edges of the wound and place another bandage on top.

The bruises forming over his ribcage and on his jaw are massive, but they seem to fluctuate, like a pulse. He said his evol would “fix it” - so he can self-heal? His body must be trying so hard to repair the damage. Patching up a few of his wounds may help his evol replenish faster. You don’t stop, suturing the exit wound on his chest next before having him lean forward to address the entry point.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Once you finish, he rolls his shoulder to test the strength of your stitches. You take his hand again, opening your own to begin cooling your skin with your evol. Tiny snow crystals form over your fingers. But before you can cover the swollen skin he, once again, pulls back.

“Why didn’t you go to Zayne?”

He remains silent. You rest your frosted hand over the bandage on his chest and he gasps, but he still refuses to look at you. His avoidance only irritates you further and your eyes soon glaze over with tears. You always cry when you’re mad and right now, you’re positively livid.

“Sylus, you could have died. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, it doesn’t matter. I bleed, heal, rinse and repeat.”

“So what? You almost bleed out in a bathroom and you what? You don’t care?”

“And you do?”

“Stop it!”

“What?”

He looks away, but you grab his jaw and pull his focus back to you. He flinches as you hold his slightly swollen jaw still.

“Stop acting like if something happened to you it wouldn’t matter.”

“Would it?”

You slam your other hand down against the wall beside his head. As you hover over him, he just watches you, his once vibrant eyes vacant and misty. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t aimlessly flirt or fight with this man and watch him return to you battered and bloody. Because one day, he might not return at all.

“It would matter to me.”

“Why?” He whispers.

“Because yours is too…”

He remains silent, his lips try to form words but fail, so you continue.

“Your life is important to me. I don’t… I…I can’t lose you…”

Ignoring the fear, the worry, the doubt, the inconvenient timing, you grab his face and dive forward to kiss him. Your tender kiss becomes feral as soon as he grabs onto your hips, dragging you onto his lap. He groans into your mouth, his aching jaw long forgotten as he holds onto you, digging his fingers into your bare thighs.

You suck on his bottom lip which earns you a delicious moan. A gentle bite and a smile forms on his kiss-swollen lips. Your hands thread through his hair, keeping him in place to continue your attack. It’s all teeth and tongue and gasps and groans, your mind goes blank as you surrender to the ecstasy of simply being close to this man. His fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, you roll your hips as you press your body against his. The unmistakable hardness of his cock strains against his jeans, you can feel him shake as you roll your hips a second time.

“Angel…”

He mumbles against your lips as he tries to break away. You kiss his cheek, his jaw, and continue down his neck. His breathing is staggered, his cocky laugh not so cocky.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You sit back and grab the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head and dropping it to the floor beside him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, not sure where to look first. Your flushed face, your glistening skin, your heaving breasts, your nipples just begging to be touched and bitten. You press your naked chest against his, his nipple rings providing a chill that sends a shiver down your spine. His hands travel up your back, his warm palms keeping you pinned against him.

“Yes… Sylus please…” You whisper against his ear.

He places a gentle kiss to the center of your chest, continuing along your collarbone and up the side of your neck. Your head tilts back and your eyes close. The wet heat of his tongue dragging along the center of your throat pulls a whimper from deep in your chest. His hands knead the flesh of your hips as his lips capture yours again. He wastes no time, opening his own mouth to invite your tongue inside. You might blackout if he keeps kissing you like this, but fuck… you don’t want him to stop.

You’re suddenly off balance and cling to his shoulders as he stands. You allow him to guide your legs around his waist, but look down at him with concern.

“You’re hurt… I –”

Sylus squeezes your ass and you jolt, your thighs tensing in a futile attempt to control your own arousal. He carefully side steps the bloody boot prints and carries you out into the hall.

“This…” He kisses your shoulder. “Is helping…”

He continues to hold you close, one hand spread across your back, the other supporting your thigh. You let your hand roam over his shoulder and back, the swelling around the gunshot entry is already subsiding. Maybe this is helping his evol replenish… in some odd way… Not that you’re complaining.

The door to his bedroom slams against the wall and he hurries inside. He drops you on his bed and you sit up on your elbows to watch him. He undoes his belt and whips it off in one smooth motion. You bite your lip and try to shift onto your knees, but he stops you, grabbing your ankles and yanking you towards him. You giggle in response, he drops his knee beside your hip and bends forward to kiss you again. He kisses you breathless while his hands work your sensitive nipples. Rolling, pinching, tugging. When he lowers his head to suck one into his mouth, his tongue flicking at a languid pace, you dig your nails into his back and whine.

“Sy…”

He sits up on his knees and just looks down at you. You reach out for him and he takes hold of your hands, threading his fingers with yours. His eyes roam over your body, smirking at every mark that has started to darken on your neck and breasts.

“Last chance, angel. Tell me you want this.”

Holding his hands tightly, you drop yours onto the bed above you, forcing him to lower his body onto yours. His hips press against your core and you lock your legs around him.

“I don’t want this.”

Your mis-matched actions and words leave him dumbfounded.

“I want you.”

His lips seal against yours, his chest pressed down to feel your heartbeat in tandem with his. You slide your hands free and rub his sides, careful not to touch the bandages. His pants were already unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his hips, you wanted them off. Now. You try to push the fabric down, but don’t get far when he takes hold of your wrists.

“Don’t you think…”

He quickly tucks an arm under your hips and brings them off the bed. You gasp and when he lets go of your wrists, you fist the bedding to level yourself. With his other hand free, he lifts your hips higher, sitting back on his heels. His hot breath across your inner thigh makes you whimper.

“I need to regain my strength first?”

His fingers drag along the hem of your lace panties. You close your eyes, trying to ignore the embarrassment of how incredibly wet you already are. As his tongue darts out to swipe over the wet spot on the fabric you arch your back and gasp. You need to tell him.

“I should have something to eat first.”

He lowers your hips just enough to slip your panties down, working them off one leg at a time. His hands lift your legs and hook them over his shoulders, his face inches away from your throbbing center. You release the bedding and reach for his hands, trying to get his attention. He feels your tension and stops, lowering you back on the bed.

“What? Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. He lets your hips meet the mattress and settles down on his elbows over you. His forehead rests against yours as one of his hands strokes your hip.

“I just need to tell you something…”

He nods, urging you to continue. You’re sure you’re as red as a tomato and your lip is quivering. You’ve never told a guy this… You just keep it to yourself and pretend everything is fine. But with Sylus, you don’t want it to be like the rest. You actually feel something for him, not just a physical attraction, but something more... You take a deep breath and close your eyes.

“No one’s ever… done that and made me… uhm…”

“Come?”

Your eyes snap open and see him looking at you with brows raised.

“It’s a me thing, I think. I just… I think…”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You think too much. And, if I had to guess, whoever tried before wasn’t putting your needs first, were they?”

You look away and bury your face in his shoulder. He chuckles and kisses your neck sweetly.

“Sweetie, I don’t care if I have to spend all night between your legs, you’re going to come for me. Many times. And if you try to fake it…”

He pauses and just as you open your mouth to ask, he bites your neck. It’s not painful, but it takes you by surprise. A splendid, disturbing, thrilling surprise.

“I’ll have to punish you.” He whispers.

He pushes off of the bed and kneels at the side of the bed. You barely have time to prop yourself up on your elbows before your legs are over his shoulders and his mouth is on you. You scream, the instantaneous burst of pleasure that shoots through you as he sucks on your clit is overwhelming. His hands keep your legs spread, you're completely exposed to him. He moans as he feasts, his tongue dipping down to your entrance. You immediately tense up and he feels it. He returns his mouth to your clit, his tongue teasing with precision. His fingers move away from your thigh to play at your entrance. Circling, dipping and finally thrusting inside. He takes his time, his movements precise. He pays attention to your responses, if you tense he stops and tries something else. It’s not long before he finds the perfect combination that has you writhing and trying to ride his face.

Three fingers in, curling upwards like he’s beckoning for your orgasm to come closer. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking while his tongue flicks the bundle of nerves rapidly. The occasional bite makes your hips lift and your vision to blur. The thought of faking crosses your mind but he bites your inner thigh and your back arches off the bed. You scramble, trying to get away, every touch sends you closer to either an edge or a wall and you’re terrified to find out which.

“Don’t run from it sweetie… look at me.”

Through blurry eyes, you see him looking up at you, his mouth and nose buried in you. The way his eyes glisten, half-lidded like he’s drunk off of your essence alone, his pupils wide with just a sliver of crimson circling them. He pumps his fingers faster and your entire body tingles, he pries your fingers away from the bedspread, threading them with his. Your habit of overthinking resurfaces - the way his mouth moves, his tongue, the way he’s watching you, his hand squeezing yours. What if you can’t? What if he gets upset? What if – fuck…

“Sylus. Sylus! Ahhh… Sy…!”

Your body convulses as your eyes roll back and your head hits the mattress. Sylus moans loudly, his mouth moving ever so slightly to make sure not a drop of your release is wasted. When your breathing steadies and your hips twitch, Sylus lowers you and crawls up the bed to hold you, his fingers comb through your damp hair.

Before you can register what emotion is bubbling up, a sob escapes you. Tears stream down your cheeks and you can barely open your eyes. Sylus cradles you and strokes your back.

“Did I hurt you? Fuck… I… I’m sorry…”

“No no no you… you didn’t!” You whisper.

He rolls over on his side and extends his arm for you to rest your head. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and dries your tears with his thumb. When you finally force your eyes open, you see his worry-laced expression and bring your own hand to his face.

“You silenced the storm…”

You want to say more, but Sylus presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I think you silenced mine too.”

The confession brought on a new wave of tears. Sylus acts quickly, rolling you on your back and placing kisses all over your face before trailing down your neck. Whimpers turn to moans as he pinches your nipple and suckles the soft skin under your jaw. Your emotions settle and your mind clears, which means you know exactly what you want.

“Sylus?”

