#I'm tired and worn down and needed to scream

[dionysus-god-of-all-things-wine]

Fun fact! Genevieve ran away because she was exhausted of it. She was the oldest in cabin 12, having to sub in as a parent for sammy and castor and pollux. And she had spent so long at camp that she was starting to forget there was a world outside of it, her entire identity had just been boiled down to taking care of her siblings and being Dionysus golden child. So she ran and she never looked back.

the song "A Burning Hill" By Mitski is perfect for an au where Genevieve never left and she suffocated under the identity she'd built of at camp, or better said: the lack of an identity:

"Today, I will wear my white button-down I'm tired of wanting more I think I'm finally worn For you have a way of promising things And I've been a forest fire I am a forest fire And I am the fire and I am the forest And I am a witness watching it I stand in a valley watching it And you are not there at all

So today, I will wear my white button-down I can at least be neat Walk out and be seen as clean And I'll go to work, and I'll go to sleep And I'll love the littler things I'll love some littler things"

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE!!! "For you have a way of promising things And I've been a forest fire I am a forest fire And I am the fire and I am the forest"

This but it's Genevieve desperate to please her dad ("you have a way of promising things" <- Dio dangling his approval in front of her) and doing so by being such a good mother that he never has to be a father. ("I stand in a valley watching it And you are not there at all")

Then eventually she becomes a year round camper, because Sammy and the twins need her! She's so jealous for leaving them like that! ("I am the fire and I am the forest")

DO YOU SEE THE VISION CHAT?

SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO MEEE.

UR ANGST IS FIRE AS ALWAYS BUT OUCHHH

[revenantghost]

Man, it stinks that the people who hurt you take up space in your brain against your will. Yeet! Get OUT!!!

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

..

[kaliforniahigh]

You usually left Noah to his own devices when it came to recording, writing and producing. You knew he got very focused whenever he was in there with the boys.

But tonight, every single one of them has already left the studio, passing by the living room to bid you a quick goodbye before making their way out of the door. They all looked tired in their own ways, and you wondered how long it would take for your Noah to leave the studio.

You tried to busy yourself watching videos on your phone and scrolling through social media. But as the time passed, you realized it was close to 11PM and you haven't even had dinner yet. Your stomach was rumbling and your eyes were beginning to feel tired. So you made your way to the studio to check on your boyfriend.

Opening the door slowly, you saw him sitting on the chair in front of the computer. You could see the back of his head and his ever growing hair that you loved to grab on to and run your fingers through. He wasn't even moving, just blankly staring at the screen in front of him, and you knew it was time to try to get him out of here.

His broad shoulders were being hugged by his black t-shirt. You loved him in everything he worn, but a basic black t-shirt would always be your favorite.

You lingered by the door for another couple of seconds before you knocked, only loud enough for him to hear and turn around on his chair to finally land his eyes on you.

"Hi, baby", his voice was low and a little raspy, clearly tired after a whole day of singing and screaming into the microphone.

But what caught your attention were his drained eyes. You felt a little guilty for finding the sight before you completely adorable, but you couldn't help it. Besides, you knew he got extremely soft and touchy when he got tired, so that's why you made your way over to him, his arms already extending towards you to rest on your hips.

You got closer to him and ran your hands through his hair, he sighed in pleasure and encircled his arms around you in a hug, resting his head on your tummy. You could feel the ends of his hair prickling your skin through the fabric of your shirt.

"It's already 11PM, baby. You need to eat and go to bed", you told him in a small voice, almost a whisper. The room was quiet and despite the cold lightning, you felt a sense of comfort being here with him.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't realize it was this late", he murmured into your shirt, but didn't move his head at all.

"I'll get something ready for us to eat, and then I'll be back to get you once it's done, ok?" you asked him, but he made a sound of complaint and you felt his arms tighten around you.

"Want you to stay here. Haven't felt you all day", he nuzzled his head closer as if to get his point across and convince you to stay. He never had to convince you to stay, your favorite place would always be with him.

You moved around a bit in his embrace and settled yourself on his lap, straddling his hip. The position didn't feel sexual at all in this moment. You were both craving some sense of closeness - him more than you - and the feeling of each other's body heat, so you decided to give him what he wanted before you would have to inevitably get up and fix you both something to eat.

You rested your head on his shoulder and he started to move his hands up and down your back.

"How was the studio session today?", you asked him, wanting to know if the reason he was staying here so late was because he was struggling with something, or because it was going so right, he didn't want to stop.

"Started good, but then we hit a brick wall. The guys left to clear their heads and I stayed here to try and sort it out", he mumbled into your neck. You knew that he felt more responsible than the other guys, and you always tried to tell him that this is a team effort, but you knew your boyfriend would always work himself to the bone regardless. And that'd when you would gladly step in.

"How about you also get out of here to clear your head? You can wait for me on the couch while I get dinner done", he knew why you were so adamant on him eating something. Having watched him go to bed without eating one too many times. The thought of you worring about him so much filled his stomach with butterflies. He loved being cared by you.

He finally nodded, realizing he wouldn't get anything done this tired and hungry.

You got up from his lap and he stood up after you, taking your hand in his and leading him out the door. Making your way to the kitchen, you thought he would situate himself on the couch and rest for a bit, even doze off for a while. But he followed you to the kitchen and made a personal home behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

You smiled to yourself, knowing there was nowhere you'd rather be right now. From time to time you gave him a piece of whatever you were cooking - and he gave a hum of appreciation, telling you it was good - and from time to time he gave you a kiss on the neck.

Noah was forever grateful for your presence in his life, knowing that he needed you to bring him back down when his head got too far up in the clouds. He didn't know what he'd do without feeling the heat of your body and your delicate hands on his skin at the end of a rough day.

[thescarletfang]

I can’t stop thinking about the blurb you wrote with an enemies to lovers with robby and a brick wall. The prospect alone is giving me life.

This one's for you, anon. Hope it hits!!!! Apologies if the ending feels a bit rushed!

dr robby x f!reader

!! 3.4k, enemies-to-lovers, smut, fingering, sexual act in public, unspecified age gap, power dynamics, anger, idk????? lil fluff at the end 18+ MDNI. i'm sure there are typos, i'll likely re-read and edit ~*EVENTUALLY*~

For interested parties - this is the blurb referenced.

"Hey."

You ignore his voice despite knowing it's just going to piss him off further. You slam your locker shut, trying to steady your breathing.

"I'm officially off the clock," you practically hiss, refusing to turn around as you zip up your bag and try to stop shaking. He's got you so riled up -- as always -- and you just want to leave this fucking hospital and get home.

"I don't fuckin' care," Robby growls from behind you. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

The blood boils inside of your body. You whip around, eyes narrowing at your attending. He's looking down at you, metaphorically as well as physically, arms crossed over his way too fucking broad chest.

"Really?" You scoff. "You're talking to me like I'm a fucking child?"

Robby's eyes narrow. "You want me to talk to you like an adult? Then you start acting like one."

Your ears ring with rage and you can feel your face growing hot. "How dare you---"

Robby's eyes flash. "Need I remind you that I am your attending? You are still my resident---"

You close your eyes, thumping your head against the row of lockers. "Jesus Christ---"

"And you directly disobeyed me. You went behind my back without consulting me, like you're fucking supposed to do."

Your eyes prick and it pisses you off. You will not let Robby make you cry.

"I did what I had to do to save a life," you say lowly, your voice thinner than you want it to be.

"You undermined me," Robby says, his voice laced with fury. "In front of an intern, no less. You have absolutely no fuckin' respect for authority, you’re constantly looking for rules to break under the guise of being flexible, and you don’t fuckin’ listen.”

Robby’s chest is rising and falling a little faster than before he started this spiel of vitriol in your direction. You want to scream. You want to hit something. 

But you’re so tired you can barely see straight, and if you’re being honest with yourself, getting reamed out by Robby feels like absolute shit.

You hate that you stare down at your feet instead of meeting his eyes. 

“It was a cardiac tamponade,” you grit out. “He was going to die. I did what I had to do and now he’s in cardiology’s hands, I don’t see–”

Robby shakes his head, hooking his fingers behind his neck in that way he always does. “No, you don’t see. You never fucking see, do you?”

It stings like a slap. You finally look at him and he’s just staring at you with something so close to hate that you wish you’d never stepped foot in PTMC three years ago at the start of your residency. You may be a senior resident now, but Robby clearly feels like you don’t measure up. 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You look away. “You gonna write me up?”

Robby shrugs. “Yeah, maybe I should. I always let you off the hook because—” he cuts himself off. You whip your eyes to him, feel your pulse increase.

“Because what?”

Robby winces, messing up his hair. “Forget it.” You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. His big, stupid brown eyes look at you and you hate how you can see every emotion flicker through them as he rubs his beard. The clearest of emotions?

Anger.

“This will not happen again, got it?” His voice is sharp; raspy and worn, but commanding. You have to physically restrain yourself from snapping at him or recoiling. You just nod, silent.

Robby glares at you one more time before turning and walking away. 

It takes you five minutes to regain your composure before you finally leave. 

Your hands tremble the entire drive home.

* * * 

You don’t speak to Robby for the rest of the week, unless it’s absolutely necessary. You avoid him like it’s your job, sticking close to Collins and McKay for almost all of your cases. You offer him clipped, short sentences that only contain the vital medical information needed. If his eyes linger on you longer than necessary, a frown pinched between his eyes, you don’t see it. 

You are done with Dr. fucking Robinavitch.

The two of you have always butted heads. It started out polite enough, and you’ve always respected him. But he’s so damn bull-headed all of the time, and stubborn, and his temper hangs on such a short fuse. You’re working under the worst conditions at the best of times, and you just cannot keep it together around him.

Robby — Dr. Robby — knows how to get under your skin. 

You refuse to examine the feeling further. You refuse to admit that yes, he’s stupidly handsome and competent and he is the greatest doctor you’ve ever worked with. 

But the man is a mess and like, fifteen years older than you and he needs to get in therapy yesterday. 

So, you ignore him this week and you pretend not to feel his eyes drilling a hole in the back of your head every time you walk by him. He’ll never apologize for the way he spoke to you and you’ll never apologize for undercutting him because you saved a human life. 

You eventually get so desperate to stay away from Robby that you beg to switch to night shift for a bit, and Abbot is so thrilled about the extra support he immediately puts in a request for the schedule change. 

You see Robby when he’s leaving for the day and you’re arriving for your first night shift. He has his backpack swung over one shoulder, sunglasses hanging on his scrubs, and you immediately beeline for the lockers. You can feel Robby’s gaze on you and then you hear his heavy footsteps. You occupy yourself with putting your things away and ignoring him. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re on the schedule for nights for the rest of the month?” Robby’s voice is low behind you. It’s like gravel and you need to stay away. 

You don’t answer, just close your locker and mess with the combination. 

Finally, you turn to him and he’s…he’s watching you like he can see through you and your layers of self-preservation. 

He looks exhausted and frayed to the edges but you force yourself not to care. 

“Abbot needed help,” you tell him coldly, shrugging and moving around him. He easily falls into step beside you. Damn his long legs. 

“Bullshit,” he says easily. You stop walking and whirl on him. 

“Why the hell do you care?” You try to keep your voice even but you’re failing. You’re failing at everything these days, but you really don’t need Dana’s curious look from where she’s packing up for the night at the nurse’s station. 

Robby rubs his beard and you see his patience (which isn’t there on the best days) wearing thin. “You should’ve run the schedule change by me.”

“Fucking hell!” Your voice rudely pitches up an octave without your consent. “You’re really giving me shit for this now too? Do I do anything right in your eyes? I get that you fucking hate me, but—”

Robby takes a step back, like your words physically pushed him. “What? I don’t–I don’t hate you—” You start walking again, determined to get out of this man’s orbit. “Just fuckin’—hey, hold on—-”

Ellis rushes past you, claps you on the shoulder. “T-5's going septic. Gotta run a central line, let’s go.” 

You glance briefly to Robby, who’s looking at you with a guarded expression that you’re tempted to label wounded but you don’t have time to analyze a 53-year-old man’s inability to communicate with you properly. 

You look at Ellis and nod. “Let’s go.”

You leave Robby staring after you and you refuse to think of him (or his stupid big, sad, brown eyes) for the rest of the night.

* * * 

The bar is warm but your belly is warmer as you sip your second glass of wine. It’s a testament to how loved Shen is and how the Pittfest mass casualty event truly bonded you all together almost a year ago that so many PTMC folks are here celebrating his birthday at a dirty, dingy dive bar.

Not everyone can be here – of course – but you take a shot with Samira and Cassie, you tease Whitaker, you catch up with Mateo and Mel, you trade barbs with Walsh and you laugh at a sarcastic quip Abbot makes out of the corner of his mouth. 

For the first time in a month, you feel light. You feel happy.

You’ve also been able to avoid Robby for the entire evening, and that’s a win in your book. 

He mostly sticks with Abbot, the two old heads sipping whisky on stools like a couple of highwaymen. 

You do not notice how good Robby looks out of scrubs. And you certainly do not notice how when you walked into the bar, his eyes raked over your little dress like he was a man starved and you were a cool drink. Because if you noticed both of these things, that would mean that there is something between you that isn’t anger or annoyance. You recall what Samira had said to you a few months ago while you split a bottle of red together on her couch. 

“All tension is sexual tension, you know. I see the way he looks at you when you’re both tearing each other’s heads off!” She’d waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe you need to tear other things off.” A pause. “Like clothes. I was referencing tearing off clothes.”

You’d burst out laughing, tipsy with your friend but now you can’t help but think maybe there’s some truth to that ridiculous statement. 

No, you tell yourself, lifting your drink again to your lips and trying to zero in on what sweet Whitaker is saying to you and Victoria. No. 

Robby hates you.

Robby does not feel anything toward you.  

Robby—Robby is staring at you and you can see it over Whitaker’s shoulder and it makes you feel insane. Jack’s saying something to him and Robby is nodding like he’s listening, but his eyes keep flicking back to you, keep looking at you and you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden.

You need some air.

Desperately. 

You mumble an excuse to Whitaker and Victoria, down the remainder of your wine and place the glass on the bar counter. You assure Samira you’re okay, just need some air when you pass her and she looks worried but your legs keep moving and you don’t breathe easily until you’re outside in the cool evening air. 

You take in a lungful, letting the door swing shut behind you and you meander to the far side of the bar. You lean against the brick wall, trying to understand why your heart is racing. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear — you feel insane wearing it down, as it’s always tied back for your shifts — and try to calm down.

He was just looking at you.

It means nothing.

He hates you—

“You okay?”

Your eyes fly open and you turn your head to watch Robby walk around the corner, hands in his pockets. He has the audacity to look concerned and it throws you out of sorts. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, running your hands over your dress. Robby’s eyes watch the motion for a second, like it’s involuntary, and you feel a hot coil spring loose in your stomach. 

He raises an eyebrow, stops right in front of you. You’re still leaning against the wall and you wish you could just disappear from this moment. 

“Really.” Robby doesn’t ask it but instead says it like he knows you’re lying. “Cuz usually people who are ‘fine’ don’t dart out of a birthday party the way you just did.”

You stare at him and the fact that he even noticed has your head spinning. You try to deflect. 

“Didn’t realize you were watching me so closely, Robinavitch.”

Robby barks out a humorless laugh. “Oh, we’re back to Robinavitch now?”

You stare at this frustrating man and resist the urge to pull your hair out. 

“It’s really impossible for me to win with you, isn’t it?”