He hums against your skin, waiting for your next question. You run your hands down his back and slide one between your bodies. When your fingers dip beneath his waistband he stops moving completely, his attention solely on your hand. You wait and he doesn’t stop you. He sinks his face into the crook of your neck as you continue. As your fingers travel lower, you feel more confident. Your other hand threads through his hair and you kiss his temple, enjoying his rather immediate responses.

“Sensitive?”

He doesn’t reply, well, not with words. He growls, it’s subtle, but the vibrations are heavenly against your skin. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you sigh, he’s fucking perfect. He shifts and you easily stroke him, your eyes widening at the slight change in width. His cock is long, god you want – oh god…

“Find something you like?”

Damn right you did. You’d daydreamed about his lip rings against your clit, his nipple rings rubbing against your chest, but a fucking ladder? Your fingertips trace 6 distinct metal balls lined up, the rods just beneath his skin. He lifts his head and groans as you run your fingers over the piercings over and over. Your hand continues, but another bit of metal catches on your fingers and you grab a fistful of Sylus’s hair as you curse.

“Fuck me…”

“I’m trying to…”

His hips jerk as you close your palm around his tip, two small rings loop through the ridge along its base. As you rub faster he starts to roll his hips, chasing the warmth of your hand. When you remove your hand from his pants entirely you can feel his entire body shake.

“Take them off.”

He stands beside the bed and holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it. He drags you over and places your hands on his hips. Taking the hint, you push his pants down and let them drop. You maintain eye contact as you pull his boxers down, you can tell the moment his cock is free because his breathing stutters. You don’t look down, you just let your hands explore.

Your palms lay flat on his stomach, memorizing every inch of his skin as you continue to lower them to his hips. He leans his head back and closes his eyes and you watch his face react to every tiny movement. Your hands return to his cock and you feel the weight of it, the length, how the piercings create a mouthwatering contrast against his hot skin.

His abs tense as you lean forward and lick his tip. He doesn’t let you continue and you don’t argue when he lays you back. His cock rests against your stomach, his tip leaking furiously adding to the mess you previously made.

“Do I need –”

“No… I’m on the pill.”

“I can never finish a sentence around you huh?” He teases.

You hook your arms around his neck and shut him up with a kiss. With a few tentative rolls of his hips, his cock nudges your clit. When you feel his piercing, you break away.

“Fuck me please… fuck… please…”

“I love hearing your voice…”

He finally sinks into you, the initial stretch coaxing another moan out of you.

“That’s it… just like that.”

His knee pushes your leg out and his hips meet yours. You can feel every single piercing, they drag along your slick walls making you whimper uncontrollably.

“Ahhh you’re such a good girl for me…”

Your pussy clenches around him and you slam your head forward against his shoulder. Really? This is how you discover you have a praise kink? Right now? Fantastic. Sylus gasps, oh he’s not going to let you get away now.

“Oh she liked that, yeah? The way she’s squeezing me, I think she loves it. Does my good girl like it when I praise her?”

Again, your pussy spasms and you shout, you’ve never been so close to an orgasm so fast before. You were already obsessed with how good he felt, but now he’s talking to you like this?

“Are you going to come for me already? Just from me calling you a…”

“Sylus!”

“Good fucking girl…”

You scream, you pump your hips and he matches your pace working you through your second explosive orgasm of the night. He kisses you, inhaling your whimpers like they’re oxygen. He rolls you both onto your side, holding your thigh up over his hip. He slows down, rolling his hips so you feel the drag of every piercing. Each time he bottoms out, he thrusts just enough to put pressure on your g-spot.

“I need one more from you, can you do that for me sweetie?”

You nod, or at least you think you nod. You’re not entirely sure with how the room is spinning.

“Mhmm… that’s my girl…”

He withdraws almost completely to slam back inside making the bed rock and lamp on the side table shake. His languid rhythm returns and you can already feel another climax fast approaching.

“Tell me… you’re mine.”

With his forehead pressed against yours, all you can do is stare into his eyes. His voice shakes and his movements falter. Your arms tighten around his shoulders. You never imagined he’d be begging to hear the very words you’ve been dying to say.

“I’m yours.”

His hips snap forward and he grits his teeth, like he’s holding back. His eyes close and his arms tremble. You press a soft kiss on his cheek and drop your voice to a whisper.

“I’m yours.”

He gasps as he lets go. His release is just as explosive as your own. As he fucks his cum deeper inside of you he drops his head to your shoulder and repeats “you’re mine” like a prayer. Hearing his desperation you dig your heel into his lower back and let your sluttiest moan rip free as your climax hits.

You’re not sure how long you lie there holding each other. Or when he slides out of you, careful to keep your legs tangled together. But when you open your eyes, the sun is on the horizon and your bodies are covered in a soft blanket. His head is buried in the crook of your neck, your arms around his shoulders. You stare at the wedding ring on your finger and smile as you slowly drift off to sleep.

The sun is fully risen when you open your eyes again. You roll over and realize you’re in bed alone. Sitting up, you notice you’re wearing one of Sylus’s button ups. After a closer inspection, you realize you’ve been cleaned up and the bedding changed. The only thing you can think about is finding Sylus, you have a million questions and you don’t want to lose your nerve. However, standing proves to be a tad difficult. Your legs shake as if you just ran a marathon and your pussy throbs, not in the fun way.

You limp to the door and look down the hallway, not a soul in sight, not even Ollie. You walk through the house, finally hearing soft music coming from the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see Sylus standing over the stove. Still shirtless and wearing only his boxers. It’s an oddly domestic sight. He hums along with the music, bobbing his head as he cooks. You lean against the doorway and clear your throat. He looks over his shoulder and grins.

“I was going to bring you breakfast.”

You walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, kissing his back before resting your cheek against him. He covers your hands with his.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m perfect.”

He urges you to sit at the island and brings you a cup of coffee. When he serves you a plate with eggs, bacon and french toast you squeal with excitement. He laughs as he refills his cup and sits down next to you. A comfortable silence settles as you eat and sip your coffee. Sylus keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eye and when he smiles you break.

“Okay, what? What is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just admiring my artwork.”

You hold up your spoon and try to see what he’s referring to. Even upside down and blurred to hell, you can see the dark marks along your neck and chest. You turn to face him and hold the spoon up for him.

“My artwork is pretty impressive too, don’t you think?”

He squints and then drops his gaze to his plate. You reach out and trace one of the marks under his jaw, following a path up to his ear. Watching his ear turn a soft shade of red and goosebumps rise makes you giggle in delight. He snatches your hand and holds your fingers up to his mouth, pressing tiny kisses to each fingertip.

“It’s a shame. My good girl only appears at night, turns naughty when the sun comes up.”

“Sylus…”

“Mhmm…” He kisses your palm and you shiver.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

He lowers your hand and shifts to face you.

“What do you want this to be?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I want you, that’s all I know. So, if you’d like to see where this goes… I am very, very interested.”

You turn away sheepishly and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in a pathetic attempt to be nonchalant.

“I am… very, very interested, too.”

He moves to sit on the edge of his stool, his hands on your hips. He leans forward, his lips so close you can feel his warm breath.

“Then it looks like I’m dating my wife.”

You’re about to laugh, but he cuts you off with a kiss. You sigh as he stands, picking you up and sitting you on the island between your plates. He slots himself between your legs, he lifts the bottom of his shirt you’re wearing up over your hips. You push against his chest and he stops.

“That also means we need to work on how we communicate.”

He raises a brow and backs up, his hands resting on the counter next to your thighs.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last night. It wasn’t fair of me to get angry. I mean, you saved my fucking life. I panicked, but I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

He reaches up to take your hand, holding it against his chest.

“I shouldn’t have expected you to just… accept what I did. Like you said, you save lives. I… took one, right in front of you. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for that.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, his look of shock makes you smile. He’s not used to tender acts of affection, you make a mental note to shower him with them from now on.

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you.”

You run your hands down his arms, admiring the way his muscles flex as you touch him.

“I just wish… I just don’t want to be afraid, I want to know I can protect myself. I can’t expect you to always be there. I’m so tired of being scared.”

“We can fix that.”

“How?”

“I can train you. Help you learn to protect yourself.”

Resting your forehead against his, he wraps his arms around you. You relax in his embrace. Looking down at the prominent outline in his boxers you take a deep breath and wrap your legs around him. He starts kissing your cheek, your jaw, your neck and you gently scratch his back.

“You know… a few years ago, I had a patient come in with a new piercing. He was bragging about it. Basically gave me a free class - Dick Piercings 101. His cocky attitude vanished when we needed to put a catheter in, but… I still remember the name of the piercing he had.”

He steps back. You watch him slowly push his boxers down, letting them drop to the floor. Your eyes drop, yep, still pretty in the daylight. Swallowing hard, you shiver as he places his hands on your knees, spreading them wider and wider until you're just as exposed as he is. Gathering your courage, you continue.

“King’s Crown.”

He steps closer, your hand dropping to rub over the piercings along the ridge at the base of his tip. His cock stiffens as you let your thumb rest over his slit, rubbing small circles.

“What is it about using royalty terms and names for cock piercings? King’s Crown… Prince Albert… Trying to convince yourself of something?”

He nips at your shoulder and you yelp. He grabs the back of your neck and keeps your head bent forward, fully focused on his cock. Like you were able to focus on anything else.

“I don’t think I need to convince anyone of anything. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He moves your hand away and pulls you to the edge of the counter, his tip nudges your aching clit and you gasp. You can feel the corners of his mouth tip up into a smile as he kisses your neck. He takes hold of his cock and you shimmy your hips, fuck you’re needy…

“Tell me, do you enjoy teasing me?”

He holds your hips still, his mouth dipping down to the top button of your shirt. He uses his teeth to tug it open. You strain against his hands, one on your hip and one on the back of your neck - you need movement. Anything to alleviate the pressure building.

“I do… just a little.”

He tugs another button free and licks a stripe up the center of your chest.

“So just a little bit of a brat then, hmm?”

You scoff and try to pull away, but he holds you steady.

“Watch…”

And you do. You watch him shift his hips forward, his cock sinking into you at an agonizing pace. He releases your hip to spread you wider, the erotic sight leaves you breathless.

“Watch how she… sucks me right in. So perfect.”

He bottoms out and you groan, with how he’s forcing you to look down you can see the shape of him. You lower your hand, placing it over your stomach. As soon as you press down, both of you groan. Sylus lets go of your neck and you nearly fall back onto the counter. He rips open your shirt, buttons scattering across the kitchen floor. His hands return to your hips and as he thrusts, he pulls you closer.

��Fuck Sylus… faster…”

He chuckles, but obliges. The lewd sounds of skin against skin echoes through the kitchen and you close your eyes to keep them from crossing. Your back arches off of the cool granite and your hands search for something to hold onto.

Crash

Your hand swipes a plate off the counter, sending it crashing to the floor with a shatter. Sylus doesn’t stop, in fact, the sudden sound makes him thrust deeper - which you didn’t know was humanly possible.

“Yes! Yes, please don’t stop ahhh…”

Your begging pulls a growl from him, it’s becoming your favorite sound he makes. Feral, unashamed, dominating. You whine as your pussy clenches, spasming wildly.

“That’s right angel, let me hear you. I love hearing your voice.”

He leans forward, one of his hands traveling up your body until he reaches your neck. His fingers wrap around your throat gently, the possessive action sparks a fire that quickly spirals out of control. An unfamiliar pressure builds and you hold onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin.

“You’re so deep Sy… ahh fuck…!”

Without warning you feel that pressure release as your orgasm crashes over you. You’re so delirious you don’t register the splatter of something wet on the floor. Sylus curses under his breath and his movements become sloppy. Your breathing is erratic, staggered by whimpers.

“Angel.. I need to - please…”

Your neck is released and your legs are suddenly lifted, your thighs press down against your chest. When you force your eyes open, you watch Sylus throw his head back, his brows furrowed, eyes closed. Equal parts bliss and agony. You squeeze around his length and he groans, low and deep as he spills into you. He drops his hands from the back of your thighs to the counter and hangs his head, breathing heavily. You awkwardly sit up, your lower half is coated in your shared release and… significantly more sore than when you woke up. When your arms coil around his neck he unsheathes himself and gathers you in his arms, holding you impossibly close. He kisses the shell of your ear, his hot breath making you shiver.

“You made such a mess sweetie…”

You try to look down, but he just picks you up and carries you out of the kitchen.

“I’ll clean that up later, you’re my priority right now.”

As he turns the corner you see the floor is wet and the remnants of the shattered plate. You’re a fucking doctor, the fact it took a you the entire distance from the kitchen to Sylus’s bedroom to figure out you squirted is just embarrassing.

“Oh my god…”

Sylus chuckles and carries you right into his bathroom and into the shower. He doesn’t put you down, just tightens his hold as he turns on the water and lets the warm water flow over your back. You slump forward, letting your arms hang limp against his back, your head on his shoulder. He sways, the steam fogging the glass around you.

“You’re getting a lot of my firsts, I hope you know that.”

He carefully lowers you, leaning you back against the wall to let you gain your footing. When he steps back to get soap you finally take a moment to just stare at his naked form. Toned, dark lines of ink with swirls of vibrant scarlet covering his arms, his back, his chest, the dusting of hair along his happy trail, and oh - great, he even has a perky ass. Sylus clears his throat and you look up to see him watching you over his shoulder.

“Like what you see?”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He begins lathering the fragrant soap over your arms, pulling them away from your chest. His eyes drink you in and drift as his hands roam.

“I like what I see too… you’re… exquisite.”

He continues to clean you gently, but his lips find yours again. There’s no rush with how he kisses you, or touches you for that matter. Like he’s savoring every moment and every point of contact is sacred. You still have a million questions, but none of them seem important right now. You’ve never felt so… happy.

“When do you go back to work?” He mumbles against your lips.

“New Years Eve and New Years Day… after that, I’m off for another week.”

He smiles into the kiss, his hands massaging your hips.

“Good… I hope you don’t have any plans.” 🏍️۶ৎ🩺

Translations: "Malen'kiy chelovek, ukhodi." -> "Little man, go away." "Malen'kiy chelovek umret." -> "Little man will die." “Bol'shoy chelovek, zatknis' nakhuy.” -> "Big man, shut the fuck up." "Malen'kiy chelovek ne sootvetstvuyet legende." -> "The little man does not live up to the legend."

Part One Part Two

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motorsportbarbie13 · 8 months ago

Text

Forbidden - Part 4

In which your heart shatters into a million pieces.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of a panic attack, charles being a dick.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!Reader word count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Master List

Summer break. Four blissful weeks of no racing talk, no work for Max, and nothing to do but spend the day in bed. Of course, you had work to do but considering half of Europe was also on summer holiday at the moment, your inbox was fairly empty and you didn’t have much going on. The first week of the summer vacation passed with you spending nearly all your time with Max, holed up in either your new apartment that you finally found and rented four weeks ago or in his apartment across town. The uninterrupted time you had spent with him so far had been one of the best weeks of your entire life.

And Max felt the same way. It was so nice being out of the spotlight for a while, able to hide away and focus solely on you. Things between the two of you were becoming…serious, he supposed. It was still a secret from everyone and Max was beginning to chafe under that shroud of secrecy. You were still insistent on keeping it private, still confident that Charles would have an absolute fit if he found out.

But you also were wary of what the media and fans would do if they found out. Just a few weeks ago, there had been a rumor about Oscar’s girlfriend Lily being pregnant and Oscar had been accused of hiding her pregnancy to save his career. It was all false, of course. You had seen Lily with your own eyes the other night when you ran into her and Oscar while you were at dinner with your mother and Charlie and she was very not pregnant. But you could see the toll it had taken on the both of them. The way Lily looked a little more on edge than normal, and Oscar a little more distant than usual had you nervous of what would happen if Max and you ever decided to go public.

For now though, you were content setting up house and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. In another week, you would go on a trip with your family to Croatia for a week, spending time on a yacht Charlie had rented to island hop. While you didn’t want to leave Max, who would be leaving to spend some time with his family first in Belgium, where his mother was from and then in Italy. You hated how much your heart hurt when you thought about how much you’d miss him while he was gone for the two weeks, but the first race back would be Max’s home race in the Netherlands which would be such a good weekend.

You were in the shower that morning when everything crashed and burned. Your phone had been set to Do Not Disturb for various reasons, so you missed the warning signs. Max was in your kitchen, the picture of domestic bliss, as he flipped pancake after pancake, wanting to surprise you with breakfast after you had finished getting cleaned up from this mornings romp in the sheets with him. His shirt was off as he stood barefoot in only a pair of running shorts in front of the stove, whistling along to the upbeat jazz that floated out from the speakers connected to the bluetooth on his phone.

The smell of the freshly made pancakes, sticky with syrup, wafted through the small apartment, drawing you out of your bathroom in only one of Max’s shirts. “Something smells good.” You crooned, padding into the kitchen in bare feet, hair still damp from your shower.

Max hums in response, pointing to the pile of pancakes waiting for you on the counter. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head on his shoulder, pressing your lips to the bare skin there. He always tasted so good, you could never resist the chance to taste him.

“There’s fruit on the table, juice in the fridge. You really need to go to the grocery store, liefje.”

Your heart fluttered at the new pet name he’d begun to call you in the last few weeks. You hadn’t known what it meant and when you asked Max, he shyly told you it was Dutch for ‘baby’ or ‘love’. You had always been a sucker for pet names but pet names in a different language than your native French and English? That did something extra to your heart.

“I know, I know. I can’t help it if there’s a hot Formula 1 driver that refuses to let me out of bed for longer than a few moments though, can I?”

Max raps you on the ass with the spatula as you scamper away, giggling at the grin he tosses over his shoulder at you.

“What the actual FUCK am I looking at right now?”

You spin around, the bowl of fruit in your hands clattering to the ground at the sound of your brother’s voice.

Oh fuck.

Your eyes bounce from your brother’s face, a mask of rage to Max’s horrified expression.

“And here we thought you were hurt or something, but no!” Charles stalks towards you, the key to your apartment dangling from his fingertip. “No, you’re just playing house with my biggest fucking rival! Of all the people you could choose to fuck, it had to be HIM?”

“Charlie.” You whisper, tears burning the back of your eyes at the look of pure anger and more horrifying, sadness, etched on your brother’s face. “It’s not what you think. This isn’t…”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear you justify whoring yourself out to fucking Max Verstappen.”

“Do not speak to my girlfriend like that, Charles.” Max grits out, the muscles in his jaw twitching from how tightly he’s grinding his molars together.

You turn slowly, along with Charles, at his words and blink at him. Girlfriend?

Max ignores the look of panic on your face and continues, voice measured and deathly calm. “I know this might be,” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Upsetting and a surprise but this is not a fling, I swear.”

If it had been any other time, you would have melted at his words. And you were still reeling from Max calling you his girlfriend. But you had bigger things to focus on. Charles practically shook with anger as he tore his gaze away from Max, fury fully settling on you now. “How long? How long have you been lying to me? To everyone? You’ve been traveling with us under the guise of spending more time with me, living in Monaco to be closer to the family but all this time, you’ve been with him?”

The disgust in your brother’s voice turns your stomach, acid creeping it’s way up your throat. “Since Austria.” You whisper, wincing when Charles throws your key across the room in a fit of rage.

“I fucking knew it. I knew something was up when you suddenly had that migraine in Belgium but didn’t answer your door when I came to check on you after dinner. You lied to me! You never lie to me. We never keep secrets and this is the first one you choose to keep from me? My sister fucking the man that has taken everything from me my entire career? What kind of fucking joke it this?”

“It’s not a joke, Charles.” Max murmurs from where he now stands beside you, fingers laced tightly with yours. Maybe if he showed your brother that this wasn’t some random fling, he’s calm down.

“Shut your fucking mouth Verstappen.” He growls, furious gaze swinging back to you. “This obviously can’t continue.”

“Wh-what?” You stutter, absolutely floored that your bother would think that he could make you choose.