He squints at you like you’re an idiot. “For you to win with me? You’re joking, right?” He rubs his beard — his tell — and looks away for a moment. “You fucking switched shifts because of me.” 

You gape at him and wait for his eyes to come back to you before you speak. “You don’t want to work with me! Why do you even care? I was doing you a favor—”

“Whoah, whoah—hold on.” Robby takes inhales through his nose. “Where is all this coming from? You accuse me of hating you the other day, and now you say I don’t want to work with you—-”

You cannot take any more of this. “You ride me harder than any other fucking resident! You don’t—you don’t believe in me—”

You’re breathing heavily and Robby stares at you, a mystified look flitting over his face.

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his voice with its typical rasp filling all of your senses. He takes a step closer. “How can you think I don’t believe in you? You’re my best resident.”

Your eyes grow wide as you try to comprehend his words. “But—but you’re always—mad at me.” You finish the sentence lamely. 

“Yeah because you’re fuckin’ infuriating,” Robby grinds out, his jaw flexing once. “And I know how much you’re capable of, everything you can do, if you’d just fucking trust me.” 

He’s closer now, somehow inched just a breath’s distance from you and you look up at him. You feel unrooted, you feel like everything is swimming around you. 

“But you—you hate me!” It’s a feeble last attempt at defense and Robby—Robby actually growls. 

“Would you stop fucking saying that?” He rubs a hand down his face, like he’s so tired—

“But—-” 

Robby groans and something inside him snaps. He mutters, “fuckin’ Christ,” before he puts his large hands in your hair and pulls you to him, his lips crashing with yours.

Robby is—-Robby is kissing you.

Your attending has his hands buried in your hair and he’s pressing his body back into yours and your back hits the brick wall and he’s—his lips.

You gasp into the kiss and a second later he pulls back, guilt flashing across his face. 

“Oh fuck,” he says quickly. He’s flushing red and about to step back. “I’m sorry, that was completely inappropriate—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. With a fistful of his shirt, you pull him back to you and press your lips to his. 

This time there’s no hesitancy on your part. You trace your tongue on his bottom lip and he opens for you and moans into your mouth as his hands land on your waist, pushing you back against the wall.

The kiss is messy; Robby licks into your mouth like he was always meant to do it and you your hands slide into his hair and one of his hands grabs a palmful of your ass and you whimper into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says into your kiss and he sounds so wrecked. You can feel yourself soaking your panties as Robby’s other hand — the one not dimpling the flesh of your ass through your dress — skates down your leg and hitches it around his waist. 

He sloppily moves away from your mouth to your jawline and then your neck and through the haze of lust you remember you’re in public, you’re outside a shitty bar and all of your coworkers are inside, but when Robby grinds his fucking hard cock against your core you actually die little. 

“Robby,” you whine and he grunts, grinding again against you and his lips trail back to yours. They swallow your sounds and your hands grip his hair and you feel delirious. 

“You drive me insane,” Robby groans, his voice destroyed and you’re gasping for air when you feel a hand dip under your dress.

You're throbbing between your legs and you look at Robby through your lashes. “Touch me,” you whisper and Robby lets out a disbelieving laugh, his head knocking against your collarbone as his right hand trails along the seam of your panties. 

You’ve never wanted someone so badly.

When a large finger sweeps aside your underwear and swipes through your soaking slit, you both let out moans in tandem. 

“Jesus, baby,” Robby says, pulling back and looking at you with heavily lidded eyes. He looks wrecked. His hair is askew and his neck is flushed and his lips are kiss-bitten. “You gonna let me fuck you with my fingers agaisnt this wall?”

“You can fuck me with more than your fingers against this wall,” you tell him brokenly and Robby looks like the words cause him physical pain. He gently eases his finger into you, the glide delicious and you throw your head back, baring your throat to him. He licks up your jugular, until he finds your mouth. You don’t kiss —- you’re just…you’re fucking panting into each other’s mouths. 

“I’m not fucking you for the first time against a dirty wall,” he says, and you lick his tongue. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he slips another finger into you and you bite his lower lip, dragging it out.

“No?” you ask, because right now all you can think about is Robby fucking you against this wall. 

Robby looks at you and his eyes are clear when he says, “No. I’m gonna have you come all over my fingers, then we’re gonna go say bye to everyone. Then, I’m gonna take you home and fuck you in my bed.”

Your eyes go wide and before you can answer, Robby starts fucking you with his fingers in earnest. He glides them in and out, and his thumb finds your clit. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, head thrown back again. Robby finds a home in your neck, sucking on a pulse point. “Robby!”

“God you feel so good,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your throat. “You make such pretty noises, baby. Wanna feel you come on me.” 

He curls his fingers just right and you’re there, you’re going to fucking come so quickly.

“I’m there, I’m right there,” you whine, your voice high-pitched. “Need your cock, Robby, need you to fill me up—”

Robby growls, covering your mouth with his as he strums just right. 

He pulls away from your lips just enough to whisper, "Come right now and you can ride me all night, baby.” 

You shatter. 

“Yes—yes! Fuck, fuck, Robby—yes, yes!” The words spill from your lips as you ride your boss’s fingers against a brick wall.  Your orgasm slices through you, barreling you over and over and over. 

Robby fucks you through it with his fingers, brokenly rasping, "Good fuckin' girl. That's right, take what you need, fuck."

You’ve never come so hard in your life. 

You open your eyes and Robby — fingers still buried in your pussy — is looking at you with glassy eyes like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

You grin lazily at him, bones loose from your orgasm. “That is…not the direction I thought my night was going in.”

Robby huffs out a laugh and slowly removes his fingers. You hiss at the feeling, still fluttering around him. He looks down at you, but this time you’re ready to meet this eyes.

Something real flits across his face then, and with his other hand he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. He cradles your face and you lean against his palm. 

“I could never hate you,” he says softly, and his eyes match his voice and it’s just—it’s so good. 

“No?” 

He leans his forehead against yours and you feel whole in that momet. 

You feel…strong. 

Robby looks into your eyes and you have this insane feeling that everything is going to be okay. 

“No,” he says, his lips hovering over yours. “Not when I’ve wanted you for so long.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. For just…everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” you tell him, because it’s true. 

He pulls back, grinning boyishly. “That mean you wanna be the one to tell Shen we’re leaving his birthday early?”

You laugh and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “That’s all you, old man."

***

look, these two will need therapy to establish healthy communication skills lol but hey it's fanfic baby

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Part 1: It's Not A Big Deal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Fluff, Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems.

Word Count: 3.1K (I promise I didn't mean for it to happen)

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. There is some swearing (only a few times), Heated Kiss, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex/Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Okay I know that I should be working on my other fics, but I had this idea after reading an INCREDIBLE fic by @justagirlinafandomworld called "Stranded" for @jacklesversebingo and I couldn't help myself.

Sam squeals the car into the parking lot of the motel so loud that Dean and you can hear the high pitched scream of rubber on asphalt from your room on the second level.

"If he ruins those tires he's going to pay for them." Dean grumbles under his breath from where he sits at the small wooden table under the window, wiping down his gun with a clean rag. The sunlight that came streaming through dramatized the sharp angles of his jaw and the soft sleepy strands of his hair that still stuck up from when he woke up an hour ago.

"I don't know what his hurry is." You don’t look up from the worn paperback perched in your lap, gently turning the page. "If he's that eager to get back here to tell us something he should have just called."

“Maybe there was a sample sale on hair gel.” Dean laughs at his own joke and you can sense him look up from the gun to try and catch your eye, but you don't raise your gaze from the text.

“That’s pretty brave coming from someone who owns 90% of the products in that bathroom.”

“What? I do not-“

“Really? If I walk in there right now there won’t be seven different half-used deodorant sticks?”

“They’re different smells." Dean says defensively. "And shut up. I don’t comment on how many books you bring with you. Don’t know why you need to shove a million in your bag and then just buy one while you’re here.”

“Because I might not feel like reading the ones I bring. I might want to try something new. And this book,” You wave the book in your hand for emphasis. “Is very good and I don’t have it back at the bunker, and it was only two bucks!"

“But the others ones might be good too. You don’t know.” Dean sighs, looking at you like you're insane. "You just let them sit and rot in your suitcase."

Today was the last day that you would be staying in Louis, Illinois. The current case that the three of you had been working on together had been solved, which meant that the townsfolk were no longer dealing with a zombie outbreak and you were at peace to settle down on your pull out bed with a good book, taking a few moments for yourself.

You desperately needed at least five, but you also wished that you were already back in your room at the bunker.

The bed there didn't have as many springs that stuck into your back at odd angles and didn't squeak whenever you moved an inch. Your inability to find a comfortable position meant that the mattress squeaked all night long and Dean had thrown his pillow at you to make it stop. He hadn’t been pleased when you returned it back to him. Then again, you had hit him in the face with it as hard as you could when you did.

And like hell you were going to give Dean Winchester the satisfaction of sleeping in bed with him. You’d had to do that one time on a hunt where there were no extra rooms and Dean refused to let you sleep on the floor or in his car. He said that you might make it spontaneously combust.  So you'd shared the bed and learned that he was the biggest blanket hog you’d ever met, not to mention when you woke up he was spooning you and you couldn’t be certain, but you thought he had tried to cop a feel at least once.

If anything you’d maybe sleep in Sam’s bed, but the guy was so much bigger than you he took up most of the space, so you were stuck with the pull out couch.

You couldn't wait to be home. You liked going out on cases, but you liked that you had a home now, a space that was only yours, and someplace where you could shut yourself away from the world. And most importantly, away from Dean Winchester, who had been the bane of your existence since the night you met him for the first time.

Of course this wasn't too bad either. Taking a few moments of quiet for yourself while Dean cleaned his guns and sorted some of his tools in his duffle. The two of you were getting more comfortable around one another. When you’d first met there had been a lot of screaming and several "she's not going to be there is she?" and "what the hell is she doing here?" questions that Dean moaned to Sam over and over the more the three of you teamed up.

You weren't used to working with other people, well, now you were,  but before it had just been you and the endless road. But as it began to happen more and more you tried to fit comfortably into the swing of things. Dean and you would occasionally bump heads, but it happened less now than it did before. After five years you'd hoped that the two of you could be more civilized, for Sam's sake at least.

Sam and you got along much better. You didn't understand what Dean's problem was with you, or why he hated you so much. He was always correcting you, insulting you, and snatching things away from you as if you hadn't been hunting your entire life. Occasionally it wasn't that bad, like right now, but it had been much worse a few years ago.

When you'd met Dean you'd hated him, thought he was a dick, but the more the two of you spent time together on cases the more you saw that he did those things to hide what he was feeling and the more you saw how big his heart was.

You believed that your relationship now with him had progressed to a sort of symbiotic relationship, but honestly it was more like passive aggressive roommates who fight over whose turn it is to clean the dishes.

Dean still tended to get high and mighty sometimes and annoyed you without end, but you stuck around and in Sam's words "bickered like an old couple."

Sam had gone to grab some snacks and fill the tank at the gas station down the street twenty minutes ago, leaving with a joyful "Don't kill each other."

So far there were no casualties, but apart of you itched to beam Dean in the back of the head with the paperback just for a little bit of excitement.

Sam bursts into the room out of breath. "Okay I-"

"Where's the fire Sammy?" Dean sighs looking up from his gun.

"I ran into someone when I was at the gas station." Sam says it all together, as if it's one sentence.

"And?" You move your hand in a come on gesture hoping that Sam will get to the point.

"Well he's- he's-"

The man that pushes into the room past Sam is not Dean, he looks like him, but that's not why he's so familiar. He's muscular with dark brown hair that hangs a little longer than Dean's, over the top of his ears, while a few strands fall forward on his forehead. He's allowed a dark beard to cover his cheeks, but his eyes are the same piercing green that they were the last time you saw him. And if that wasn't enough for you to recognize him, the dark green superhero suit would be a dead giveaway.

Oh shit.

"Ben?" You drop your book onto the thick carpeted floor in surprise.

Two months ago you had been unwillingly transported to another reality, a reality where superheroes were real, people had powers, and where you met a version of Dean that you actually got along with better than the Dean in your reality.

You hadn't told Sam or Dean what happened between Ben and you. You weren't about to admit out loud that you actually got along with another version of Dean or admit that you found the other version of Dean aka Ben, attractive. So attractive in fact that you had spent a good amount of the time in the other universe in bed with him before you came back to your reality.

Ben doesn't respond, instead he crosses the room in several powerful strides, and hauls you up off the pull out couch.

"What are you-"

One of his hands tangles in the back of your hair, pulling your mouth against his in a furious kiss that steals your breath away and silences whatever you were going to say next. A part of you registers that Dean and Sam are still in the room, but it's quickly swept away by how it feels to kiss Ben. You hadn't forgotten him, anything but that. Sometimes you actually kind of missed him, when you were lonely or when the Dean from your universe annoyed you too much. Because Ben annoyed you too, but at least at the end of it there was a way to relieve the tension. With Dean the only place you put all your frustration was into the hunt and there were only so many times you could bash a Djinn’s head in.

Ben's tongue brushes against your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you let him in, bringing your hands up to the back of his neck to thread into the long strands of his hair. The strands fall between your fingertips, feathering out from your grip. You moan softly into his mouth as he deepens the kiss, feeling the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheeks, and feel his hand begin to slip down your back to rest on the curve of your ass.

Well, he certainly hasn't changed.

"Fuck I missed you sweetheart." Ben murmurs against your mouth squeezing your butt to emphasize the point. "You and this sexy fucking body."

"Ben." You roll your eyes with a snort.

"What? You didn't miss me?" He raises an eyebrow, forcing his mouth into an attractive pout. "Because you certainly seemed happy to see me a second ago." His free hand gently traces your plump lower lip with the pad of your thumb.

"I did and I am happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Thought so." Ben leans his head back down towards yours, ignoring your question as he tries to kiss you again, but before he can Dean interrupts.

"What the fuck is going on?" Dean shouts, standing from the table under the window, and points his gun at Ben's unprotected back. "Who the fuck are you?"

Ben half turns over his shoulder eyes flicking from the gun to Dean with a sigh. "Look the only thing that's gonna do is piss me off. And you don't want that kid."

Dean makes a face. "Who the hell are you calling kid?"

"Now why don't you two fuck off for a few hours, let me give her a proper hello." Ben turns his dark eyes back on you, cupping your chin in his large hand.

"Y/n? You want to tell us what's happening? Or who this guy is?" Sam asks, but you can't look away from Ben.

You really had missed him. Ben was even more attractive than you remembered. The day that you'd left his universe, Ben had asked you to stay, well, had asked you in his own way. He'd said that he wasn't done with you and if you had stayed he would have made it worth your while. But you had to come back. You weren’t sure how Dean and Sam would survive without you and also because the universe that Ben inhabited was more terrifying than yours, and that was saying something, given that you dealt with demons on a daily basis.

"Guys this is Ben." You clear your throat. "Ben this is Dean and Sam."

"Ben as in Soldier Boy? From the fucked up reality with the people with superpowers Ben?" Dean sputters. He lowered the gun slightly, but he's still looking from Ben to you like he's just walked in on his parents making out.

"Yes." You say it slowly, trying to find a way out, but there really isn't any way to hide this.

It's not that big a deal, is it?

Ben releases you and turns to look at Dean, eyes skating over his body. "So that's Dean?" He tilts his head to the side. "Kinda scrawny. The way you described him made me think he'd look a little more like a man and less like a fucking pussy."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Dean takes a step towards Ben, holding his gun steady out from his chest. You noticed that Dean did try to puff it out more after Ben's insult.