“You left the family for six god damned years because you couldn’t handle being the sister of someone famous! What do you think it’s going to be like as Max Verstappen’s fucking girlfriend! You’re not strong enough.”

Pain lances through your entire body at the venom in your brother’s voice. “Charlie.” You choke, unable to believe that your best friend, your twin, just said something that awful to you.

“Enough.” Max shouts, stepping in between the pair of you, shielding you from Charles’ view. “You need to leave, right fucking now.”

Charles scoffs, still completely floored by what he walked in on. “You know what, you two deserve each other. Both fucking liars. Don’t bother worrying about coming to Croatia with us, you’re not wanted there anymore. I’m sure you’d have more fun with your new boy toy anyway.”

Charles turns on his heel and stalks out of your apartment, slamming the door shut behind him so hard you flinch. A haunted silence falls over you and Max, panic and anguish flooding your body as you begin to tremble from the scene that just unfolded before you.

“Fuck.” Max breaths, turning to you. “I’m so sorry liefje.” He reaches out to take you into his arms but to his surprise, you step out of his reach. Panic shoots through him, you’ve never turned down affection from him, especially when you’re upset. He’s been the one you go to for comfort for months now and not being able to do anything about how distraught you are sets his teeth on edge. “Liefje?”

“He’s right, you know.” You whisper, not sure if you’re talking to yourself of Max.

“What?” All Max wants to do is hold you, to get his arms wrapped around you and stop your shaking.

Tears stream down your face as your brother’s words echo in your head. How you weren’t strong enough. You were whoring yourself out. The vile words repeated over and over until the buzz of his venom was all you could hear. Your breath comes quicker, panic squeezing itself around your heart as you fight for a breath that just won’t come. You know what’s coming and are helpless to fend it off. Having Max see you so weak sends you even further down the road towards the panic attack you can’t keep at bay.

“You need to leave.” You choke out, desperately needing to be alone to work this out by yourself. It’s how you’ve always done it, gathered yourself together on your own without anyone else seeing you so weak. You couldn’t let Max see you like this. How could you when the only other person you’ve ever allowed in just threw everything in your face. No, you couldn’t stand if Max turned on you too.

Max comes to stand beside you, concern etched on his handsome face. “What? No, schatje absolutely not. I can’t. Leave you right now, you need me. You can’t be alone now.”

“That’s exactly what I need. Charles was right, I’m not strong enough to be your girlfriend.” You choke on the word, having wanted to be claimed by him for months now and when you finally get what you want, it hurts too much to even enjoy it.

His arms reach out to circle your waist, pulling you to him. Strength completely depleted, you allow him to crush you to his chest, the heat of his skin like a warm blanket settling over you. “Baby, I can’t do that. I just can’t.”

“You have to. Charlie was right.” You repeat again, still listening to his words on a loop in your head. “I need some time to process what just happened and I need to do it alone. Please, Max.” He winces, you never call him just ‘Max’.

His arms drop away from you then and despite your begging him to leave, you instantly miss his warmth. “Is this the end?” Emotion claws at his throat, unable to process what is happening. You’re simply the best thing that’s ever happened to him and now? Now you’re pushing him away.

“I don’t know.” You choke out on a sob.

“Fine. I’ll go but I don’t want to. You call me the moment you change your mind, okay? And this isn’t over, not for me. It won’t ever be over for me, liefje.”

Max retreats to the bedroom for a moment, leaving you standing cold and alone in the kitchen. When he returns, he’s got a shirt on. He doesn’t have his bag that he brought with him though, he refuses to bring it with him. It’s too final, taking that bag out of the house. He wants, no needs, an excuse to come back and he wants you to know that he’s not leaving without a fight. He’ll respect your wishes for now because he knows you think you need the space but if he knows you, and he’s betting everything that he does, you won’t run away from what the two of you have.

You’re balled up on the couch, faraway gaze staring at nothing when he comes to stand in front of you. “I’m going now but if you need me, you can call me. Any time of day, no matter what.” He crouches down in front of you, fingers snagging your chin so you’re forced to look at him instead of at some unknown point over his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, liefje. So fucking much.”

The sob that escapes your throat shatters his heart in a million pieces. He doesn’t know if that was the right thing to do, to tell you what’s bene on his mind for weeks now. It was the truth though. He’d been fighting it for what felt like forever now, terrified to scare you off with those words that felt like they were coming too early but now? Now it was different. He needed you to know that he wasn’t going to give up this easily. He needed you to know that he had fallen head over heels for you and that he’d never leave, no matter how hard you pushed him away.

Your silence ripped him even further in two but he accepted it, knowing that there was too much emotion swirling around in that head of yours to properly respond. Maybe that made him selfish, taking this time to tell you how he felt but he needed you to know.

Dropping a kiss on your head, Max stands and does the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He walks out of your apartment not knowing when he’ll see you again.

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #angst

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szarina · 20 days ago

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While I love all the content in Zayne's series... Do you think it would be possible to see a little joy and softness there? I don't know if Reader works, but she probably does less now that Zayne is locking her up, especially during the pregnancy. And with Zayne working most of the time, Reader is lonely and bored. I think it would be great if she discovered new hobbies like sewing or painting, and when Zayne comes home, he supports and listens to his wife's hobby. Later, it becomes a family activity, whether it's drawing with the kids or sewing little clothes for them.

Just me in my delulu hours thinking that the good side of a yandere is that he is totally devoted and supports you in everything, no matter how stupid it is. And eventually you have to look on the bright side for everyone's mental health.

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. fluff + bits stockholm syndrome + implied noncon + non mc + grammatical/spelling errors + not proofread

The threads of the embroidery is soft to touch under the pads of your fingers. The plain white onesie is decorated with tiny snowflakes. You were quite proud of your needlework since you had come a long way to be able to sew the threads in a neat manner.

The onesie was for your unborn baby boy. Tiny, pale blue snowflakes adorned the soft fabric. You slowly raise the onesie up to admire it more. You smile softly, imagining your baby boy wearing it along with a matching one to his twin baby sister. You didn't have a name for them, yet.

Transitioning from a working independent individual to being a stay at home wife and soon-to-be mother to twins gave you the uneasiness of doing nothing. Reduced to be a homemaker who waits for her husband to come home. All changed in the course of a night.

You always prided yourself being independent. Starting since you were young and how your older siblings slowly took their own paths, leaving you alone in the litter as the youngest.

After finishing your degree and holding a job longer that you enjoyed. You were contented. It's the simplest of things that you find joy and comes living in your own home. Whereas you were free to indulge in the pleasures and crafting your hobbies, particularly baking.

Baking was the first hobby you seriously committed with your time, not out fascination but to impress your fiancé. Learning that he developed a taste for sweets — you immediately devoted yourself in the basics until you honed your skills. It was enough to rival the sweet shops and bakeries in town.

The sweets were always made with your love and dedication for him. That even when he doesn't give his time to you, he would remember you with the sweets he ate. It was enough for you that he finds it delicious, you were happy.

It didn't bring you joy now. The baking tools were left untouched in the drawers. For your limbs were sore and your belly heavy with his children growing inside you. Finding yourself sitting at hours alone cause your husband's at the hospital saving lives even he comes back for lunch to check on you and going back again. You needed something to distract yourself and comes your new hobby of embroidery.

The newfound hobby takes your time and you were so focused that you didn't noticed how time flies and your husband, Zayne had already returned home. He was glad you were enjoying yourself and is a little bit guilty for leaving you alone in long hours.

Boredom was an afterthought to you now.

Snowdrops. The flowers were perfect. The petals droop and the tint of green on the outlines shows just like what you envisioned. The stitches were your companion, with the needle and thread to make it possible. You look at the pile of the onesies still untouched and plain. There were also a skein of yarn in different pastel colors, you were yet to touch them. Everything to take your mind off, temporarily blocking the world.

Zayne comes home earlier than he anticipated which he's glad for. He had taken less shifts and avoided going overtime if it can't be helped. He finds you curled up on the couch. Confusion were evident in your face as you repeatedly pressed the rewind button of a video in your tablet on a stitching technique that you can't quite grasp.

Holding the embroidery hoop in your other hand while you pick up the colored thread and needle in your dominant hand. You were poised to follow and try again the instructions and movements in the video.

You didn't hear him come. He can see the two buds of your earphones blocking your ears as you drowned yourself in music. You were steadily making a pattern now, the threads coming together from where he can see you behind in the couch where you sat at.

Moments later, you know he's there behind you. Your shoulders tensing as if you were sensing danger or caught in a situation that it's enough to cause embarrassment. Slowly, you turned your head. The lids of your eyes raising to show your surpise before easing down. Subtly biting your lower lip out of discomfort before going back to what you were doing not bothering to greet him.

Still, Zayne approaches you in slow and steady steps. He can't erase the past, not when your skittish behavior reminds him of it and your swollen belly that grows everyday. You're two months away from giving birth since you're expecting twins.

He lets you work in silence. Admiring the new skills you acquired from embroidering. It started at simple stitching. Your work was rough and clumsy but still it shows the dedication since you're only beginning and now, you're stitching on your baby's onesies. The finished ones were piled up in the corner.

“How to stitch this one?” You asked without looking at him. Gripping the small wooden hoop, your fingers still and the needle in between. “You're good at sutures, so I thought.....” Your voice unsure like you can't trust it.

Your husband moves closer to you. Studying the pattern of the thread that you're stuck with. It was easy for him and had all the stitching techniques memorized, it was similar to the types of sutures. Fabrics and skin were the same, you can stick them with needles.

Zayne softly instructed you. Guiding you step by step but your pregnant brain failed to comprehend his words. “Can you show me?” His hands hovers above yours, testing the waters if you're going to flinch when you didn't. He's behind you. Your back pressed against his chest.

He guides you through it. Stitches after stitches. Loops after loops. Knots and knots. It was calming. Soothing. For the first time in months, you almost forgot the pain of betrayal. Replaced by something warm, normal.