"You heard me." Ben smirks, welcoming the challenge.

"Whoa!" You step between them. "Calm down ladies there's enough Prada to go around at this sample sale."

Ben's eyes narrow in confusion at your comment, but he doesn't back down from Dean.

"I'd say that you left a few details out of your trip!" Dean shouts looking from Ben to you in disgust. "Did you sleep with me?"

"What?" You look at him like he’s crazy.

What does he mean?

"You, and him." Dean gestures wildly with the gun. "Did you sleep with me?"

"What are you talking about? No I didn't sleep with you, I slept with him and it was only once!" You shout back.

Ben clears his throat.

"Fine. A few times.” You correct with a sigh.

“But- you- him-“ Dean’s head turns from Ben to you. “Him- you-.”

“Yeah. Me and her fucked.” Ben says it slowly like Dean is a child.

Honestly he was acting a little bit like a child.

Sam is holding back his laughter behind a hand while Dean’s eye begins to twitch aggressively.

This is exactly why I didn’t tell him. They aren’t the same person! Dean is Dean and Ben is Ben. Someone who shares the same face. And probably the same other things that I’m not going to think about right now because that seems crazy.

"How many times is a few?” Dean demands.

"Why does that matter?”

"HOW MANY?" He shouts so loud that you think the people in the next room over were probably having a wonderful time listening to this soap opera.

Because it kinda did sound like one right? The main character never gets along with someone and then gets transported to another reality through a colorful portal and immediately clicks with another version of him. And-

Maybe I need to rethink my life.

"Well..." Your face scrunched up trying to count exactly how many times that you and Ben had sex. It was difficult. Not that it was hard to remember, you knew that you weren’t going to forget it anytime soon, but just the amount of times the two of you were together was more than you could count on your fingers.

"Well what? You were there for five days!"

"I mean..." You shrug.

“Why?” Dean groans pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to scrub the images from his brain.

Honestly, if he’d told you that he had sex with another version of you, you probably would have had the same reaction, but you were not about to admit that to Dean Winchester of all people.

He’s not gonna win this argument. Especially not when he's waving his gun around like a psychopath.

“Because he's-“ You  glance over at Ben who winks at you. “I don’t know. He’s just kinda-.”

“Everything you’re not.” Ben raises his eyebrow at Dean.

“Sammy you gonna weigh in on this?” You look at Sam expectantly hoping that he can jolt Dean out of the never ending loop he seemed to be stuck in.

“Nope. I’m staying out of it.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender.

“I cannot believe you slept with me!” Dean shouts again.

“Stop saying that! I didn’t sleep with you! I slept with him. Can we please move on-“ You groan.

"Same thing!"

"What? How is it the same thing?” You plant your hands on your hips glaring at Dean.

"He's me from another universe!" Dean is gesturing wildly with his gun now. “How would you feel if I slept with an alternate version of you?”

“It’s completely different!”

“How?”

“They aren’t us!”

“He sure as hell looks like me!" Dean snaps back. "What did you close your eyes the whole time or something?"

Your cheeks flare bright red with Dean's question. "No I didn't!"

“And I don’t look like you.” Ben grunts crossing his arms over his chest and giving Dean a once over again.

“He also doesn’t act like you.” You add.

It was true, Ben didn’t. And for some reason you got along with him more. You didn’t understand what Dean’s problem was, but for the better part of five years he’d been treating you like you hadn’t been hunting your whole life. Not to mention the first three years were spent with Dean barely saying two words to you without some kind of insult attached.

“That’s beside the point!”

“How is that beside the point?” You demand.

“I can’t believe you did this!”

"I didn't kill anyone Dean. I didn't torture any babies or kill any puppies. We are consenting adults! We had sex-"

“No no no!” Dean puts his fingers in his ears. “Lalalalala.” He sings to himself to avoid the image.

"And we're gonna have it again. So the two of you should clear out, unless you're in to that kind of thing Deanie.” Ben wraps his arm around your shoulders to pull you into him, but you don’t take your eyes off of Dean.

“Fuck I’m gonna need so much therapy after this” Dean groans putting the gun down on the table. Which was a good sign because now you weren’t worried that he would accidentally shoot Sam in the foot.

“Really? After everything you’ve gone through that’s what pushes you over the edge?” You ask him in shock.

“Yes. Are you happy? You’ve driven me to the point of insanity!” Dean snaps.

"You're acting like a child."

"I am not! I am having a completely normal reaction to finding out you slept with Wannabe Captain America!” Dean gestures to all of Ben who looks at Dean like he can’t tell if it’s an insult or not. 

You take in a deep breath to calm your racing heart. “Why are you so upset that I slept with him Dean? I don’t understand how this is so earth shattering to you that two people had sex! You have sex with people all the time-“

“Not with you!”He snaps back, but then clears his throat when he realized what he just said.

“He is not YOU!” You shout rolling your eyes for the millionth time. At the rate he was going, you were sure they were going to roll out of your head. 

“As important as this conversation is… can we maybe put a pin in it and go back to why he’s here?” Sam asks diplomatically.

“No-“ Dean says at the same time you say.

“Yes! Ben why are you here?”

“Don’t really know.” He shrugs taking a long hit from a joint that seemed to materialize out of thin air, while tightening his arm over your shoulders. “All I know was that I was fighting Homelander and someone hit me from behind. Then I ended up here.” Ben’s eyes trace your body. “But I’m not complaining, especially not because I got to see you again doll.” He winks.

“Homelander?” Dean repeats. “That is the stupidest hero name I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

“He’s anything but a hero.” You fight the shudder from the last time you ran in to him. “Think about Superman if Superman was a narcissistic sadist with a massive inferiority complex, no weakness, and an obsession with perfect hair.”

Dean looks Ben up and down with a heavy sigh. “I’m disappointed that I couldn’t have at least been a bit more like Batman.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to meet knockoff Batman from his reality either.” You respond.

"I guess I'll start doing some research." Sam says slowly, looking from Ben to you while hiding a smile.

He’s enjoying this way too much.

"Good." Dean frowns at Ben, before he claps him hard on the shoulder. You saw Dean fight the wince when he felt how solid Ben was. "Let's get you home buddy." His eyes dart from Ben to you. "Before you do anything else that'll scar me for life."

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are not required, but are always appreciated! 😊

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester

[thehusbandoden]

He Doesn't Realize How Much he Needs You Until You're Gone Part One- Dabi

A/n: 100th writing I've posted :3

I hope you like it haha.

General info:

Genre: pure angst \\ wc: 2,425 \\ female reader \\ posted: 06/06/24

Warnings!: arguing, neglect, pure angst, crying, yelling, screaming, hurt, feeling betrayed, injuries (reader gets burned- not by Dabi), pushing your partner away (both parties), feeling worthless, feelings being discarded, mention of therapy, thoughts of leaving, thoughts of death, fear of a loved one dying, numbing your emotions, Dabi raging (burning things), leaving, partner being very tsundere, mention of blood (Dabi's tears), regret, guilt, becoming a husk, I think that's all haha. Pls lmk if I miss anything! <33

I will post two endings, one with angst and one with fluff. Lmk if you want to be tagged!

Tears roll down your cheeks as you spam Dabi with texts. You had just gotten into an argument with your beloved when he stormed out, cursing you out.

"Please." You quietly plead, your voice broken with sobs. "Don't leave me."

All of your texts remain unread. All your calls declined. You were having a panic attack by now, yet nothing seemed to get the villain's attention.

Just as you're about to completely lose it, you hear footsteps. Your freeze, listening with an indescribable intensity. The window opens. Your eyes dart to the activity.

Familiar black combat boots peek through the gap, falling to the floor. Your eyes travel up the familiar torn jeans, the worn out t-shirt, the burned neck, the crooked frown, and finally to the comforting turquoise eyes.

You let out a sob of relief as you see your Dabi standing in front of you. He looks down at you, grimacing.

"What happened to you?" He scoffed.

"I-I was worried." Your voice was hoarse and broken from your sobs.

"Worried?" He grunts. "You're more idiotic than I thought." He groans, grabbing the sandwich you made before the argument.

"I-I thought you were leaving me."

"I'm not gonna leave ya. No matter how annoying you are." He scoffs.

Annoying....

Your mind repeats the word several times, your face stiffening as you numb your emotions.

"Sorry..." you mumble.

"Don't start that pouty crap." He scoffs, shooting you a glare. "I'm tired of you being such a bother. I have so much to deal with. Your pathetic emotions isn't on my list."

You quietly fold your arms, moving to the couch. You watch Dabi silently, taking deep breaths to contain your emotions.

"I'm leaving for a mission tonight. I'll be back before next week."

His voice was less harsh, but nowhere near as warm as usual.

"O-okay.." you mumble, fidgeting with your sleeves. He rolls his eyes with a scoff, stomping into your shared bedroom.

~~

"I'm leaving now, brat."

You scramble to your feet, swiftly moving to his side. You lean up, hoping for a kiss as you ever so slightly pucker your lips.

You know your husband. He will notice... won't he?

His cold eyes move down to your lips. He grunts, turning around and leaving. "See ya later, brat. Don't be pouting when I get home, you hear?" He mutters, hauling himself through the window.

He always came in and out through the back window... it would be bad if your neighbors caught a highly wanted villain in your apartment.. hence the sneaking.

You've lived together for over a year now, you've moved four times now.

"Wait-" you call out, reaching out to your husband. His cold gaze burns into you.

"Um- a-aren't you going to... going to.."

"Spit it out, woman."

"Aren't you going to.. kiss me?" You blush. Dabi scoffs.

"Don't expect needles privileges after your attitude yesterday."

"Attitude?! Do you mean our argument?" You protest.

"Here it goes again." He groans. "You're always complaining and refusing to take accountability."

"Thats nonsense." You clench your fists, trying to suppress your emotions. Tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them shed.

"What's nonsense is your attitude. You can't even keep me around now can ya? Your attitude always drives me off! I wonder why I ever married you in the first place. You give me attitude and then act like I'm the victim. Pathetic."

Tears well in your eyes. You bite your lip. "I won't ask for anymore from you." You whisper.

"Good. Keep it that way." He lands outside, shrugging his shoulder before walking off with an nonchalant attitude.

You close the window, leaning against the wall as you try to slow down your breathing. Tears fall down your cheeks as you curl in a ball, feeling hurt, angry, betrayed, and worthless.

The days pass by as you wait for Dabi to return. You didn't hear from him, and he was gone far longer than he said he would be. Every text was left unread, every call ignored, every voice-mail left un-listened to.

Eventually, you stopped trying. You got a therapist, and ended up deciding on what was best for you. When he comes home, if he doesn't treat you better, if he doesn't even listen or try to change, its better for you to leave. Even if it was just for a little bit.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks blur into months. Many nights you lay awake, doubting yourself. Doubting your worth.

It killed you inside. Your self esteem plummeted. You stopped going to therapy. All you wanted was your husband. Your husband's love, his validation, his touch, his mere presence.

Curled in a ball, you stared at the wall with a blank expression. Horrid scenarios went through your head as you imagine your poor husband alone, injured, and dying.

Tears blur your vision as you imagine him already dead, his loving soul leaving this world without even telling you goodbye. You hadn't even gotten a kiss. Or an I love you.

The tears don't stop. And they didn't as the hours slowly pass by. You felt like ripping your hair out, screaming, hitting, throwing things- anything to get your mind off of your husband's doomed death.

The window opens. Your eyes dart towards the unlocked glass pane. Combat boots pokes through. You gasp in relief.

A worn, exhausted, injured, and in pain figure follows the boots. Revealing your beloved, Dabi. You let out a small sob, launching yourself at him.

You close your eyes in relief as you feel his warm chest, the familiar staples bringing you comfort. As you move to open your eyes you feel a hand to your shoulder, your backside hitting the floor.

You look up in shock, Dabi looking down at you in disgust.

"I thought you said you wouldn't ask anymore from me." He scoffed. You grab your arm, holding it to your chest.

"I-" you start.

"I really don't want to hear it. Just let me rest." He groans. You slowly lift yourself off of the floor, silently moving into your shared bedroom.

You curl in a ball, hiding under the sheets. You hear him walking around outside of the room, silently listening. Tears blur your vision once more. You cover your mouth, tightly closing your eyes.

You shake with sobs, doing your very best to stay quiet. You can't help but feel worthless. Tears stream down your cheeks as you listen to your husband's familiar footsteps, glad he's safe at the minimum...

Hours pass by as you cry yourself to sleep, your stray tears staining your cheeks.

~~

Dabi's POV

Dabi strolls into your shared bedroom. "Oi, make me a sandwich will ya?" He grunts. Yiu don't move, irritating him.

He moves to your side, snatching the blanket. "I said-" he stops as he sees you asleep, tears stained on your cheeks. A strange pain dtabs at his chest. Shaking it off, he drops the blanket.

Staring at you, he gently cups your cheek, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. He pulls away, caressing your cheek. "I've missed you. Even though you're a pain." He whispers before pulling away.

~~

Your POV

The next morning

You blink open your eyes, rubbing at the lingering sleepiness. Yawning, your eyes lazily run over the room. The curtains were hiding the small bedroom from sunlight, the entire room encompassed in darkness.

Sitting up, you rub your puffy eyes once more. Dabi was no where near sight. Sighing, you absent-mindedly trace the bruise on your arm where you fell.

Your heart aches as you remember your therapist's words. This isn't healthy. It needs to stop...

The door opens, revealing Dabi. "Finally awake, sleepy head?" His voice wasn't the cold growl like last night, but it was no where near gentle.

You nod, timidly. Afraid of upsetting him once more.

"I'm starving. Want to make breakfas..?" This was his way of asking you to. If you agreed, there would be no thank you, for you "wanted" to.

If you said no, he would be irritated for a while. He won't cook, no matter how many times you beg him to while you're away, so he will oftenly go without eating if you're unavailable or refuse to cook.

Biting your lip, you nod. He gives you a short grimace, something similar to a small smile before walking out. Standing up, you yawn, stretching your arms. Your eyes ache from all the crying, but you push that to the back of your mind.

You walk out to the kitchen, beginning to cook. You feel Dabi's eyes on you, but you don't pay much attention. You were guarded, unsure why he's acting so differently this morning. Cautious of unleashing the monster once more.

"Dabi?" You murmur. He grunts in response.

"I talked to a therapist when you were on your mission..."

"A therapist? What for? Did you leak my identity?!" He snaps.

"No, I didn't. I was really struggling for a while and needed someone to help me."

"So you relied on a stranger?!"

"You wouldn't answer. I called, texted, I left voice-mails."

"Oh so you think that your crappy attempt to get my attention justifies getting help from a stranger!? Was he a guy?! Were you sleeping with him?!"

"What?! No! I would never!"

"Then what were you doing with them?!"

"I was getting help for my mental state, Dabi!"

"Oh poor baby, you think being lonely justifies that?!"

"You're being unreasonable. Dabi she told me it was best for me to leave you if you keep treating me like this. I'm telling you this so you can wake up and change. This isn't okay." You snap, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

"Leave me?!" He laughs. "You wouldn't. You can't live without me."

"You've been making me live without you for months, Dabi. You don't tell me you love me, you don't show me affection, I'm lucky just to have you not yell at me!"

"You're being dramatic." He spits. "You're a spoiled brat. I've been working my arse off for you and you're this ungrateful."

"You've been working for revenge! It's not for me, it never was! I have my own job that pays for all or our bills Dabi!"

"You're listening to a stranger's advice and plan on leaving me?!"

"Only if you don't change Dabi!"