While he guides you, you admired his fingers, long and slender. Surgeon hands, it were meant for surgeries. Strong and nimble. The very fingers that had operated many times and sewn people's skin together. They're precise and steady. There wasn't much of a tremor nor a tremble as he held the needle.

Slowly, the pattern became visible. It was kitten paws. The little beans were black and pink. You like the outcome of it. Your fingers softly grazed the protruding threads that were shaped as paws.

Unconsciously, you start to lean on him. Your head resting on his shoulder as you sigh softly. His thumb caresses your knuckles, you were still holding the finished embroidery.

Suddenly, you winced. Your hand flying to cradle your swollen belly as you felt one of the twins kicked. You gently rubbed soft circles around your belly where you felt it kicked.

“There, there.” You murmured under your breath. “Daddy's here.”

You didn't realize what you said and you felt Zayne stiffen behind you before relaxing. Without hesitation, you take his hand and place it above your belly. You feel the twins move inside you, recognizing their father.

There's no words to be said. You didn't feel like fighting too, too tired and you will feel bad if you break this kind of moments. You let him touch you cause you didn't know if this was closure or just the assurance of being safe in his hands.

There will moments like this that would come in the future and it did.

What he did was wrong but when you're the one insisting him to touch you, the more he justifies that it was right. You won't come to this kind of affection nor seek him. Or give you the joy that both of you wanted.

He was right for all of this.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #lads x reader #lads x chubby reader #zayne x chubby reader #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #heart of glass series #lads fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace

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madamechrissy · 5 months ago

Text

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- MDNI- Warnings- overuse/incorrect use of prescription meds, angsty asf in places, scene of a medical procedure, death of a patient )at the beginning) heavy subject matter, some sexual tension. Reader, 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 8k

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated ♡

=͟͟͞♡<<<Part Five =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist =͟͟͞♡ Part Seven>>>

Part Six

Satoru has a morning routine.

Skincare? Well a splash of cold water on his face, he’s been lucky enough to have insane genetics, in his mid thirties he could pass for a college student, not a line on his perfect skin. But that was really all he did, that splash of cold water every morning, as he then starts to take his morning cocktail, after that he makes himself eat something, then brushes his teeth.

After that, he gets ready for the day, and as that Adderall mixes with his morning coffee? Fuck it’s perfection. Then when the Kolonopin hits right along with it, Satoru’s mind is blissfully open, and he’s able to focus on what he does best, saving lives. One doesn’t just become the best doctor there is, no that takes time, precision, and a lot of sacrifice.

Satoru is alone, usually. For a night he had you in here, in his bed and snuggled against him, and fuck he enjoyed it, which terrifies him. It’s been a week since he’s been able to do more than sneak hungry kisses with you in the locker room of the hospital, your schedule is longer than even his as you’re an intern, recently you worked twenty four hours straight.

Fuck he admires you, how even exhausted and dead on your feet, you manage to put a bright smile on your face, he’d love to just take care of you, but you have to go through this to truly become a great doctor. But he finds himself missing you, constantly thinking about you. You’ve become a fixation, a sort of obsession, he wants to know so much more about you.

He wants your body to fall apart under him again, wants to taste your arousal on his tongue, feel you clench around his fingers, watch as your cheeks flush and your hips raise for him. He wants you naked in his bed, but he also knows he’s just not good enough for you, for what you want and need.

But he’s selfish.

It’s almost Christmas, and the snow has piled up as he slides into his warmed up car, thinking of you and your ancient SUV, he hopes you at least have heat. His drive to the hospital is quiet, no music, as he takes another pill, this one is his Xanax, something about Klonopin and Xanax is blissful. Any stress he has gets replaced by a ton of ‘I don’t give any fucks’.

He knows you saw, you haven’t mentioned it though, and tonight he’s supposed to actually get you on this date. He wants time with just you, no other distractions, being inside of you is better than any cocktail of benzos he could dream of. If it was all his life consisted of, maybe he could go without it.

But the real world is just that.

The waiting room is packed, Satoru instantly goes into doctor mode, getting one lady in a wheelchair who’s vomiting blood, and he thanks god for that xanax, to help him through. He thanks god (or medicine rather) for the adderall making him have enough energy to run back and forth like a madman, helping everyone he can.

He helps the med students, the interns, the patients, the doctors on the floor who all come to him. ‘Dr. Gojo’ this ‘Please, Dr. Gojo- a minute’ that. Can you check this patient, can you check this scan, all while he’s got his eyes on his four interns, including the girl consuming him, the girl with exhausted eyes and shoulders that just look too narrow lately.

The girl he makes eat something because she’s been here all night helping a baby after a rough c section. He finds you in the nicu, with your hand inside the incubator, when he holds the coffee and muffin he’s brought you. But he pauses to watch you, as you mesmerize him with your pretty smile, singing something to the itty bitty baby.

“Does that actually help? I’ve heard it does.” Satoru murmurs, you jolt just a bit, looking up at him nervously.

“I think they enjoy the interaction, do you know if baby’s don’t get it they just… won’t make it?” You gulp as you speak, before continuing to hum.

“Shoko says you’ve been at it all night, why not eat a little something?” He suggests, you sigh, nodding then, taking off your gloves, going to wash your hands and pat them dry.

“You’re so sweet, thank you.” You give him a little kiss, and he exhales, setting your things down to pull you close.

“I miss you, can you hate babies already so you’re back on my floor?” You giggle breathlessly then.

“No, sorry. I miss you too.” You kiss him slowly, softly, your lips little brushes against his, in an easy rhythm that feels so natural, so perfect.

“Fine, one more day then I want you back.”

“Needy for me?” You tease, and he exhales, nodding. “I can’t wait for us to have a date, if shit doesn’t hit the fan.”

“When doesn’t it? Alright, you eat Missy.”

“Thank you Satoru.” You kiss him again, he pulls you so tight, like he can’t get you close enough, before letting you go.

After eating your breakfast/lunch/dinner - that muffin encompasses all of your overnight shift - you’re yawning when Shoko comes to you. “Emergency c section, you ready for this, intern?”

“Ready.” You’re scrubbing in now with Dr. Shoko, as the patient is prepped and sedated, falling into a slumber.

“She was a drug user, the entirety of the pregnancy.” Shoko informs you softly, as well as the others, and you pause then, looking up at her soft brown eyes behind her glasses.

“Is that why she’s so small?” You murmur, she looks maybe three months pregnant at best.

“Mmhm, it’s not the first. Four of them had fetal problems, two made it and were sent to child protective services.”

“Four!?” Shoko sighs, nodding as she starts prepping her, drawing a line with a marker over her lower abdomen.

The surgery begins, you’re trying to keep your eyes on the procedure, not the heart rate monitor of the baby you heard earlier, already so faint there’s likely no chance. You don’t need to hear the baby’s heart drop, not when you know what that means, not when it’s one of your worst fears in this job so far.

You know all lives are important, but something about a sweet, precious baby not making it makes you question anything and everything, kids in general, it’s so much to handle so much. You know you can’t let it get you, you have to do what you do with all patients, focus.

Satoru wants you to dislike babies, to know better, but where he’s wrong is working with Shoko has you more in love with them. But you could do without, without having children, even if it’s heartbreaking to think of, if it meant having Satoru’s love. You could put that aside and respect him, but right now all you can think of is how badly you hope this baby has a chance.

“Scalpel.” You watch as Shoko makes the incision, a perfect line, and you’re trying to keep your breath even as you watch her pull back the skin, the muscle, the fat, until she’s finally cutting toward the uterus.

You both are resting pieces of this woman’s small body on her nearly flat, open stomach, one of the oddest parts of the procedure. “Not much blood, that’s good.”

“Yes, here.” Then you see it, the uterus as Shoko hands you the scalpel. “You can do this.”

You take it with sure hands, a sense of dread filling you, one you’ve felt before, but you shove it down, as you delicately cut to reveal the baby, so tiny and blue, and not moving whatsoever. You swallow down the bile in your throat, taking a deep breath behind your mask as you start to suction its nose and mouth, it’s little limbs twitching slightly for just a moment.

“Come on, come on little one, breathe, please.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you try to get it to breathe, taking the little boy to the little table as Shoko stitches the mom back up.

You’re intubating the baby that’s not crying, you’re giving it oxygen, you’re doing the little compressions, and you can’t hold back the tears that fall as you realize there’s no chance. This baby is maybe five months gestation at best, but even for that it’s unreasonably tiny, it’s just a helpless little doll on your table, one that you keep trying, as Shoko comes, listening for breathing, looking for any sign of life.

You hate that you're crying right here, that you can barely hold yourself together. Just what sort of doctor even are you!? You hate that you’re not stronger than this, but you’re just so tired, and you hate that you can’t save everyone, especially this little boy. Did he even have a chance, as his mother did all of that?

Even so, you hate that you couldn’t save him. You hate that Satoru isn’t here to hold you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to distract you from this depression, Shoko’s murmuring in your ear, but you can’t even hear her truly. You keep repeating to yourself- ‘you’re a doctor, you’re a doctor, you’re a doctor’.

You have to keep going, even when it’s hard, right? You keep going even when it’s all just too much. You are shaking however, when Shoko gently pulls you away from the lifeless little body, shaking her head then.

“Long gone, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, you have to be pried off the little lifeless baby.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Step outside, I’ll be there.”

You realize from the talk amongst the nurses and others that the mother didn’t even care, she had meant to have an abortion but was too preoccupied, and thought drugs would ‘deal with it’. You can’t stop your anger, your fury, despite needing to remain ‘detached’.. You’re sobbing silently, sitting in one of the waiting room seats when Shoko and Satoru come to you.

“Think you need to take a break, go with Satoru for a bit, hmm?” You nod a bit, Shoko holds you for a moment, kissing your head, and you fall into Satoru’s arms, wrapped up so tightly, inhaling his scent, that cologne of his, feeling his heart against your cheek.

“Oh, baby… I’m so sorry.” He whispers huskily. “Come on, let’s go have some privacy?”