"You knew what you were getting into when you married me, y/n. Stop playing the victim."

"You didn't treat me like this when we first married."

"Keep telling yourself that." He spits, putting his jacket on.

"Where are you going?!" You cry, the food far from recovery, you hazardously shove the pan into the sink, burning your hand. You cry out in pain.

"Y/n!" Dabi yells, hurrying your side. He aggressively graps your hand, making you cry out once more. "Idiot! Why did you hurt yourself like that?!"

"Just leave me alone!" You try to yank your hand away but Dabi yanks it back.

"Stay still!"

"Let me go Dabi!"

"Y/n just sit still!!"

You push him back, protectively pressing your injured hand to your chest. "I said to let me go!"

Dabi's face scrunches up as he looks down at you. After a few silent moments he turns away. "I'm over you and your dramatic act." He mumbled.

Walking to the door, he pulls his combat boots on. "Don't leave!" You cry, coddling your burning hand.

He ignores you, moving to the window. "Dabi! If you leave without us finishing this I'm leaving."

"Go for it. I don't need you. I never did." He sneered.

Your heart throbbed as your beloved husband jumped through the open window, not looking back. Falling to your knees you break into sobs.

You cry over the absence of your beloved, you cry over the pain, and you cry over the dreaded feeling of being completely alone.

You don't stop for hours. It goes on and on until your completely out of tears, numb to the feeling of utter loss. Your hand aches. Your eyes aches. Your heart aches.

It all just- hurts.

You slowly drift to sleep, the cold kitchen floor being the only thing that grounds you from the pain of betrayal.

~~

Dabi's POV

Three days later.

Dropping from the window Dabi nonchalantly glances around the room. It seemed unusually cold an empty. Paying it no mind, Dabi hazardly tossed his jacket and boots towards the front door.

"Y/n, I'm home." He calls, running his hands through his greasy hair, his roots were growing out. Rolling his eyes, he opens the fridge. It was... empty.

"Y/n!" He calls once more, huffing in annoyance. "I get home and can't even eat?!"

No response. "For Pete's sake you petty brat! Get out here!"

Silence.

Anger fills his being before he remembers your words before he left. A strange pain shoots through him, his eyes widen as he runs into your shared bedroom. Everything of yours was... gone.

His heart quickens as he searches the entire house for you. Nothing. Not even a trace. His breathing quickens as he pulls at his hair. Taking a shuddering breathe, he shakes his head.

"You'll regret this y/n... you'll be back and I'll laugh in your face!" He chuckles, losing a bit of his sanity. "I DON'T NEED YOU! YOU'LL SEE!" He screams, activating his quirk as he knocks over a chair. He let's out a scream, lighting anything and everything in sight on fire.

Months pass by. Dabi has turned into a shell, simply surviving. Work, sleep, work, sleep, work... a "good" day is when he remembers to eat or drink. A shower or change of clothes is out of mind.

Walking through the streets, he walks inside the charred apartment. Stepping inside, he closes the door. He doesn't care about his identity anymore, or anything really.

His turquoise eyes scan the apartment, his eyes landing on a photo of you and him. His heart strangely aches once more. "Y/n..." he murmured, his fists clenching.

Falling to his knees, he lets out a broken sob. His eyes burn, tears would be running if they could. Blood drips from his charred tear ducts. He falls to the floor face first, nothing but his beloved wife on his mind.

How could he be so stupid?! He lost the one thing in this world that actually loved him. Grasping his phone, he dials your number.

Please. Please pick up... please... I need you...

~~~~~

Part two (coming soon) | alt. ending (coming soon) lmk if you want to be tagged!! <33

Dabi's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | Tips<3

Reblogs make me smile (bonus points if you tag) and comments make my day!!

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging. 

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Diagnosis: Burnout

Law x reader

Modern AU

Summary: Just a little something. Law showing up for the overworked reader.

Words: 946

Notes: So, my work has been killing me lately, sucking the life out of me. But it inspired me to write a short something about Law taking care of an overworked reader during my lunch break, lol. I finally had time to read it over, and somehow it's not half bad, so I'm sharing.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Your chest felt tight, your jaw sore from clenching it all day. It had been one of those weeks—the kind that dragged you across broken glass and had the nerve to ask you to smile through it. Micromanaging supervisors breathing down your neck. Sleepless nights where your thoughts never shut up, just circled like vultures. And the pressure? Constant. Relentless. Your mind felt like a soda can someone had been shaking nonstop, rattling with tension and seconds from exploding. 

A thousand tiny expectations had climbed onto your back like weights. All those messages, deadlines, useless meetings, forced pleasantries pushing on you until just existing felt like a task you were failing.

By the time you slammed your front door shut, you were barely human—just a tangle of frayed nerves and unchecked rage wearing skin. Your jacket hit the floor. Your bag followed. You didn’t even bother turning on the light before collapsing on the couch, face buried in your hands.

You wanted to scream. Or cry. Or punch something.

Moments later, your phone buzzed. 

You home?

You stared at the screen, the words swimming in your vision, the glow of the screen too bright for your tired eyes. The tears you hadn’t even noticed threatening to fall now blurred the text, each word smeared like smudged ink.

You typed back:

Yeah. Don’t. I’m not in the mood tonight.

You hit send with a little more force than necessary, then dropped the phone face-down onto the couch like it was another burden you couldn’t deal with. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the world to just pause for a moment. To give you a second to breathe.

Not ten seconds later, another buzz.

I’m coming over. Don’t argue.

You didn’t reply. Because you knew him. Arguing would’ve been pointless.

But not even ten minutes passed before you heard the knock.

You opened the door to see Trafalgar Law standing there in his hoodie, a plastic bag of takeout in one hand, and his usual cold expression on his face.

“I said not tonight,” you muttered, voice raw around the edges, worn thin.

“I know,” he said, without missing a beat. “But I ignored you. Obviously.”

He stepped inside like he’d done it a hundred times, eyes scanning the clutter, the chaos, the shadow of the person you usually were.

“You look like shit,” he said, the kind of blunt honesty you came to expect from him.

“Gee, thanks.”

You huffed a dry, humorless laugh and flopped onto the couch like gravity finally won. You melted into the cushions, arms limp, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling.

Law didn’t flinch at your mood. He never did.

“I brought food,” he said, setting the bag down with a soft rustle. “That’s more useful than sympathy, anyway.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue with that. You just let out a tired, noncommittal hum.

Then, gently, he asked, “You wanna talk?”

You didn’t even look at him. “No,” you snapped, sharp and immediate—then softer, the edge melting into something fractured. “Yes. I don’t know.”

He stood over you in silence for a beat, then sighed and dropped down beside you. “You keep pushing like this, your body’s going to shut down. You know that, right?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him, irritation sparking through the exhaustion. “I don’t need a doctor’s lecture right now.”

“Tough. You’re getting one.”

Your mouth opened, ready to snap something defensive. But then you saw his face. The look he gave you wasn’t scolding, wasn’t cold. It was sharp, yes—Law always was—but behind that was something tender. Something rarer.

Worry.

The quiet kind. The kind that lived in the subtle tightness of his brow, the way his fingers flexed once on his knee before going still. The kind of worry from someone who didn’t know how to say I care about you out loud, so he said it with food, with presence, with lectures disguised as concern.

He wasn’t good at emotions.

But he was trying.

For you.

Without a word, Law reached into the pocket of his hoodie and soon held something out to you—two small capsules, cradled in the center of his palm like he’d known exactly what you needed before you did.

“For the tension headache you’re pretending you don’t have,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. Then he nodded toward the bag on the table. “And food. Eat something. You haven’t today, have you?”

You blinked, thrown by how easily he read you. “…No.”

“Exactly.” He stood up without waiting for a response, already crossing the room. “Stay there. I’ll fix a plate.”

There was no room for argument—not in his tone, not in his posture. He wasn’t asking. He never did when it came to your well-being.

You stayed frozen on the couch, watching him.

He moved around your space with the ease of someone who had long since stopped feeling like a guest. He unpacked the food with clinical precision, arranging containers like he was performing minor surgery.

He didn’t hover. Didn’t ask for details. Didn’t try to bandage your broken day with hollow words or half-hearted sympathy. He just… handled it. Quietly. Effectively. Like he always did.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, guilt creeping in. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“You’re part of what’s on my plate,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That was him, through and through—blunt and sharp-edged. But honest to the bone. And underneath all of it, loyal in a way that could cut steel.

And maybe that was what made your chest loosen for the first time all week.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 6

Source for pic

Imperfect 6

Word Count: 4684

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: I was going to post this yesterday, but then the blackout happened (Spain and Portugal left in the dark for over 12+ hours!) and I couldn't do it. So here it is. I had a wonderful time writing this chapter and I do hope you enjoy it. Let's see if Kid opens up a little bit or not... On another note, I thought I had the next chapter already written, but then another idea popped up, and now I'm writing another scene to pack in between these chapters! It's a nice scene, you'll all love it!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Killer lets a rare smile curve his lips, though his bandana keeps them hidden. He’s happy. You promised him you wouldn’t hold Kid’s actions against him and would try to prove him wrong. You were determined to show that stubborn ass he deserves some goodness in his life. 

And if Killer had any doubt about you being the one for Kid, he doesn’t anymore. You’re it. Even if neither you nor Kid can quite see the big picture yet, Killer is already thinking way down the line. 

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to pounce some wise words into that knucklehead. Knowing Kid, he probably spent last night drinking himself into a stupor, so it’s about time to call him a dickhead and get him to clean up his act. Killer doesn’t want his best friend to look like shit when you decide to come knocking. 

Killer’s eyebrow raises once he parks his bike and spies the ‘closed’ sign still hanging by the garage door. It’s after lunch, Kid should’ve opened up shop by now, since it’s Killer’s day off. 

He unlocks the door, and as soon as he opens it, he’s hit with a dizzying waft of stale booze. “Jesus fuck. It smells like a fucking back alley here. Kid?” Killer calls as he opens the gate to let in some fresh air, because the stench is already churning his stomach.

He hears a grunt in the back of the garage, followed by curses directed at him and at the blinding sun and warmth that Killer let inside the space. Killer sighs and makes his way towards the back, avoiding broken glass scattered on the floor as well as empty beer cans and bottles. 

“I fucking knew it,” he adds, a small migraine already creeping its way into his head and settling behind his eyes. 

Killer was ready to find Kid still pissed drunk or with a dreadful hangover. He wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted him.

Slumped against the worn-out couch stands his best friend: shirtless, covered in dried blood and blackish bruises, his prosthetic arm forgotten on top of the couch. Kid’s hair is a mess and also matted with dry blood. He has a split lip and a nasty cut on the eyebrow above the left eye - one that’s hooded and closed because of swelling. 

“You fucking went to Hellpit, didn’t you?” Killer’s voice is cold as fuck, his earlier smile now completely forgotten and replaced by a frosty frown. “You asshole.”

“Stop screamin’ for fuck’s sake,” Kid growls, his good eye scrunching and his jaw clenching in barely concealed pain. 

“I ain’t screaming, dickhead. I’m stating facts.” Killer kicks Kid’s blood-covered boot. “You need a fucking shower.”

Just earlier, when Killer was talking to you, he was begging you not to give up on Kid. And now it’s him who has half a mind to do it. Killer’s pretty fucking tired of this self-loathing shit.

The fleeting thought quickly evaporates his mind. He would never abandon his brother.

“You promised you wouldn’t go there anymore. That place is fucking lawless. One of these days, you’re gonna end up dead. Use your fucking head to think, dumbass!” Killer kicks his boot again before turning and grabbing the first aid kit from the shelf.

“Booze wasn’t helpin’. Needed something stronger.” Kid straightens up as he presses his hand against his nose. “Fuck. Think I might’ve broken my fuckin’ nose. Again.”

“Well, thank fuck a few punches helped. You look so much better, Kid.” Killer’s sarcasm flies straight over Kid’s head when the redhead sighs. 

“Aren’t ya listenin’? I just said it didn’t help.”

Killer inhales deeply as he crouches next to Kid and lowers his bandana. “Kid. You have people who care about you. Stop being reckless with your life,” Killer says softly, shaking his head. He has this speech on repeat. Kid has been going to underground fight clubs for years. He always comes back with a little bit less soul in him. 

And a lot more anger. 

“Aye, cut yer sanctimonious speech,” he says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I don’t need that shite today.”

“Well, tough shit. I didn’t need to see you in this sorry state either. We don’t always get what we want.”

“Preach, broth–motherfucker!” Kid hisses when Killer presses the gauze to his eyebrow, disinfecting the wound before patching it up. “Warn a man first, aye?”

“Oops,” Killer deadpans. He then works in silence, patching up Kid’s open wounds as best as he knows how, like he has done a thousand times over the years. Unsaid words linger between both of them, and the silence feels heavy and thick. 

Until Killer decides he’s had enough. “So you pushed her away again?” 

Kid grunts and avoids eye contact. 

“Self-destructing idiot,” Killer sighs, slowly collecting the bloodied gauzes to throw them in the trash.

“She’s too–”

“Save it! She’s what you deserve! We don’t always get what we want, no. But we do get what we deserve in life, Kid, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” He gets up to put the first aid kit away. “Stop wallowing in self-pity and just accept it. You’ve done your penance. Now start living for fuck’s sake.”

He glances over his shoulder and finds Kid gazing at the spot where the picture of their army squad stands. His best friend scrubs his hand hard against his mouth, his whole body locking, repressing words of deprecation and loathing. 

“She’s gonna come back to you. So get your shit together and stop being a fucking baby.”

Kid doesn’t answer him, but he gets up, goes to the bathroom, and when Killer hears the shower running, he sighs in relief. Maybe he got through to him. 

Maybe he’s decided that it’s finally time to allow himself to be happy. 

-*-

You’re a woman on a mission.

You spent the rest of the day and the whole night plotting instead of sleeping and decided you’re about to turn the tables on Kid. He doesn’t want to take a big step into your relationship? It’s fine. You’re both grown adults. How hard can it be to keep it in your pants?

Killer’s plea kept replaying in your head like a broken record: ‘Don’t give up on him’; ‘Prove him wrong.’ 

Oh, Eustass Kid is going to be proven wrong so hard, he won’t even know what hit him. 

Your plan is to leave the romantic tension behind and just have fun. Try to peel the layers of the complicated, brooding onion that he is and get to the core. Make him realize he deserves goodness in his life if only he allows it. 

And that’s why, as soon as the afternoon dwindles to its end, you arrive unannounced at the ‘Damned Punk Garage’.

You kick the door open, sunglasses perched on the tip of your nose, Kid’s leather jacket hooked on your index finger and draped over your shoulder. Killer takes one look at you and visibly relaxes, leaning back on the car he’s working on, ready for a show. 

You can see Kid’s boots sticking out from under Victoria, so you go near him and kick him on the heel. 

“The fuck?” He rolls from under the car, a scowl painting his grease-stained face. When he sees you, his eyes widen, and something shadows them. “Sparkles…”

“What the hell happened to you?” Momentarily forgetting your no-nonsense plan, you lean down, examining his wounds. There’s nasty swelling on his eye, the underside blackened and bruised. Not to mention the cut on his lip and eyebrow. He looks like shit.

Kid grins, chasing away the shadows in a heartbeat. “Worried, sweetheart?” You scoff, and he gets up, dusting his hands against his jeans. “Ran into a door.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“That’s the best lie you can come up with?”

“Fine. Ran into a fist.” You cock your head and frown, ready to pry him further, but then he sees his jacket hanging on your shoulder and his grin disappears. “Givin’ that back already?” 

Does he sound slightly hurt about it? There’s clearly still tension from what happened between the two of you, but you’re about to pull a Eustass Kid on him and completely ignore and disregard the matter. While you’re at it, you decide not to pry any further about his face. 

One step at a time. 

“This?” You look at the jacket and shake your head. “Not a chance, handsome.” Kid raises a brow, and you tilt your head so you can stare at him over the rim of your sunglasses. You point at his Harley and grin. “I want to go for a ride.”

You hear Killer chuckle slightly, but when Kid pierces him with his gaze, he gets back to what he was doing, pretending he’s not listening in on your conversation. 

“A ride?” Kid crosses his arms and assesses you, seemingly looking for something he’s missing as to why you’re acting like this. He’s probably thinking that you should still be pissed at him, since he pushed you away again. 

“Why not? Are you busy?”

“He’s not,” Killer chimes in.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kid growls, and Killer snickers softly. Then he reaches into his pocket and fishes out the keys to his bike, which he tosses at you. “Warm her up. I’ll go wash up.”

You grin as he turns and disappears inside the bathroom. Killer passes by you and squeezes your shoulder gently. “Thank you,” he says, before you put on Kid’s jacket and start his bike. 

You can do this!

-*-

Kid cruises the freeway like he freaking owns the road, leaning into the curves, the engine roaring beneath you as he picks up speed. The wind whooshes in your ears, tangling any hair that dared get free from the helmet, and you laugh. A loud, carefree laugh shakes your chest as you press it against Kid’s broad back and he seems to melt into the touch. 

A briny waft of fresh air hits you and you smell the sea before you see it. Another laugh escapes your lips as you realize Kid brought you to the ocean. 

The tires crunch over loose gravel as Kid cuts the engine and parks the bike. You both hop off, and you don’t miss how his eyes linger on the way his jacket hugs your smaller frame, something unreadable shadowing them.  

“The beach?” You practically stand on the heels of your boots, itching to take them off and bury your feet into the sand. 

“Aye.” Kid scratches the back of his neck as he puts the helmets away, and you both lean on the railing, watching as the waves lap gently against the soft sand. “When yer car broke down and ye called me, ye were here alone. I don’t need half a brain to know ye like it here.”

Kid avoids your gaze as he states this, and you can’t stop your silly little heart from taking a tumble and skipping an entire beat. 

“You’re right. I do like it here. Thank you.” You smile at him and then turn towards the ocean, before the lingering heat between you turns this into something you want, but can’t indulge right now. That’s not the plan. “Let’s go.”

You take off his jacket and kick off your shoes, dropping them near the bike, then sprint towards the shore, letting out a shriek when your feet enter the cold water. You twirl and kick up the surf with your arms raised in the air. Behind you, the sky’s bleeding red and orange as the sun starts to dip on the horizon. 

“Come on, grumpy pants!” you shout at Kid, waving your arms and beckoning him to the sea as if you were a siren and he a wandering pirate. 

“Ain’t gonna happen, Sparkles.” He grins but doesn’t move from the spot he stopped at once you entered the water. He didn’t even remove his boots.

“I’ll drag your ass inside!” you threaten, but that just makes him snort. 

“That would require a lot of muscle, which ye don’t have.”

“Are you challenging me?” you press your hands to your hips and glare him down.

“Is it really a challenge, though?”

You let out a barking, obnoxious laugh before pretending to crack your neck and roll your shoulders. Then you march towards him. “Challenge accepted!” Kid’s grin curves his lips upwards as he crosses his arms and spreads his legs far apart, like he’s daring you to try. 

Determination empowers your gait, and you stomp your way towards his massive frame, only getting slowed down by the unevenness of the sandy terrain. 

“Yer gonna hurt yerself,” he sounds perfectly amused. 

“Ah! We’ll see about that.” You don’t even think, with overconfidence in your stride, you rush towards him using the momentum of your little jog to wrap your arms around his torso and, if every movie, TV show, or wrestling match taught you anything, he should fall. 

He doesn’t even budge. 

“Wow.” Kid’s gaze drops and he stares at you, clinging to him as if your life depended on it, huffing and puffing as your feet get buried in the sand with the effort. “Do ye have an actual plan?”

“This is it…” you mumble between gritted teeth. Then you plant the soles of your feet on the sand and try to lift him up by sheer willpower. 

Kid actually lets out a barking laugh. An unfiltered, joyful laugh. You’re almost thrown out of balance by how unburdened he sounds, but quickly remind yourself that that is exactly the plan. 

“Look at ye tryin’ so hard!” he pats your head condescendingly, but does. not. move.

“You’re going down, Eustass!” Hooking a leg behind his, you try to throw him off balance, but once again, nothing you ever saw on TV is real because he doesn’t fall down! He doesn’t even tilt!

He laughs again. A very raw, clear, rumbling laugh that sets all the butterflies in your stomach aflutter, and you try to drown them out by sheer will as you continue your efforts to topple him. 

“Yer cute, Sparkles,” Kid deadpans. Then, without warning - and still laughing - he bends and scoops you up like you weigh nothing, hauling you as if you were a sack of potatoes. “Yer runnin’ so hot there that ye need to cool off.”   

When he carries you straight to shore, his plans become clear, and you start to squirm in his hold. “No! NO! Kid! Put me down! I was kidding!” Kicking your feet and thrashing in his hold doesn’t seem to help as he only continues to laugh.

“Any last words?” Kid asks with a hint of amusement as he approaches the water. 

“I’m sorry?” you try weakly, a laugh already bubbling up on the back of your throat.

“Wrong answer,” he makes a buzzing sound like you lost a contest and launches you into the water with a glorious splash. 

You sit up with a shriek, your clothes soaked, hair dripping, and a shocked look upon your face. “You didn’t!”

The image of Kid actually doubled over as he laughs his ass off is going to be imprinted into your brain for eternity. It feels like this stupid, silly adventure helped ease some weight off his shoulders. 

Which was exactly what you were aiming to do. 

You take advantage of the fact that he’s so distracted with his own mirth to jump forward and tackle his legs. He goes down with a splash larger than the one you produced and a loud curse, and now you’re the one laughing. 

“Ye menace!” Kid roars as he comes up, a piece of seaweed clinging to his face, and you nearly cry with how much you’re laughing. 

Soon enough, he’s holding you underwater, and then you’re both chasing each other around the shallow surf. 

Nothing else matters in this moment but having fun. There are no raised walls, no fears, no confessions… just fun.

-*-

The sky is laced with dark purple, and the sun can no longer be seen dipping on the horizon. You’re enjoying the last bit of twilight before heading back. Your arms are on the railing overlooking the beach, and you’re facing the horizon, hair blowing slightly in the wind as you close your eyes and let the remaining warmth of the day wash over you. 