Soon you’re in his office, and you can’t hold it back anymore, not when it’s just the two of you, you break down completely, until you’re a mess.

“Shh, shh.” Satoru’s rubbing your back as you break into sobs, unable to breathe now, getting lightheaded as your breaths come in sharp little pants. “Hey, you need to take a deep breath.”

“C-can’t… how can I… be a doc- if I…” You’re all flushed and red when he pulls back and looks at you, cupping your face between his big hands.

“Breathe. In. Out.”

“C-can’t, can’t… fucking it all up… I…” You back away then, hand on your chest, struggling as your hands are going numb, and you feel yourself getting dizzy. “The baby is just… he’s just gone and I… I can’t take it.”

Satoru sighs, holding you closely. “You have to though, this is what being a doctor is, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, feeling your blood pressure rising more and more, the crushing weight and your exhaustion hitting. “Then I can’t, I can’t-”

“Yes. You can.” Satoru shakes you then, grabbing you by your shoulders. “You can do this, you did what you could with the baby. Plenty of others you’ve saved, and their moms. You can’t fix everything.”

“I… I…” You collapse against him, sobbing again, as the door knocks, Satoru shushes you gently.

“Yeah?”

“Dr. Gojo…” You hear Miwa’s voice then, you quickly swipe at the streams of tears on your sticky cheeks.

“I’m busy right now, what is it?” You’re turning away, trying to get yourself together now.

“I am prepping OR 3 for surgery.”

“Yes, thanks.” Satoru’s hand is on your back now, comforting in its touch, but then his words make you tense. “Do you see now?”

“See what exactly?” You turn to him, eyes swimming with tears that are burning as you struggle to focus.

Satoru sighs, swiping a hand through his silky white locks, before putting his hands in the lab coat pockets, tilting his head. “How awful it’d be, to have kids. Especially this line of work, how could you keep it all together?”

You glare then, jaw setting, hands clenched into fists by your sides, fury taking over every part of you. “What!?”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but maybe this is a learning lesson, a reality check of what you’ll handle here.”

Your jaw clenches so tightly it hurts, breaths quicker and quicker. “You know what? I have not said shit about the cocktail of pills in your bathroom. I have not said shit about the fact that you seem to hate kids or something. I have not said one word about you, about your lifestyle, your fear of commitment, I haven’t tried to change you or pry.”

Satoru falters then, hitting him in waves how furious you are, realizing now what he’s done, his lips parting. “Shit, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, you’ll let me finish, Dr. Gojo.” At your formal tone he’s breaking, he sees it then, you’re trembling, barely able to keep it together, he feels your anger and even worse, your disappointment. “I haven’t said a damn thing, because we just got together, and we don’t even know each other yet.”

“You act like this connection is normal?” His hands go to your waist, but you shove them off.

“No, it’s not, but what is also not normal is pushing someone to want what you want. You’re trying so hard to make me change my mind, for what? So I can be a perfect little girlfriend for you? So easy, let you do what you want and have no fucking opinions?”

“That’s not what I want. I want you.” He tries again, but his hands freeze an inch above your skin when you glare up at him through tears.

“I don’t pry, I don’t judge, I just accept you. But you can’t accept anything that doesn’t fit into your world, can you?”

“I can accept it, I just know you’re not thinking rationally, you’re young and still inexperienced.”

You laugh then, a humorless laugh at him. “That’s insane talk from you, truly Dr. Gojo. Your whole MO is thinking outside the norms, is letting feelings in. But only if it benefits you. And my age? I’m no baby, you’re not even that much older.”

“It’s life experience, is all.”

“Hah, you don’t even know my life.”

“Just… I’ll drop it. I swear.” You shake your head at him, and he panics then, sensing you falling back from him. “I will drop it, come here, you’re upset.”

“Yes, I’m upset! What I just had to see, what I just had to… and you’re what, rubbing it in my face!?”

Satoru’s blood pressure rises as he realizes he’s losing you, his hands trembling, sure hands that never falter. “I’ll stop, just don’t… don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?” You whisper, he cups your face and you can’t push him away, not when he slams his lips down on yours, and you’re kissing him back for just a moment, before thinking better of it, freezing your lips, pressing them in a terse line. He’s a breath away, leaning over you, taking over you completely.

But you can’t.

“Don’t you leave me. Please. You’re important to me.” He needs you, he needs you so badly, but he feels you slipping through his fingers, knowing he’s pushed you too far. “I’ll drop this. I’ll respect what you want.”

“Oh now you will? Instead of comforting me after watching that little baby…” You can’t even say it, you can’t even think of it, the images in your head making you devastated. “You know I’m emotional, you knew that and you said it was a good thing for a doctor, but because it’s not what you want in this situation you use it as what. A lesson? It’s no lesson, it was a baby!”

Satoru sighs now, shaking his head, covering his face, temples pounding as the blood rushes to his brain. “It was fucked up of me.”

“Yeah, it was.” You take a shaky breath, shaking your numb hands, pacing now, and Satoru watches you with his heart in his throat. “I can’t.”

“Don’t do this. I see what I did.”

“This isn’t good, any of it, me and you. What do we have? We had insane sex, I have feelings…”

Satoru blinks snowy lashes, droplets just nearing the tips of them, as his lower lip trembles, damn near ending your resolve. “You have-”

“Feelings that are too much. It’s too much, I can’t even focus on this internship, you consume me.” Satoru yanks you against his chest, his breath sweeping over your swollen lips, bitten to death from the stress of the day.

“You think you don’t consume me?” He whispers hoarsely, and you shake your head, earning his humorless laugh. “You’re wrong, so wrong, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t look at me that way, those eyes of yours, eyes that make me stupid.” You shove at his chest as those blue eyes take you over, snowy lashes lowered, a beautiful face that makes you ache.

“Don’t leave me. Please.” His voice breaks, and you feel it, his vulnerability, it makes your stomach flip, makes you almost sick.

“Why can’t you accept me, when I accept you?”

“Because I don’t want to disappoint you, I thought it’d be better if you want…”

“What you want.”

Satoru gulps now. “I’m selfish, I want you and only you, I wouldn’t want something else in our lives.”

“Our lives?” You laugh then. “There’s never an ‘our’. Not when you just want to fix everything you deem wrong with me.”

“I don’t want to ‘fix’ you. I’ll stop it. Just kiss me.”

“No.” He pauses a centimeter from your lips, exhaling. “I won’t kiss you anymore, I won’t let you say insane things in my ear while you fuck me, ‘only me ever’ what are you trying to do to me!?”

“I meant it.”

“No, let me go.” His hands drop, as he blinks back tears, and you’re a mess in front of him. “Satoru… I could have gotten over it for you. Wanting marriage, wanting serious shit, wanting kids. Don’t you know I’d give it all up for you, for a chance to be with you? But you trying to change me? That’s where I draw the line.”

You hate seeing him in tears, your beepers both go off then, and you step away, heading towards the door. Satoru’s hand stops you, over your little one, his voice desperate as he leans over you. “I was wrong, will you just forgive me?”

“You made me work with Shoko to hate babies. Then when it backfires, you say something like that?”

“I know. I know.” He hugs you from behind, burying his head against your neck, and you love the embrace, you love him.

But you also love yourself, and you can’t handle it anymore, the cold, cruel way he goes about things. The careless way he dismisses you and all of your feelings, the way he thinks only his way is right, that everyone should think as he does. You shake in his hold, everything pulling you to him.

“Do you hate me?” He whispers brokenly, and you shake your head, looking up at him now, his blue eyes glittering with tears.

“I could never. Far from it.”

“Then give me a chance to fix it.” His thumb brushes over your jaw, your precious face destroyed, your beeper goes off again and you take a breath.

“Let me go. We’ll talk later.”

You walk out, leaving him sobbing against the door, his head against it, fist landing on it, struggling to pull himself together. You’ve in just a couple months become the most important thing in the world to him, but you’re just… leaving him. And he can’t blame you, he’s confused you, he’s turned your life upside down, and he instead of comforting you…

He threw shit in your face.

Why couldn’t he just let you want kids? Well, because he can’t be a parent, and he can’t give you it, and he wants you, no he needs you. He needs you with him, only him, to feel your lips on his, your body against him. To see your little smile, to hear your moans and cries, to comfort you when you’re exhausted.

He should have comforted you, why did he need to do it like that? Why did he fuck everything up? The thoughts swarm in his head as he leans back in his chair now, covering his face with a hand, before he yanks open his drawer. He takes out the xanax and crushes it right on his desk, lining them up with a credit card he yanks now from his wallet.

He rolls up a hundred dollar bill and snorts it right up his nostril, it burns like a bitch, makes his eyes water, but he knows it will hit soon, he won’t give as many fucks, right? But after twenty minutes he’s taking another, and another, until he sees his shift is done, and he’s weakly walking towards the locker rooms, seeing you there changing, looking at your gorgeous frame.

Your eyes catch his then, you quickly look away, your eyes are puffy from the crying he’s made you do, when he slips off his shirt, head fuzzy. He stumbles just a bit, catching your concerned gaze. Which infuriates him then, he steadies himself and glares at you, slipping off his own shirt, noticing your gaze just grows more worried when he slips his top on.

“Satoru, what’s… are you okay?” You care about him? Why?

“Just peachy, sweets.” He gives you a fake smile, and your heart races, as you look up at eyes almost black, so dilated.

“Satoru are you-”

“Don’t ask shit about my life. You’re done, right?” His unexpectedly cruel words pierce your heart, you turn away, body shaking. “That’s what I thought.”

“Are you okay?” You ask again, turning back around, watching his lids lower just a bit as he leans over you, pressing you against the cool metal of the lockers.

“No, m’not okay. Girl of my fuckin’ dreams hates me.” You hear it, the slut of his words, as he takes a hand and cups your face. “Why do you gotta be so beautiful?”

“You’re fucked up.” You manage to breathe out, and he smirks then.

“Me? Nah. Maybe fucked up over you, intern. Haunt my every dream, now you’re gonna just leave?”