Kid is trying very hard to squeeze the water from his favorite boots, and he’s about to direct his mild anger at you when he sees the expression on your face. 

Stopping his actions, he senses his chest constrict. His heart does a little somersault motion he doesn’t care to acknowledge and his eyes soften slightly. 

He was a dick to you. Scratch that. He’s been a dick to you since you two started hanging out. He pulls and pulls and pulls until you give in, and when you’re in his arms, his insecurities pummel him and knock him around like the useless piece of shit he is. And then he pushes and pushes and pushes until he wounds you. 

Yet, you’re always here. 

He can’t remember a single day in his life after the army where he felt so free, so at peace… unburdened. And you gave him that without him asking for it and without asking for anything in return. 

This just proves to him that he’s right in keeping his distance. You’re too good, too fucking perfect. He can’t ruin you. He won’t wreck you!

There’s no way he’s going to drag you down into the pile of shit he’s under. There’s enough misery in here to last him a lifetime, he doesn’t need you to share that with him. 

But when he looks at you and his stupid heart behaves like it’s trying to claw its way out of his chest, he wants to be enough. God, he wishes he were enough. And that scares the shit out of him. Because however righteous he’s trying to be, he knows he’s a selfish prick who wants you all to himself. Even if that will destroy you. 

You shiver slightly, your clothes still wet from your silly taunts in the water, so Kid grabs his jacket, the one you were wearing and left on his bike, and makes his way towards you. Absently, he inhales its scent, cracking a smile when he realizes that it does smell like you.

And a little bit like him, too.

He drapes the jacket over your shoulders and breaks the spell you were under when you open your eyes and smile softly at him, thanking him. He leans on the railing next to you, trying to prolong the moment, but it inevitably has to come to an end. 

“Laughter becomes you,” you tease him, bumping his shoulder with yours and drawing a gruff chortle from his lips. “You should do it more often. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the grumpy, brooding type also works, but then again, I’d say you’re more the angry, in-your-face type.”

You’re rambling, and he finds himself laughing again. He grips the railing tightly until his knuckles turn white because he knows that if he doesn’t do that, he’s going to have to cup your face and silence you with an earth-shattering kiss. 

And as much as he would like to do that, he can’t.

You turn around on the railing, pressing your elbows against the upper part and letting your back lean into it. Then you tilt your head so you can look at him, and he tries to avoid your gaze. 

He can’t.

So he grips the railing tighter. 

“You don’t have to carry all of that alone, Kid. Whatever it is, and you don’t have to tell me what it is. I just want you to know I’m here for you. You can stop pushing me away.”

And now he forces his gaze to the ground, stupidly realizing he’s still only wearing one boot, and the other one is lying next to his bike. His brows furrow, and he’s about to answer when you start talking again. 

“Picture this,” your voice lilts again, into that bright and light, careless tone. “Zombie apocalypse. Best three spots to build a shelter and why. Go!”

The smile returns to his lips, and though he knows you’re deflecting his attention away from the serious subject you breached, it’s working. You delivered your message. He got it. 

Time to have fun again.

-*-

When Kid’s bike comes to a halt in front of your porch, the sky is already black, but your clothes are still slightly damp and stiff from the saltwater. You both hop off the bike, and you hand Kid his helmet. You’re about to unzip his jacket when he stops you, his hand over yours, stilling your motions. 

“Keep it for a little longer.”

Warmth spreads from his hand and tingles all over your body. Today was so simple, peaceful, and nice. And, God, you were so right. You knew that once you started to spend more time with Kid, you’d be drawn even more to him. The agonizing knot in your stomach attests to it. 

The more his walls crumble and the more his layers peel back, the more you want to dig. 

You don’t move to go inside, and Kid doesn’t make a move to leave. You’re not pressed together, but you’re close enough to him that you can feel his warm breath brush against your eyelids. 

It feels like the perfect time to kiss. 

You lock eyes with his, and what you see there makes your breath hitch. Desire and restraint. Want and caution. You know your gaze mirrors his, a craving barely held back by flimsy self-control. The only thing lending you enough discipline to withstand the will to jump him is the fear of him shutting you out again.

One step at a time. 

Kid takes one step closer, and his broad frame towers over you. Yet, this time, he’s not demanding. His fire is not burning hot, it’s a low ember burning steadily but bright. He raises his hand, and you trap a breath between your teeth, not quite knowing what to expect. 

Then, with much less bravado than the last time he touched you, Kid runs his thumb over your lower lip. His touch is almost reverent, barely there, and yet it scorches. His eyes don’t leave yours, as if he’s searching for something.

There are an insurmountable amount of words left unspoken between you two, and you know deep in your bones that this moment feels too precious, too fragile to shake it so harshly. 

So, neither of you speaks. 

And still, the unspoken words linger in the air like a soft morning haze. A promise, a vow, as if to say: ‘I won’t kiss you tonight. Not tonight. We’ll take things slow.’

The moment drags and lingers, and so does his touch. When Kid drags his thumb away from your lips, it feels like forever has passed and, at the same time, like not enough time was spent in this moment. 

He gives you one last burning look before turning and climbing onto his bike. “G’night, Sparkles.”

-*-

Kid is not surprised to find the garage lights still turned on when he arrives. He had an inkling that Killer would be waiting for him to return - the nosy bastard. 

He slides the gate open and rolls his bike inside. His boot still squelches obnoxiously every time he takes a step, but he doesn’t even find the strength to frown. 

He’s too goddamned happy.

“Look who’s back! And just in time for curfew. I was already planning how I was going to ground you.” Killer lowers his bandana and grins at Kid. Then he has to stifle a snort when he sees the state his best friend rolled in. “What the fuck happened? Were you rolling in the sand? Lose a bet or something?”

Kid can’t help the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. At this point, it’s like an involuntary spasm every time he thinks about you. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Shit, dude, you’re actually happy, aren’t you?” Killer drops the remote control for the small TV of the back office and strides closer to Kid, tilting his head so he can have a better look at his face. “She shoved you into the water?”

Kid grins, scratching the back of his head and trying to avoid eye contact. “Aye. But she cheated,” he grunts half-heartedly. 

“Cheated? What do you mean? She batted her eyelashes, and you melted and forfeited?” Kid doesn’t say anything, and Killer whistles. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

For the first time in what feels like an entire lifetime, Kid doesn’t feel the urge to drown his thoughts in alcohol after a workday. Instead, he sits on the couch, places his arms behind his head, and grins.

An absent thought reminds him that he should clean his prosthetic because of the saltwater, but that practicality is easily replaced by your smiling face. 

So he smiles too.

“Fuck. You’re smiling.” Killer is baffled, and Kid doesn’t even have the strength to tell him to shut the fuck up. 

His best friend slumps into the seat next to him and stares into nothingness. They both do, letting the weight of everything settle between them. 

After a while, Killer speaks, breaking the silence. “She’s good for you, man. I know I said it before, and I’ll say it again.”

Don’t fuck it up. Killer’s unsaid words ring in his ears, despite not having uttered them. He knows Kill like the back of his hand, knows what he’s thinking but is too polite to say. 

“Don’t mean I’m good for her, though.” Kid didn’t want to go there. Not today, not like this. But he can’t escape the truth. It’s better to just deal with it. 

“Don’t do that, brother.” Killer shifts so he’s facing Kid. “Don’t act like you’re a ticking time bomb waiting to blow up in her face.”

Kid closes his eyes, and some of the lightness you brought him today dissipates, taking away all sense of warmth. 

“That’s what I am, Kill. That’s what I do.”

“We’ve talked about this before. You’re not a fucking monster, Kid. She sees that, she sees you. Sees past your bullshit and the crappy walls you hide behind. She wants that, she’s here.” Kid clenches his jaw and swallows past the lump in his throat. “You pushed her away, but she’s still here.”

Kid’s lip twitches up into a small smile again.

“You really fucking like her, don’t you?”

Kid punches Killer’s shoulder with a growl. “Stop makin’ it weird, asshole.”

“I ain’t making it weird, man! It’s already weird enough to see you smiling like a teenager in love, smelling like a wet dog, and having hearts for eyes.” Killer grins and gets up with a jump, escaping Kid’s reach just as he’s about to pounce again. “Fucking lover boy!”

“Oi!” Kid barks, enraged but not truly angry. “Do ye want a new set of teeth?”

“You’re offering dental now? The perks of the job have just been raised!” 

Kid guffaws loudly and settles back on the couch, draping one arm over his eyes, the stupid grin never leaving his face. He can still smell the salt and the sand on his skin. He can even smell you. That characteristic scent of your perfume that now haunts his dreams. 

He was so close to claiming your lips again, hell, he wanted to. But this time he didn’t. He wants to do things properly now. He doesn’t want to kiss you just out of desire, only to regret it the next minute. 

Maybe Killer is right. Maybe he does deserve happiness now. Yet he knows he can’t fuck it up. So one step at a time it is. 

Killer keeps taunting him good-naturedly, and Kid lets him, only telling him to fuck off once or twice. 

Sleep comes easier today. And that’s a fucking first. 

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen

Check out @igiulss sketch of roughed up Kid! and this one of the beach scene! They're absolutely lovely!

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

|Chapter 7|

[leahswife]

the in-betweens

summary: in which you and aitana go from normal best friends to best friends who kiss.

a/n: this is the before of "where do we stand". gotta post some aitana fluff after all the jenni filth. i'm sorry if this feels rushed but i just couldn't find any more ways to describe the goddamn act of kissing 😭

prequel, part one, part two, part three

"ven a bailar conmigo, porfaaa." aitana begged as she grabbed your hand. 

"no no no aita–" you tried to protest but the girl's strong arms pulled you up from your seat, in the direction of the dance floor. you looked back at where you were seated besides caro and marta, sending them a pleading look to save you. they sent you an apologetic look but knew even they couldn't reason with a buzzed energetic aitana. you groaned at being dragged, you weren't in the mood for drinks tonight and you pretty content sitting next to the calm couple.

you don't know where aitana managed to find so much energy to party after a long game. but she did. and insisted on trying to force some of it into your worn out body.

you danced for a while, aitana screaming along to the spanish songs playing. you were unable to keep your frown on, with a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you saw how happy she was.

she finally calmed down and wrapped her arms around your neck which made you comfortable enough to wrap yours around her waist, pulling her closer. you felt like your heart could combust with how close she was. she was breathless and clearly still high on a buzz when she got closer to your ear to shout "quiero besarte!" you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not quite understanding what she said, a mix of language barrier and loud music not allowing you to. she grabbed the back of your neck to pull you closer and shouted again, "i want to kiss you!" she smiled excitedly.

you felt like your eyes couldn't grow wider if you wanted to, shocked at what you just heard. "you want to kiss me?" you asked her, disbelief in your voice. she just nodded with a happy smile and kept on dancing like she just didn't drop those 'too drunken' news on your 'too sober' self.

you went along with her wishes for a while but the pressing of sweaty bodies against you was starting to make you uncomfortable and so you got closer to aitana to shout in her ear, "i'm tired, tana. i'm going!" she nodded, starting to get drained too and both of you went back to your friends' table to gather your stuff. she tripped a bit on her own feet and you quickly put your hand on her waist to steady her, "okay, i'm taking you home." you say as you grab her stuff for her, she just giggled and let you take the lead, "at least take me to dinner first."

once you got to her house, you search for her keys in her purse and open the door, planting your hand on her back to guide her inside.

"so much better." you let out as you relished in the warmth of aitana's apartment, compared to the night's relentless cold outside. you turned to aitana to see her shivering in her dress, holding tightly onto her jacket.

"aitanita, go change into your pajamas." you rubbed up and down her arms and she nodded, "you can use my pajamas too" she suggested quietly, sleepiness taking over her.

"oh that's okay, i can go ba–"

"i'd like for you to stay." she whispered, looking up at you. she was sobering up by now and you could see it in her eyes there was something she needed to let out. did she remember what she said earlier? about you two kissing? she could really just let it go and blame it on the alcohol but you knew aitana felt the need to carefully explain any behaviour that could come across as weird. so you nodded. you went to grab her pajamas and got ready in her bathroom while she got dressed in her bedroom.

when you walked in, aitana was sprawled in her bed, dead asleep. you looked at her for a moment, heart beating slightly faster at the thought that your best friend might like you back. anyway, that was something for you to obsess over later. you chuckled at her figure and tucked her in, pulling the warm covers over her. you grabbed a blanket and made yourself comfortable on her couch.

–

"why did you sleep on the couch?!" 

you groaned and reluctantly opened your eyes as a scolding aitana woke you up.

"you don't have a guest room." you mumbled sleepily.

"so you should've slept in my bed." she crossed her arms.

"hm. couldn't disturb your beauty sleep." you put one arm over your eyes to keep away the light.

"idiota." you heard aitana mutter under her breath as she continued to throw complaints in catalan at you.

"aita, aita, aita" you repeated in hopes of interrupting her, in which you were successful, resulting in aitana shutting her mouth but not without sending you a scowl.

"qué?"

"has anyone ever told you that you're extremely loud and talk way–" you're interrupted by her rolling her eyes and moving towards the kitchen, ignoring you, "-- way too fast!" you yelled after her.

soon after, you feel a body sit down next your lying one. you opened your eyes to see aitana offering you a plate with fruit and eggs and some orange juice. you sit up, a smile forming on your face. "you didn't have to."

"eat." 

"bossy."

"as i speak."

you looked at her, getting slightly anxious at what was about to come next. but you nodded and started diving into your plate.

"i said something last night." she started, hesitantly. you nodded again, focusing more on your plate rather than looking at her so she wouldn't feel so much on the spot.

"i didn't– i don't want to make you uncomfortable with what i said."

"did you mean it though?" you finally lift your gaze towards her. 

"i– i did mean it. but i don't know what that means for me. if that makes sense." aitana was looking at her hands, fidgeting with them. this was clearly a sensitive topic. you noticed her breathing starting to get irregular and you put your plate and glass on the coffee table so you could get closer to her.

"i just don't want to lose you and i'm sorry if i made things awkward or different–" she started rambling the same time her tears started flowing down her cheeks. you pulled her into a hug and held her tight, "hey, tana–" "i don't want you to look at me differently or avoid me–" she was trying to control her breathing at this point, so you grabbed her cheeks, "aitana. stop." you said firmly, trying to ground her. she finally regained control of her breath and looked at you with slightly red eyes. 

"aitana, i can assure you that you wanting to kiss me is not a problem. at all. i don't feel weird or uncomfortable or whatever. hell, i feel flattered that aitana bonmatí wants to kiss me." you winked at her, trying to lighten up the mood. she giggled and wiped her nose. you felt relieved when you saw the smile back in her face, "i know this is probably overwhelming for you right now and you have a lot to discover on your own. but i can't lie and say i don't want to kiss you either." 

she looked up at you, eyes wide at your confession. 

"but if that's something you're not ready to explore, let's leave it at that and let it go."

–

and you did. let it go, that is. for a little while.

none of you spoke about it. you figured aitana should be the one to bring it up when she's prepared, so you went back to normal. as if nothing happened.

until it did.

–

you and almost the whole barça team were hanging out at mapi and ingrid's house for bonding night. you had played a few games and were now gathered around the living-room, watching a movie.

you were sitting at one of the ends of the couch, with aitana cuddling you by your side. you'd often whisper things to her to explain some scene from the movie or make some joke about what was happening. you'd do anything to see her smile and give you her absolutely lovable giggle.

at one point she nudged you to face her. "hm?" you asked, highly aware of how close your faces were. "i'm going to take a nap, wake me up when it's over." she whispered and you could feel her breath on your lips, which was far too intoxicating. you could simply nod and try to not look at her lips. 

she smiled as a thank you and flicked her eyes to your lips before gazing back up at you. you felt her inhale a short breath before looking down at your lips again and moving closer, pressing her own against the corner of your mouth. if your heart wasn't beating fast before, it definitely was now.

you started at each other, both understanding that that changed something.

she leaned her head on your shoulder again to try and take her nap but there was no way aitana was able to fall asleep now with the thundering in her chest.

–

the ride back to aitana's house was silent. there was unspoken tension between you two and you both knew it.

you got out of your car and walked her over to her door, not quite sure what to say and feeling like a teenager with a crush who's just dropped her date off at home and doesn't know what to do.

you huffed in frustration. the silence was killing you and you had to do something about it. you stepped closer to aitana and carefully cupped her cheeks, looking at her as if asking for permission. she didn't pull away so you leaned in, noses touching, you giving her another chance to back out if she wanted to.

she didn't. so you took your chance and softly pressed your lips against hers. 

you honestly didn't know how to describe it. it was tentative, gentle, delicate but - comfortable? like your lips were always meant to touch hers and knew exactly how to move against hers as if you've kissed a hundred times before. 

after what felt like ages to you but were actually seconds, aitana kisses you back. you keep kissing for a few more moments before you pull back, hands still cupping the catalan's cheeks and stare at her, breathless.

"i swear, aitana, if you still don't speak after that i–" you're cut off by her sweet little giggle before she presses multiple kisses on your lips. "you want to come in?" she asks, biting her lip to try and keep her grin from widening even further.

"damn, bonmatí. a girl gives you a finger and you want the whole arm." you shook your head in fake disapproval.

"callate." she grabbed your hand and pulled you in. 

the rest of the night was spent with you two letting your lips and tongues explore each other's mouths. it started off as shy and tender but as comfort and boldness started to settle in, your kisses got harder and provocative.

however, no matter how much your hands and lips delved into each other, no labels were defined. 

and they wouldn't be for the next months to come.

–

a routine started to settle in. you would show up at each other's houses for "best friend's night" and it always ended up with you locking lips. whether it was while aitana was cooking or when she beat you at a board game and you wanted to shut her up.

the same conversation also started to settle in between make out sessions. "just friends, right?" aitana would whisper breathlessly against your lips, and you would nod, agreeing with whatever she wanted so you could press your lips against hers again and again.

"i just," she would cut herself off to kiss you, "can't be," kiss, "in a relationship right now." kiss. you would agree because you would accept anything aitana would give you, no matter how small or little it could be.

you couldn't keep off of each other even at training, with you often pulling her inside closets so you could press her against the wall and muffle her giggles with your mouth. or when she would drag you into the changing room while others were at lunch to playfully bite your lips and leave you winded up.

but aitana was a busy person. she had family, friends and her career to focus on. but all she seemed to focus on now was you. and that was starting to worry her. she never had to make room for someone else in her life since starting her career, except for the casually meeting friends once in a while and visiting her family when she could. but to share everything with someone?

so she started to pull away, she wouldn't reach out to you during trainings, choosing to focus on getting there earlier for gym sessions and staying after to practice some more. this was her life, this was her focus. it had to be. so the "best friend's nights" started to disappear as well, aitana claiming she was too tired after trainings. and she was, she really was. as much as she trained, she didn't feel as fulfilled as before. the more she pulled away from you, the less accomplished she felt. but she also pulled these feelings away.

football was once her entire life. and it would be again.

[scoobywrites690]

I finally posted something longer than a paragraph!! You guys proud of me? 🤭

I'm currently reading a book where this nanny finds herself helping her neighbours after they had a baby dumped on their doorstep, and she eventually falls in love with all three of them so I thought i'd adapt this idea to Price, Ghost and Konig

(I haven't proofread I'm sorry)

The screeching wails of a baby flows through the open window of your bedroom. You opened before bed as the temperature had gone up and you didn’t want to sweat out during the night, however you were now regretting that decision.

What the fuck

You stumble out of bed to close the window. But the wailing still seems to pierce your eardrums. The poor baby scream at the top of its lungs, and not showing any signs of stopping.

Who on earth has a baby?

People in the neighbourhood have children but that’s what they are. Children. Not a screaming baby.

The rapid sound of knocking at your front door has you jumping out of your skin. Who could possibly need something from you this early in the morning. The knocking stops and you hope that it means they've gone away but no sooner does it stop it starts back up again.

This time though it seems that whoever it is, is determined to take your door straight off the hinges.

Yanking the door open you're met with your neighbour. Or should you say one of them at least. He looks tired, his moustache and mutton chops looking untamed making him look scruffy and dishevelled. His clothes look like they've been worn for multiple days in a row, they're creased and stained.

“Thank god you’re awake!” He says when he meets your gaze.

“Well I am now” You say not attempting to hide the annoyance in your voice.

"Sorry" He says meekly, a sheepish grin on his face as he nervously rubs at the back of his neck, the biceps in his arm flexing as he does.

"Can I help you?" You ask. You aren't trying to be rude but it's the first morning where you haven't had to rush out to tend to other peoples kids, so to now be woken up by one screaming the place down has thoroughly spoiled your mood.

Another earth shattering scream cuts through the supposed quiet neighbourhood. Your neighbours head whips round to the direction of his house in reaction to the scream, his face paling at the sound.

"Look I'm really sorry to disturb you but, you're a nanny aren't you?" He asks, desperation in his voice. After a closer look at his face you can see the deep creases of worry lines imprinted into his forehead, and the now very clear bags under his eyes.

"I am, why?" Dread fills your body, don't get me wrong you love your job but this is your one day where you don't have to tend to someone's child.

"Thank god" He mumbles under his breath, and you swear you see the relief physically wash over him. “Can you just come with me please?” He asks in an almost begging tone. Whatever's happening right now he's clearly desperate for your help. Letting a sigh of frustration leave your body you slip on your trainer and grab the jumper of the back of a nearby chair to slip over your top half, as you've only just realised your stood there in your thin tank.

"Lead the way" You say stepping out onto the porch shutting the door behind you.

Leading you round to his house you both climb the steps of the old wooden porch and he opens the front door letting you enter his house. If you thought the screams were loud from your house, they're at a whole different level when you cross the threshold from the outside into the house.

"What the hell is going on here" You say, your voice raised slightly so that it can just be heard over the screams. His two other housemates sit in big armchairs with their heads in their hands. You don't get an answer to your question but you do get pointed in the direction of a baby carrier on the floor.

There sits a little girl strapped into this very uncomfortable looking carrier shes dressed in a pink polka dot onesie, her cheeks are bright red from all her screaming tears staining her delicate skin. Finding yourself gravitating towards her you instantly unbuckle the straps and cradle her in your arms.

"Hi there, little lady" You coo at her gently swaying your body back and forth "What's got you so upset?" You ask as if she can give you the answer. Her screams have quickly died down to little sniffles. Her whole face is the same colour as a tomato with how much she was screaming.

Wiping her tears away you watch as her eyelids grow heavy, all that wailing tired her out poor thing.

“Thank god for that” One of the guys says from the armchair. “I wasn’t sure how much more of that I could have handled” The same guy says as he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Can someone now answer my question” You ask, because from where you’re standing. You’ve got three guys who seem like the last people to have a baby, who have now got a baby that looks no older than a year.

“She was on our doorstep when we woke up” The guy with the mutton chops says. “Look we’re sorry to drag you here, but we've got no idea what to do" He says coming out of the kitchen with a freshly poured cup of coffee. Your mouth waters at the sight of it.

"She was on your doorstep?" You ask looking down at the little girl in your arms as she sleeps peacefully in your arms, suckling away on her thumb.

"I know it's hard to believe but we're telling the truth" One of the other guys says. "Look there was a note attached and everything" he says grabbing a piece of paper and handing it to you.

He's big and burly with arms the size of your head, his hair is blonde and buzzed short and his nose is quite clearly crooked from what could only be assumed as being broken too many times.

Taking a quick read of the note you find yourself having to believe him. The note stating something about being unable to care for her anymore, and hoping she'll have a better chance with you guys than with her mother. you hand the note back to Blondie but not before taking note of the names at the top of the paper

John, Simon and Konig. So that's their names.

"We just need some help, please" Mutton chops says. "Can you just help until we get our bearings" He states. "We'll pay" He adds.

Looking down at the sleeping angel in your arms, you let out a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, I'll help"

[cinnamongrl2006]

♱ Knight!Simon Riley x princess!reader (part 3) mdni 18+ ♱

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n: I'd missed writing for knight Simon, oh god I love him. Would you guys want a part 4? Or maybe a lumberjack!Price fic? cw: oral sex (f! receiveing), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mild breeding kink praise, aftercare, historical inaccuracy. Simon Riley is the contrary of a nonchalant boyfriend.

The first night you spent at the cabin you cried on Simon's chest for hours until you fell asleep, worn out and tired from the trip and the tears, Simon's soft touches lulling you to sleep.

The following morning, after all the tears had been shed, that the reality of your situation enveloped you. All the sadness and guilt you felt were overcome by a profound sense of peace. You were finally at home with Simon, the man you loved—the man who cherished you as if you were holy, like your presence meant something, like your touch was soothing.

The sun filtered in through the window and caught in Simon's eyes, like specks of gold, as he leaned over you, deft fingers caressing your bare skin. His touch was soft and careful, like you were made of porcelain.

"Morning, sweetheart. How 're you feeling?" His gaze was glued on you with worry and a carefulness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I'm..." You sighed, eyebrows knitting up with worry again.

"Hey, we're fine. Nobody will find us here, and we'll have so much time to spend together. We won't even have to go to the village; I can hunt, and we can grow vegetables in the garden— we'll deal with it."

"I know. I'm so glad we did it, Si, it's just so—" Your voice broke off as he held you against his chest, whispering praise in your ear as you relaxed again.

Simon knew you'd feel like this, so he caressed the back of your head and tried to take your mind off it. When the caresses weren't enough his hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, up your thighs and at the edge of your panties, the light cotton already soaked— you couldn't help it when he was so strong, so sweet and handsome, right there beside you, taking care of you— to his delight.

"It's a lot you gave up, yeah? But you're a really brave girl, aren't you?" He cooed at you softly, his gaze molten and loving; his hands warm on your skin, so close to where you needed him.

He didn't make you wait, didn't make you beg and scream for it, not when you'd already been through so much. His fingers dipped beneath your panties and prodded at your warmth, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

Before long, he had you coming apart on two of his thick fingers, legs shaking as you moaned his name. Your hands gripped his hair with force when he began a slow but purposeful descent down your stomach and thighs, pressing open mouthed sloppy kisses all over you, teeth catching onto warm flesh before he got in between your thighs.

One of his hands still rubbed at your clit, tracing slow, deliberate, circles as he lapped at your center. His tongue darted out to lick a bold stripe all the way up your slit. Simon didn't hesitate to quicken his pace, didn't think it twice before slipping his free hand—previously holding you down— up your abdomen and on your chest, calloused palm caressing your soft breasts, nipples pebbling under his touch.

You began to grind your hips on his face, chasing the release that was so close now, as you gasped for air and pulled at his hair.

Simon could— and normally would— spend hours between your thighs, the warmth of your cunt, the plush of your thighs squeezing his head, the way your fingers carded through his hair, like he was as much a lifeline to you as you were to him.

When you reached your second orgasm—hips stuttering against his face, nose brushing your clit as he sucked and kissed your puffy folds, thighs caging him in and fingers pulling at his hair— he could have sworn he'd died and gone to heaven.

But it was when he heard your voice, dazed and soft, he finally looked up from your cunt, lips separating with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting you to his mouth. Simon had a wild look in his eye, like he had finally broken free of the shackles that kept him, like he could finally let go.

You tugged him up from his shirt and he followed suit, settling over you, his chapped lips just a breath away from yours.

"I'd take this morning with you over any land or luxury the king could ever offer me. They would never hold a candle to you, anyway." He brushed your bangs away from your eyes.

"'m so in love with you, Si" You grinned with your eyes half lidded, voice low and velvety, before you pulled him down for a kiss, tasting your arousal on his tongue.

He groaned, grinding his hips against your thigh. His cock painfully hard and leaking precum now. He made quick work of his pants and bunched your nightgown up at your waist before lining himself up with your hole.

You whined at the stretched and he kissed you again, wanting to soothe any ache you could feel. Once he was all the way in one of his hands snaked in between your bodies to play with your clit, drawing tight circles on it. He was panting at your ear, soft groans from deep in his chest escaping him any time he pushed in a little deeper, whispering to you about how beautiful you looked in the morning light, how beautiful you'd look swollen with his child.

"You'll be the sweetest little wife, won't you? Such a sweet girl—" He groaned out, picking up his rhythm, pressing kisses all over your face and neck in missionary.

"I will, Si." You breathed out, not even aware of what you were answering, not aware of what he'd asked you.

"Fuck. Lovie, you're so tight, so pretty, I'm—" His voice shook at the rhythm of his hips, now snapping forward sporadically, rutting into your tiny cunt relentlessly. He came with a grunt, shortly after you— after you'd bitten his shoulder, vision blurring and tears grazing your cheeks from overstimulation.

He didn't pull out, not immediately, he pushed his cum further in you with a final thrust of his hips and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your hot, sweaty skin before dozing off to sleep again.

You watched him fall back to sleep, running your fingers through his blond strands, across the scars that littered his back, the ones he talked about and the ones that made him go rigid and quiet, the ones that made you lose Simon and get Ghost instead. You kissed the crown of his head, and he grumbled a stern, "Go to sleep, m'love," before you chuckled and closed your eyes, doing as he said. Sleep hadn't come easy the previous night, but now, after spending the morning being cherished by the man who had risked his life for you and run away for you, sleep came almost automatically.

As you drifted off, lulled to sleep by his touch, rough palms running down your waist, thick fingers brushing through your hair, you felt him press a kiss to your neck and mutter a soft "we'll work it out." and the finality of his words, the conviction in his tone, made you trust him, like you always did.

────୨ৎ────

tags: @laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss @nicolebarnes @tsyurissxo @foxintheferns

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Geto/gojo/reader “I can’t believe there’s only one bed” and HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY

THANK YOOUUU!! So, this one really sang to me, I went ahead and combined the two, mostly because they are very similar. Thank you both for the prompt!!

Now Presenting...

Starring: A flirty Satoru Gojo, and a tired Suguru Geto

Your body protested every step you took as you walked into the hotel, screaming at you to lay down and accept the sweet embrace of death. Okay, maybe death was a little extreme, but you could definitely have gone for a light coma in that moment. A yawn you had been suppressing came forward, and you tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Awe, well aren’t you cute when you’re sleepy.” Gojo teased with a smile, earning him a glare from you. 

“Shut up Satoru.” This entire trip he kept making note of how cute you were, and how you needed to be protected, and at this point, he was on the brink of losing vocal cord privileges.

“Flirt later you two, let’s just get checked in.” Suguru muttered as he ushered the two of you to the front desk. He tried to summon a friendly smile for the clerk, but it didn’t touch his tired eyes. “Hi! Uh, we should have two reservations under Masamichi Yaga.” He said, really hoping they didn’t ask for an id. He told his teacher that he should probably put the rooms under one of the three people going on the mission, but the man was more muscle than brain.

The young worker started typing on the computer, before confusion fell over her features. “Um, I found the reservations, but it says it’s only for one room?” She asked. You were a bit taken back by that, and you could tell from the looks on their faces the boys were too. You thought for sure you’d at least get your own room. But, then again, if getting a room with 3 beds was cheaper than getting 2 separate rooms, it did make sense for Yaga to take that route, the penny pinching bastard. 

“Uh, yea that should be fine, that’s us.” Suguru shrugged, too tired to really argue. Much to your relief (and concern) the woman nodded and happily gave over the room key, not bothering to ask for an ID. What a stand up place. The three of you dragged your tired worn bodies over to the elevator. Well, two of you did. Satoru felt fine, because of course he did. And because he had no problem filling the elevator with whatever came to his head. You shared a look with Suguru.

How do we shut him up? Your eyes asked.

Pillow over his face as he sleeps Sugurus eyes offered.

No, I want him to shut up now. 

Oh, that’s not gonna happen. For now, we just have to endure him.

You sighed, knowing he was right and hating that fact at the same time. Thankfully, the elevator door opened, and the room wasn’t far from it. Geto unlocked the door, and you and Gojo practically fell over him to get into it. You quickly went to grab your toothbrush, and Gojo went to fiddle with the tv. It was Suguru who noticed it first.

“Uh, guys? I don’t see another bed.” He said. You and Gojo stopped cold in your tracks, heads whipping to the center of the room and- yep. That was one bed, and only one bed. Not even so much as a pull out couch in sight. 

“OH ho ho!!” Satoru laughed, launching himself onto the bed and folding himself into what you think was meant to be a sexy pose. “I’ve read fan fiction before, I know what happens here!” He cackled, “Be gentle with me, I’m a virgin” He swooned, acting like a helpless flower. 

“I call sleeping in the bathtub.” Suguru said, checking out of this battle before it became a war.

“No, Don’t!” Gojo whined, reaching out to him, “The bathtub is cold and hard, I'm warm and soft. Unless you want me to be hard.” He winked. 

“I can’t believe there’s only one fucking bed, who sets this shit up?!” You snapped, aggressively waving your hands at the bed.

“God.” Gojo responded.

“Bad fan fiction writers.” Geto retorted, apparently salty about his characterization in my past fics. 

“Satoru get out of the bed.” You demanded, shaking your head. You did not just get out of a fight with ten, count em, ten first grade curses to sleep on the floor.

“How about you get in the bed?” He purred.

“I will, as soon as you get out of it.” you scoffed, fighting back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Why not get in it with me?” He grinned at you, opening his arms wide as an invitation. 

“I’d rather sleep in the bathtub.” You replied.

“Not an option, I already called it!” Suguru reminded you.

“Why don’t you sleep with him?” You accused more than asked, “He’s your man!”

“He is most definitely not my man!” Geto rebuffed the statement, shaking his head.

“He’s actually my man, we just haven’t taken our relationship to the next level yet.” Satoru purred with a cheeky wink to Geto to really seal the deal. Geto rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to bed, goodnight.” He said, going to grab a pillow from the bed, only for Satoru to grab his arm.

“Come on guys, don’t be silly! This bed is big enough for all of us!” He argued, “We all trust each other, right?!” Gojo paused long enough to look at both you and Geto, but not long enough for an answer. He already knew it. “We know no ones going to try any funny business, we trust each other with our lives there's no reason for any of us to be uncomfortable tonight!” you and Suguru shared more glances. Gojo may be annoying, but when he was right he was right. The only thing really keeping the three of you from sharing was standard social conventions. 

“Fine, but if any of you touch me I’m throwing you off the balcony.” You warned. Geto sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sitting on the bed.

“I just don’t get why we weren’t warned about this.”

“I mean, it kind of explains the weird look she gave us.” You noted, sitting on the other side of Gojo.

“Yay, sleepover!” Gojo cheered, grabbing onto Suguru because he was the one that didn’t threaten him, “Fair warning, I’m a cuddler.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis. 

“I knew I should have just slept in the tub.” Geto sighed.

🛏️🛏️🛏️

In the morning, you were a tangled mess of limbs and drool with your two best friends. Any warning against cuddling being tossed to the wind in exchange for the comfort human warmth brings. You hated to admit it, but it was the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. Gojo woke up not long after you, smiling softly, slowly coming back to life.

“Good morning,” He said. You shook your head and covered his face with a pillow.

“It was before you started talking.” You muttered.“It’s 6 am, go back to bed.” Suguru begged, not happy to have been woken up.

[tinyshyteacup]

TW: cussing, violence, firearms

Part 28

Scotch and Screams - Part 29

The roar of Oswald’s plane hummed in the background as it taxied down the small runway, kicking up a cloud of dust in the golden light of the late afternoon.

You stood just outside the hangar, your hands clasped tightly together, heart hammering in your chest.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry.

But as the door to the plane finally opened, and one by one, the men of SAMCRO started stepping out—bruised, tired, but home—the relief crashed over you so hard it nearly stole your breath.

And then you saw him.

Chibs was the last one down, his boots hitting the tarmac with a solid thud.

His hair was messier than usual, his kutte worn and dusty from travel, but none of that mattered. His sharp eyes scanned—until they found you.