“Satoru…”

“You should know what you’re missing.” He kisses you again, desperate and messy, brutal and hungry, hands pulling you against his hard body. You whimper, hating your body’s reaction to him, how it lights up. “You want me, huh?”

“Of course I do. It’s you who can’t accept me.”

“I can… I can…” He kisses you again, one hand cupping you between your thighs over your leggings. “Always so hot f’me.”

“We won’t do it. I deserve better.”

“You do.” He presses a finger along your clit, moaning then. “Better, better… you do… lemme just take care of you, hmm?”

“Stop it, Toru. You’re not yourself right now.”

“This is me.” He kisses you again, as you press on his chest. “It’s all me, this is really me. Gonna run the other fuckin direction when you learn.”

“Ahem.” Suguru’s clearing of his throat does nothing to Satoru, who’s in a haze of lust, depression and xanax. “Satoru, back off.”

“She’s leaving me, Sugu, who doesn’t?”

“It’s not like that!” You hiss through your teeth.

“Satoru…”

“What?” He sways just a bit, Suguru’s frowning now as he looks at him.

“Really, Satoru?”

“What? Really what? I’m tired of everyone so fucking judgy.”

“Suguru take him home.” You whisper, and he nods then, but Satoru glares over at you.

“Why should he?” He demands. “I’m fine. I take more than I did for fucking breakfast.”

“You can’t have someone see you like this.” Your first worry is someone walking in, Satoru losing his career, every other hurt or worry is thrown into a back seat.

“M’perfect, baby. Should I show you?” He kisses you again, as you shove at him, glaring.

“You’re not perfect, maybe something’s hitting harder? You’re not okay.” He shakes his head, laughing now, eyes glinting.

“No I’m not okay, how can I be? When you’re leaving me.”

“I’m not, I just… I’m mad and I’m upset. Okay? Let me be. It doesn’t mean you have to… hurt yourself-”

“You hurt me existing.” He whispers, cupping your face again.

“Satoru, enough.” Suguru’s words resonate in Satoru’s brain, thank god. “Get your goddamn jacket and shoes on.” Satoru huffs and Suguru brushes your hair back as he finally lets you breathe, ever so gently, dark violet eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay, love?”

You nod quickly. “We just… have different views and he was hurtful, but I’m worried more than anything.” You whisper, looking at Satoru now, you’ve never, ever seen him like this. Your heart hurts for him.

“He’ll be fine, I’ve got it. You get home and get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Suguru.” He nods, and you shut your locker, when Satoru looks at you with devastated eyes, shattering your heart.

“I’m so sorry for what I did. Okay?” He whispers, taking your hands then, and you sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“Satoru I never put myself first, with my toxic exes. I let them run all over me. I have to take care of my heart this time.It’s not that I don’t feel it, I feel it. Just please, I have to put myself as a priority.” You touch his chest over his soft sweater, and he has two trails of tears falling from his cerulean eyes.

“Do you need time?”

“I need a minute to breathe, to think. We’ll talk more when you’re…”

“What, sober? Sweetheart I never am.” He whispers, right against your lips, Suguru puts a hand on his shoulder now.

“She’ll talk to you tomorrow. Right?”

“I will.” Satoru kisses your forehead, and you have to hold in every bit of you that wants to take him home yourself, that part screaming forgive him.

But even for Satoru Gojo, the man that’s taken over your heart, you have to protect yourself.

“Good night, then intern.” He murmurs, running the backs of his cool fingers across your overheated cheek.

“Good night Satoru, Suguru.” He gives you the smallest smile, when you leave Suguru exhales, covering his face.

“I fucked it all up, Sugu.” His voice is broken, and Suguru puts an arm around him now.

“How much did you take?”

“Four bars. Not OD level.”

“Thank god. Just… Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Soon you see Satoru and Suguru, as you climb up in your car, and you rest your head on the steering wheel, bawling your eyes out.

It feels so wrong not to be in his arms, not to kiss him, something that just started became so precious to you, so special. But what he did was nasty and hurtful, what he keeps doing, trying to make you change like this, you know you’ve done the right thing. But you also know you’re in love with him, with a beautiful, brilliant and broken man, and you won’t be able to let him go fully.

*****

The next morning Satoru is there bright and early, sipping on coffee in the cafeteria as you walk in, faltering. Remembering so vividly being pressed against those lockers, those eyes that were black almost are now a calm storm of blue, as he looks at you over his hot cup, steam fogging up around his face. You just stand there, because you’re exhausted, you’re hurt.

You want to be with him more than anything, you wanted to go on that damn date with him, wanted to fall asleep in his arms. You want to just forgive him so easily, to fall into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo, to feel those plush lips on yours, to have those eyes devour you. Feel those long fingers that are currently curling around that styrofoam cup, touching your cheek.

You both stand there, until you clear your throat, smiling just a little, a sad smile that makes Satoru feel like shit. He knows how bad he’s hurt you, he’s had all morning to think about it, about how fragile you were, so vulnerable, coming to him to feel better, and what did he do instead? Make you leave him, devastate you, and all he can think of is how to put a real smile on your face again.

“Morning, Dr. Gojo.” You say softly, eyes lowering, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks.

“Good morning, intern.” He says, his voice isn’t the bright and goofy one you’re used to, or the husky sultry one for you, or even the flirtatious one. It’s a soft voice, unsure, just like you.

You grab your coffee now, your shoulder brushing his, just that contact alone makes you ache, the pain in your heart so brutal you feel emotions starting to come in waves. There is so much left unsaid as you both walk out past the packed waiting room, heading over to the elevator, Satoru presses the button, and you stand next to him, feeling the pull, it’s just stronger today.

“I’m…” Satoru clears his throat, looking down at you now, your breath catches. “I’m really sorry that I pushed it. I understand we’re over, but I need to tell you.”

You look up at, swallowing nervously, the backs of his hand brushing against yours, and yours gently brushes back, sending shivers down his spine. “I forgive you, I do. It’s just… we’re too different.”

Satoru turns toward you, leaning down low, free hand cupping your face. “Too different?”

You nod, feeling the tears burning your eyes. “We are, Satoru, so different, and that’s okay. But I think we both know it won’t work.”

“Yeah, you think so?” His words are hoarse, his gaze tearing through your every barrier, a sad, lost gaze.

“I do. Maybe you were happier before, a Hojo and all.” You smile sadly, looking down at his perfect lips. “I hope we can be friends, when you go back to collecting those infinity stones.”

Satoru presses the stop on the elevator then, making you gasp, pulling you by your waist against him, so close you taste that sweet mocha on his breath. “You can leave me, I get it, but don’t think for one minute you’re not all I want. Don’t think I’m giving up on this.”

You can’t speak, not when he’s so close, not when the words he’s saying are ruining you, that you’re melting for him, as your own free hand slides up his chest. “You’re not?”

“How could I? It’s you.” Satoru exhales against you, almost brushing his lips on yours, before pulling back, starting the elevator. “Want that goddamn date with you. I’ll do anything I can to earn it.”

“Satoru…” He walks off when the elevator opens, leaving you to lean against the rail, head pressed against the wall, you’re not sure what floor you’re going to, you just know he’s got you too far gone to leave just now.

He’s not giving up on you, and you don’t want him to give up, either. But with so much between you left unsaid, you have no clue what any of it means. When you’re finally where you need to be, after several elevator rides of pulling yourself together, Satoru checks his rolex, peering at you.

“You’re late, intern.” His voice is calm, professional.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You manage hoarself, as Toge, Yuuta and Maki look at you, concern in their gazes, as they of all people truly knew what a mess you were last night after you got home.

“Don’t let it be a habit.” Gojo says, trying to be stern but it’s failing, it’s just a soft little order, one you nod at. “Wanna work with Shoko or do the pit with me?”

You’re surprised then, blinking a bit. “The pit, if I can please.”

He gives just the smallest little smile. “Then you’re on it. Maki, your week with Shoko.”

“Babies, yuck.” She shivers and Satoru smiles just a bit bigger, as Yuuta snorts in laughter.

Satoru surely feels the same as Maki, but you?

Satoru knows you are yourself, uniquely so. He now knows you were going to sacrifice it all for him, and he didn’t deserve you, not one bit, you deserve more, everything. But he’s so selfish, he wants you back, and he knows he’ll do anything for it, to have you back in his embrace, which feels so empty.

When you’re both alone in his office later, while going over a patient, he keeps his distance as much as he can. Satoru wants to respect this, your wishes, but his hands long to touch you, even those casual teasing brushes you all shared had meant so much to him.

“Present your case, intern.” He says then, leaning on his desk, you feel this distance he is keeping, and it breaks you, but you pull it together, this is your decision right?

“We had a patient with hours of stomach pain last night, ultrasound found gallstones, which should be what occurred, and ordered an EKG to rule out any potential signs of heart attack.”

“Perfect.”

“Patient is in his late fifties, mild drinker, smoker, but otherwise healthy, a little overweight. He likes tacos, he said.” You smile just a bit at it.

“Well who doesn’t? And EKG results?”

“Everything came back normal.”

“So what’s the best course of action?”

“The stones are small, but there are a few. I would suggest a laparoscopic cholecystectomy first, aside from gallbladder removal. That, and a lower fat diet, along with no alcohol should have him just right.” Satoru smiles at you, fuck you make him proud, holding yourself high.

“Exactly right, do you want to assist?”

You blink in surprise, you weren’t sure after everything, but Satoru is clearly not holding any of this against you. “If you would let me, of course, Sir.”

Sir.

Should be calling him that in the bedroom, he thinks, how pretty you’d be on your knees, begging for his cock in your mouth. The images are so lewd and it takes him everything to keep it together. He smiles though, sitting down and taking one of his klonopin right in front of you. You look away nervously, biting your lip.

“You should know all of me. You should know you were smart to leave.” He takes one and chews it up, feeling the sweetness hit his tongue.

“I don’t want to leave you.” You whisper, coming to him then, he pulls you between his thighs now, and you cup his face. “I didn’t judge you.”

“I know you didn’t, I know.” His eyes shut, he turns and kisses your palm so sweetly. “I won’t have anyone else, it’s just you.”

“Satoru it’s insane to say it, when you…”

“I know. I know it is.” He pulls you down, to where you’re leaned over him, one leg over his chair, your hands gripping the arms of his seat. His hands slip over your waist, right over your scrubs. “I’ll do anything to make it right.”

“You think I don’t want to kiss you, fuck you? Suck you right here?” Satoru moans, hand pulling at your hair at the nape of your neck, little networks of goosebumps pricking up, your body reacting in every way, nipples pressed against your bra, desiring his touches.

“Think I don’t want you wrapped on this cock?” His seductive whisper has your hips shifting, a movement he notices avidly.

“You can have anyone, Satoru.”

“I only want you. I’ll have to show you. But will you let me try?” He asks, emotional now as the overwhelming feelings hit.

“I don’t want to be changed for you, I don’t want to give up who I am.” He sighs now, nodding, sad look on his beautiful face.

“I won’t change you. But sweetheart, you are changing me.”

“Bad or good, Satoru?” Your whisper damn near ends him, is it bad or good, this obsession with you? You’re good, but is he?

“I want it to be good. I don’t want to make you cry again, break you down, terrify you.”

You ease in his hold, a hold you never want to leave, but you try to think rationally, despite the overwhelming pull of him, despite the ache to press yourself fully against him, to let him take your pain away. “Then let’s… take time.”

He nods, brushing a thumb on your lower lip, just a little glossy from your chapstick, he can almost taste it, vanilla sugar. He’s caressing your face ever so softly. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek, before pulling yourself off him, sighing.

“Time, huh?” Any time without you in his arms makes him sick, but when you nod he kisses your forehead, so sweetly you want to fall against him, fall into him. “I’l give it, don’t even deserve this right now.”

“I still feel it all for you.” You say, before you pull away, making his heart race. “Don’t hurt yourself over this, please. It’s not… I still…”

“Don’t worry about me, sweets. I’m fine.” His sad smile doesn’t reassure you anymore than he’s pretending it to be true. “Now, go get ready to put him on the board, yeah?”

“Yes Dr. Gojo.” You give him another worried little smile, leaving Satoru to cover his face in his hands.

No amount of a benzodiazepine lessens the need for you.

Your back is against the door, breaths coming quickly, leaning your head back and just longing to be with the man inside, the broken man that has your heart. You know it will never heal without him, no it needed him to heal, you want to stand so firm but your heart and soul know you belong to him, even if for now, you both don’t know it’s true.

You put on a brave smile, and set about your day. You could do this, right? Be without him? You were fine your whole life before you even knew Satoru. Surely… but then why then every time you formally speak to him, do you wish your lips could crash on his?

The day is hectic, even more hectic than usual, you’re running on nothing again, and when you’re finally done, and you’re heading to your car, you can hardly hold your eyes open. Satoru’s next to you suddenly, hands on your shoulders, you yawn as he looks down at you, you’re so curious how he got here.

“You’re too tired to drive, intern.”

You look at him, squinting just a bit in the dark night, the wind softly blowing back your sweater and making his snowy hair sway. “Are you fucked up?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Normal meds. I wouldn’t hurt you. Intentionally, aside from being an ass. I’ll take you home, Maki can bring you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, thank you Satoru.” Soon you’re driving in his car, his hand keeps wanting to rest on your thigh, but he stops himself. He’s running on nothing himself at this point, he’s exhausted, and all he can think of is what it’d be like to hold you against him tonight.

The longing for you, for any of you destroys him, the only sound is his car gently moving through the snow, the windshield wipers going as you keep stealing glances at him, so tired your eyes are heavy. All you can think of is holding him, falling into that bliss, god imagine, snuggling with him again, waking up with his kisses.

But you don’t know him, truly, and how will you, when you’re running from him? Even if it is the best thing for you, it doesn’t make it easier, not when you study his perfect profile in the night. Not when he glances your way for just a moment, that hand hovering right next to your thigh, like he’s fighting it too.

Soon you’re home, the heat of his car mixed with how tired you are makes it almost impossible to leave. Satoru leans over, unseatbelted you, and himself, a hand finally gently over your thigh. It burns through your warm, plush leggings, like a brand on your skin, his other hand brushing your hair back ever so softly, as he opens his mouth, then closes it.

It’s quiet in the car, your breaths and the low purr of the car filling the air, along with the wind outside and the gently falling flakes. “I will do everything I can to get you back, I won’t give up. I’m too fucking selfish.”

You smile, so sleepy, caressing his perfect face. “Satoru, you’re amazing, brilliant, great at so much, but you have to learn, you can’t just fix people, you have to accept them.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just…” He swallows, resting his head on yours, and you’re dying to kiss him, to feel his mouth take you over, he is your drug.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. What I did, it was not okay. I talked to Sugu a long time last night, blitzed the fuck out. What I did was horrible, you needed me to comfort you, and I made it all worse.”

“Yeah. You did.” He exhales, smirking just a bit.

“You’re brutally honest.”

“You like that, I think.” You lean your chin up, noses brushing, lips just that bit apart, killing you both.

“I love it, I love that you have your convictions, your emotions, I love so fucking much about you. I know I didn’t show that.”

“No, you didn’t. But… Thank you for that.” You pull back a bit, taking a breath. “I don’t trust myself around you, I’ll falter, I’ll give in. And Satoru I have to…”

“You have to be a priority.”

“That, I’ve never been.” Your phone starts going off again, you check it and frown, making Satoru curious, but he knows he shouldn’t pry. “Case in point, my other stupid ex.”

He glares at your phone, then looks up at you, softer, concern in his gaze, mixed with self loathing. “You have bad taste.”

“Satoru, not you. There’s so much good here.” You put a gentle brush of your lips on his now, easing back as his eyelids lower, as his grip slips higher. “I want to fall into this, into you. You’re my own Xanax.”

“I’m that good?” He smirks, and you laugh softly. “You still haven’t even asked, why I’m on it all.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head, enjoying the heat of his hard body against yours too much. “It’s not my place right now. I should go.”

“Yeah…” Please don’t go, please.

Something pauses you, and you hug him then, he hugs you back tightly, and you kiss him once more, exhaling against his lips. “Don’t give up on it.”

“I sure fucking won’t. I win at everything you know.” You snort at that, a smile brightening your beautiful face, making him melt for you.

“We’ll see about it. Take care, Satoru, please drive safely in this?”

“I will. You get some sleep.” He wishes he could come inside, in your warm, cozy home, and hold you, but he knows he can’t.

Yet.

Satoru won’t give up.

You wave at him before you get inside, the overwhelming, exhausting past week eating you alive, and you’re stumbling when Toge sees you. He walks up quickly, concern clear in his violet eyes, hands on your shoulders. “Okay?”

You break then, shaking your head and sniffling. “No, m’not, Toge.”

Toge holds you then, as you sob against him, and soon Maki and Yuuta are out there too, all rubbing your back, your hair, as you can’t stop crying. It’s too much, not being with him, the hurt he caused, the fears you have. The past days, losing that little baby, losing so many, losing your fucking mind.

“I’m so tired, you guys, of all of it.” You barely speak, barely hold it together, as they all gently speak.

“No, you got this baby, I swear. If it’s not Gojo. if he’s not the one for you, guess what? You’ll be okay, we’re here for you, either way.” Maki says softly, and you nod, sniffling now.

“You have to do what’s best for you, don’t feel guilty.” Yuuta says, and Toge’s giving you the saddest look of all.

“Hurting.” You nod quickly, hugging him again.

“Don’t you run from me, please.” You say softly, as he strokes your back. “I need you all.”

“Not running.” He assures you, with a sweet smile, and you feel so at home with them, but something’s missing.

Satoru is missing.

How has he become everything so quickly?

But soon Maki is getting you a glass of wine, and Toge has cookies for everyone, Yuuta is putting on your favorite movie. And as you’re cuddled with your best friends on your old couch, so comfy and worn in, it almost feels perfect. You’re blessed to have them, warm with the fire going, while the snow falls outside. But you can’t help but look out the window.

“I love him, fuck.” You whisper softly.

“We know.” Maki says, you snuggle back up to her, curling up and letting her rub your hair.

“I love you three so much. Don’t leave me, even if I’m a mess.”

“We’re not going anywhere. Shh, just relax.”

Sleep doesn’t hit for Satoru that night, not when he stares at your number over and over with your picture in his phone, not when he thinks of the date he had ready on that fairy boat for you, not when he thinks of you in his home. He stares at that damn piano, remembering kissing you on that bench.

But he was selfish, he was pushy, he ruined such a beautiful thing before it began.

Satoru knows now, he needs you, like he needs to breathe, and he knows by looking in your eyes, you feel it, though you’re now terrified. He was so afraid of pushing you away, that he did just that. As he sips down a whiskey and pops a seroquel, he hopes it will take him to sleep soon, blissful dreamless sleep where he won’t have to feel this pain.

Satoru looks out the window, watching the snowfall and wondering if you’re okay, before the sleeping meds take him out. But it doesn’t prevent those dreams, it only makes them more vivid, and he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating, panicking. He calls you, knowing you won’t answer, but he hears it.

A sleepy ‘hmm?’

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Shh. Satoru… s’okay… shhh…”

He lets tears fall as he sets the phone on speaker. “Will you… let me hear you breathe? So I can sleep?”

“Hmm, you’re weird Doc.” He snorts through his tears, and you sleepily wonder if this is a dream on your end. “But mkay.”

He soon hears your steady breathing, and he finally can sleep, mind whirling with ways he can earn you, while you listen to his little sigh, hand gripping the phone, picturing him in your mind’s eyes. “Night, beautiful.”

“Night S’toru.”

Two hearts are alone but still connected, as both wonder what the exhaustion of tomorrow would hold, and beyond the doubt, they hope.

I know this was an angsty/darker chapter, but it will get more lighthearted and will have a happy ending, but we gotta go through some rough stuff to get there (Satoru won't be a Hojo again dw lol)

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