The second they did, his whole face softened.

Filip was home.

You barely had time to move before he was there, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate pull, nearly knocking the air from your lungs.

He pulled you into him, your hands fisting into his kutte, pressing your face against his chest as the familiar scent of leather, cigarettes, and Filip washed over you.

"Christ, love… I missed ye."

His voice was a rough whisper, almost lost in your hair.

You swallowed hard, pressing yourself impossibly closer.

"I missed you too, Filip"

He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his calloused fingers tracing the line of your jaw, his gaze raking over you like he needed to memorize every inch.

"Let me look at ye," he murmured, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. "Make sure yer real."

You let out a small, watery laugh.

"I'm real, Scotsman"

His lips quirked, but his eyes were serious.

"Aye."

"You're home."

For a long moment, he just held you, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in.

His voice was rough against your hair, words pressed into your skin like a prayer.

"Aye, mo chridhe. I’m back."

You clung to him, burying your face in the worn leather of his cut, breathing him in—motor oil, whiskey, smoke, home.

Later that night, after the noise had settled and the club was lost in its usual revelry.

You found yourself tucked into a corner of the clubhouse with him—legs curled up on the couch, his arm draped over your shoulders, fingers absently tracing circles against your skin.

Chibs leaned back, stretching out with a deep sigh, the kind that only came after weeks of exhaustion.

You could see it in the lines on his face, the weight he still carried from Belfast.

But here, in this moment, with you?

There was peace.

His presence, the way he watched you with those warm, whiskey-colored eyes—it spoke volumes.

After a while, he sighed, tilting his head against the couch cushion. "Ye holdin’ up alright, lass?"

You nodded, curling your fingers around his. "I should be asking you that."

A small smirk. "Ach, I’m fine. Jus’ tired. But you… been worryin’ about me, haven’t ye?"

You bit your lip, looking down.

That was answer enough.

He exhaled, squeezing your hand. "Ye got nothin’ to worry about, mo chridhe. I'm right here."

You glanced up at him. "I'll hold you to that Scotsman"

Something flickered in his expression— "Aye, love. I promise."

You turned slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, letting your fingers linger.

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, pressing a slow kiss to your palm.

"Missed this, love" His voice was low, laced with something softer than usual.

You smiled, tilting your head. "What?"

He smirked. "Yer touch, mo chridhe. Been too long since I felt ye."

Heat rose in your cheeks, but before you could respond, he was shifting—pulling you closer, tucking you against his side, his lips brushing your temple.

"Never leavin’ ye like that again love"

"What was it like?" you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Chibs sighed, his fingers ghosting up and down your arm. "Messy. Dangerous. Too many ghosts in tha’ place."

You hesitated. "And Jimmy?"

His hand stilled.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Still breathin’."

You knew better than to push further.

Instead, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He squeezed gently, grounding himself in your touch.

After a moment, he exhaled.

"I thought about ye, y’know. Every damn day."

You smiled softly. "Yeah?"

"Aye." His accent thickened with emotion.

"Every time I closed my eyes, I saw ye. Kept me sane, love. Knowin’ I had to come back to ye"

Your throat tightened, a lump forming that you couldn’t quite swallow.

"Filip."

His lips curved, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"Mo chridhe."

And for the first time in a week, you felt like you could breathe.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

By the third, you hesitated, glancing at the screen.

Unknown Number.

Normally, you wouldn’t answer, but something in your gut told you to pick up.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Then—a voice. Smooth, friendly even, with a lilting accent.

"Ah, there ye are, lass. Been hopin’ to have a wee chat with ye."

You frowned, shifting where you sat on the patio at Gemma's, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Who is this?"

A soft chuckle.

"No need to be worryin’ about that just yet. I just wanted to check in—see what all the fuss is about with the big bad bikers wee lass."

Your stomach tightened. "How do you know Filip?"

A pause. Too long.

Then—"Oh, we go way back, love. I know a lot about yer old man. More than ye do, I’d wager."

Something in his tone set your teeth on edge. Polite, but just a little too familiar. A little too calculated.

"Listen, I don’t know who you are, but—"

"Ahh, but ye will, sweetheart." His voice dipped lower, the warmth cooling.

"See, I’ve been hearin’ such lovely things about ye. Must be strange, yeah? Bein’ wrapped up in all this—when ye don’t really belong?"

Your breath caught.

"I—"

"Just… curious, that’s all. How a wee thing like yerself ended up in the middle of all this."

The patio suddenly felt too small.

Something about the call felt off.

Like a game you didn’t know you were playing.

But before you could respond—he sighed.

"Well now, best not keep ye. Don’t want Filip thinkin’ I’ve been botherin’ his girl. Give him my best, aye?"

And then—the line went dead.

Your hands were shaking as you punched in Chibs number.

It barely rang once before he picked up.

"Love?"

You swallowed hard. "Filip, I—I just got a call."

Instant silence.

Then—"What kind of call?"

You sucked in a breath. "An Irishman. He didn’t give a name. Said he knew you."

The shift was instant.

The casual warmth in Chibs’ voice evaporated, replaced with something sharp, lethal.

"What did he say?"

You hesitated, your pulse hammering. "He… he was friendly. But not really? He asked weird things. About me. About how I ended up in Charming."

A long, measured pause. Then—Chibs exhaled. Slow. Controlled.

"Did he threaten ye?"

You blinked.

"… not exactly, but it was werid, Filip."

Silence.

You could hear something in the background—the rev of an engine, the scrape of a chair.

"Where are ye right now?"

Your throat felt tight. "At Gemma’s"

"Lock the doors." His voice was like steel. "Now."

Your stomach turned. "Scotsman—"

"Now, mo chridhe."

You didn’t argue.

The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place was deafening.

"Good," he muttered. "Now listen close. Ye don’t open the door for anyone but me or Jackie, ye hear me?"

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "O-okay."

His breathing was steady, but you knew better. Chibs was furious.

"I’m on my way, mo chridhe"

And then, just before the line cut—you heard it.

A low, dangerous promise.

"They just made the worst mistake of their fuckin’ lives."

It felt like hours, but it was barely 30 minutes.

When Chibs arrived, he didn’t even park his bike properly.

It screeched to a stop, and before you could blink—he was inside.

"Ye alright?" His hands were already on you—checking, searching, making sure you were in one piece.

You nodded. "I’m fine. Scotsman whats going on ?"

Chibs cupped your face, his grip firm but careful.

"I’m gonna fix this, love. Ye hear me? No one—an’ I mean no one—gets to fuckin’ come near ye like that."

His accent was thicker now—his anger bleeding through every word.

You swallowed.

"Filip"

"Who was it?"

Chibs exhaled hard. "Someone who shouldn’t have yer fuckin’ number."

And that was all he said.

But you saw it in his eyes.

The kind of rage that didn’t settle until it was satisfied.

He was already planning.

Already figuring out who needed to bleed.

The clubhouse was different that night, Chibs paced the room, a cigarette clenched between his fingers.

He wasn’t smoking it. Hadn’t even lit it.

Just rolling it between his fingers, jaw tight, eyes dark.

Jax, Opie, and Tig sat at the table, murmuring between themselves, while Happy stood in the corner, flicking open a switchblade over and over.

It felt like something was about to snap.

And then—Chibs exhaled sharply.

"We find the bastard Irish."

His voice wasn’t loud.

But it was enough.

Everyone in that room knew what he meant.

No one questioned it.

Because this wasn’t just club business.

It was personal.

Chibs sat down, leaning forward, forearms resting on the table. All business.

"Who had her fuckin’ number?"

Jax shook his head. "Had to be someone with connections. Irish or Jimmy'O"

Happy cracked his knuckles. "Irish ain’t usually that bold unless they think they can get away with it."

Tig scoffed. "Yeah, well, they thought wrong."

right now.

Chibs wasn’t just angry.

He was on the warpath.

After a moment, Juice tapped at his laptop. "I can dig into the number. See if it’s a burner or if we got something traceable."

Chibs nodded once, rubbing his thumb along his jaw.

It took less than an hour before Juice had a lead.

"Call came from a pub in Oakland. Irish-owned."

Chibs was already standing before Juice had even finished his sentence.

"Let’s go."

Jax clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Chibs—"

"No." Chibs’ voice was cold. Final. "I’m done waitin’. We go now."

Jax didn’t argue.

The pub was dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke and stale beer.

It wasn’t SAMCRO turf.

Didn’t matter.

Chibs walked in like he owned the place.

And the moment the bartender saw him—he went pale.

"Where is the Irish bastard?" Chibs asked, voice level.

The man didn’t answer fast enough.

Happy slammed his knife into the counter.

The bartender jumped. "Back room—back room!"

They moved as one.

The back room was dimly lit, the air thick with cigar smoke and the scent of spilled whiskey.

A few overturned chairs littered the space, and in the farthest corner, at a small round table, sat the Irishman.

He was younger than Chibs, maybe mid-thirties, with sharp, calculating eyes that immediately darkened when he saw who had stormed in.

His hand moved instinctively toward his jacket—

Too slow.

Before he could even blink, Chibs had him by the throat.

The chair tipped backward, sending the Irishman crashing against the wall.

Glass rattled on the table as the club followed in behind him—Jax, Tig, Happy, and Opie forming a silent wall near the door.

No escape.

Chibs didn’t speak at first. He just stared.

His grip was tight, fingers pressing into the Irishman’s windpipe just enough to make breathing uncomfortable—but not enough to cut off air completely.

Not yet.

“Ye like callin’ my woman, aye?” Chibs’ voice was low, dangerous.

The Irishman coughed, his fingers scratching at Chibs’ wrist. “Mate, it was—just a call—”

Wrong answer.

Chibs punched him.

Hard.

The man’s head snapped back against the wall, a sickening crack echoing in the small room as blood smeared from his split lip.

Chibs leaned in, his voice eerily calm. “Try again.”

The Irishman spat blood onto the floor, coughing, but still tried to play it off, forcing a weak grin.

“Didn’t know she was yours”

Wrong move.

"Bullshit"

Chibs hit him again. This time, a brutal shot to the ribs.

The Irishman groaned, doubling over, but Chibs grabbed a fistful of his jacket and slammed him back into the wall.

“You think ye can talk to her?” Chibs’ brogue thickened, his breath dangerously steady. “Ask her fuckin’ questions? Ye think I won’t find ye?”

The Irishman was panting now, pain lacing his voice. “It—it wasn’t personal, mate. Just… sendin’ a message.”

Chibs laughed.

A dry, humorless sound.

Then, he pulled his gun.

Pressed the barrel right under the Irishman’s chin.

Everything in the room shifted.

No one moved.

Not even Jax.

Because this? This wasn’t club business anymore.

This was Filip Telford.

Hunter. Protector. Executioner.

The Irishman knew it too.

His breath hitched, sweat beading along his temple as his lips trembled.

“Who.” Chibs’ voice was razor-sharp, clipped. “Who the fuck sent ye?”

The Irishman hesitated.

Chibs cocked the gun. No hesitation.

“Say the wrong name, lad I pull the trigger.”

The Irishman’s face drained of color. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, finally cracking under the weight of Chibs’ unflinching stare.

“Jimmy O’Phelan.”

Everything stopped.

Chibs stilled.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible—but you could feel it in the air.

Even Jax tensed.

Because they all knew that name.

Knew what it meant.

Knew who it belonged to.

Chibs’ grip on the gun didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened.

“Ye best be lyin’.” His voice was pure steel.

The Irishman shook his head frantically, fear flickering in his bloodshot eyes.

“I swear, mate—I swear on my mother’s grave! It came from him—Jimmy sent it! He wanted to know what yer girl was like.”

The gun pressed harder.

The Irishman flinched.

Chibs didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Jimmy.

The name coiled around his ribs like a vice, the old rage burning deep in his gut.

His pulse pounded.

His mind screamed for him to pull the trigger.

But that wasn’t enough.

Jimmy was still breathing.

And that meant this piece of shit wasn’t dying tonight.

Not yet.

After a long, excruciating pause—Chibs stepped back.

Holstered his gun.

The Irishman gasped, slumping forward in relief—

Only for Chibs to drive his fist into his gut.

The man collapsed, coughing violently, curling in on himself.

Chibs crouched beside him, voice dangerously low.

“Ye tell Jimmy,” he murmured,

“if he so much as breathes near what's mine again, I’ll cross any fuckin’ ocean just to carve him open meself.”

The Irishman nodded, wheezing.

"A-Aye, mate—aye—”

Chibs stood up, towering over him.

His final warning was barely a whisper.

“Run.”

[storywriter007]

Hi!! First off, I love your work. You are amazing. Okay so my request is basically I have two, both being Percy Jackson x reader comfort fics. Feel free to do one or both of neither!

1) Percy Jackson x reader where the reader has a lot of mental health struggles and is feeling very anxious and overwhelmed and overworked and dissociates a lot more than normal, but is bottling it all up from everyone and trying so hard to be okay and fine, even to her boyfriend Percy who can definitely tell something is off but doesn't want to push it. Maybe show some times he tries to get her to open up but she brushes him off. Then, she just breaks and has a panic attack and complete breakdown, and she ends up dropping something glass and cutting herself on it, and Percy finds her in the middle of it and helps her and comforts her and then they talk about it after.

2) This one is Percy Jackson x reader who gets seriously injured on the Argo II and tries to act like it's not that bad but then Percy (her boyfriend) forces her to let him look at it and it is really bad and he takes care of her and comforts her (kinda like the Leo fic where he cleans the wound on her back because I love that one so much), and then helps her fall asleep after.

Again feel free to do neither or both or just one, thank you so much I love your work!!

I've Got You - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

author's note: thank you for the requests! i will answer them in two seperate posts, this one is the first one you asked for!

author's note 2: i'm so glad you enjoy my work like you have no idea how much it means to me

warnings: cursing, self-doubt, reader is struggling mentally, mentions of blood

genre: fluff

word count: 1.2k

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

"are you okay?" a voice called out, replaying itself in the background.

y/n felt someone shake her and she snapped out of her daze.

"y/n." percy said, looking into her eyes. "are you okay? what's going on? you've been staring at the wall for the past ten minutes."

"nothing." she responded, unconvincingly.

percy gave her that look. like the one a mother gives her child when she catches them with their hand down the cookie jar.

"nothing!" she smiled, cheering up. "i'm fine, just a little tired."

"do you want to sleep in my cabin? maybe visit the hypnos cabin?" he proposed.

he was so sweet.

"no, no. i'm fine, just worn out." she lied. "i'm gonna take a nap."

"okay." he said, his voice doubtful.

he kissed the top of her head before leaving her cabin. as soon as she was alone, y/n's head dropped into her hands as she clutched her hair.

what is wrong with me her mind screamed.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

"are you sure you don't want to go to sleep?" percy asked, sitting on y/n's floor.

"for the hundreth time, yes percy, i'm fine." she said, starting to get annoyed.

she knows, he just cares about her, but she just couldn't right now.

"you don't have to do all of this in one day." he reminded. "all of this is due in a week."

a week isn't enough time her mind yelled.

"percy." she said, looking him in the eye. "i'm fine. i swear."

then she shot her that stupid look again.

"i'm fine!" she defended.

"okay, okay." he said. "i'm going to go to bed. stop by my cabin if you need anything."

now she felt bad. he was just looking out for her.

"i'm sorry." she smiled. "and i will. but trust me, i'm fine."

he gave her a smile back. but, it wasn't a good-luck or i-love-you smile. it was a you're-a-fucking-liar-and-i'll-leave-you-alone-but-i-don't-believe-you. percy left and y/n rested her head on her bunk as she looked up at the wood. tears fell from the corners of her eyes.

how was she going to do it? she felt like the world was on her back even more than usual.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

y/n stood in percy's cabin after he insisted that she spend the night with him. she picked up a picture frame that was on his nightstand. it was cute, it was a picture of him and y/n laying down in the new york snow.

she smiled, but a feeling of dread crept up on her as she clutched the glass.

you've got so much to do. you have such little time. i mean, you're a weak excuse of a demi-god. i mean, c'mon, who gets this stressed out? who zones out this much? percy doesn't deserve this. he deserves better. he needs better. he needs someone who isn't a borderline psycho. he's a hero. what are you? a wannabe. a parasite. he's going to leave you sooner or later. it's just a matter of time. oh are you going to cry now? you're such a fucking crybaby.

she dropped the glass. shards hit the floor as tears fell from her eyes. she held her knees to her chest and put her head in her bloody hand as she wept.

"y/n?" percy asked, shutting the door behind him.

"oh-oh my god, percy, i'm so so so sorry." she said, cleaning up the glass that had just shattered everywhere. "i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry."

"hey, it's okay." he smiled, dropping down next to her. "it's just a picture, i have it on my computer."

"no, no, i'm such an idiot. i'm so sorry." she said, hiding her teary eyes from him. "i can't do anything right."

"what? that's not true, don't say that."

"but it is true." she whispered, tears falling from her eyes.

"hey hey hey." he said, turning her face so she was forced to look at his sea green eyes. "i've got you."

she couldn't keep it in anymore. wells of tears fell from her eyes as she violently trembled. percy pulled her into him, placing her head on his chest. she wept into him as the familiar smell of salt-water flooded her nose.

"i've got you, it's alright." he said.

his voice was so soft and calming.

"i'm so so sorry." she breathed out. "i've been so mean to you and i, i broke your picture frame and now i'm bleeding all over you floor, and you probably hate me."

he backed up for a minute and looked down at her hands. they were covered in blood.

"it's okay, it's okay, don't worry about it." he said, kissing her forehead. "i've got you. c'mon, let's wrap this up."

he stood up, and basically picked her up so she would stand too.

"i don't want to go to the infirmary-"

"we don't have to." he assured. "let's wash the blood off, and i have gauze in here."

she felt like a baby as percy rinsed her hands off and wrapped the hurt one in gauze. she sat on his bunk as he carefully cleaned up the glass on the floor. after a few minutes, he sat down next to her. she just couldn't help it, tears started falling from her eyes.

he let her cry into him. he just ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head every now and then. he kept telling her that it was "alright" and that she was "okay" and that "he's got her." there was something about percy that made her feel so safe around him. maybe it was his soothing voice, or the way he smelled, or maybe it was his touch. whatever it was, it made hiding things from him draining. after half-an-hour, y/n's tears ran dry. she pulled back from percy's chest and looked up at him with red eyes.

"hey, i'm here, you're okay." he reassured, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "what's going on?"

he grabbed a water bottle and gave it to her. even he knew she was dehydrated after crying.

"i-i don't know." she sputtered. "i don't know. i've been in my own head. and i just keep feeling like i'm nothing but a screw up and a mess, and i'm so nervous for the next big quest. i-i can't. i feel like i'm just gonna lose you and i don't have enough time to figure it out. i just feel useless, like a failure whose just going to seal everyone's terrible fate."

"y/n." he paused. "you are the most capable, amazing, intelligent, kind, funny, beautiful, person i've ever met. you are more than enough. and you have time and if you can't get to things, so what? it's okay. and when the next big things happens, it happens."

she felt his firm hands around her arms, holding her tightly.

"and i'm not going anywhere." he reassured.

hearing him clear up all of the awful things her mind has been cramming into her head was cathartic.

"i'm sorry." she said, looking up at him. "i've been such a bitch to you when you were just trying to help-"

"don't worry about it. i knew you weren't doing well." he smiled. "it's alright now."

he bent down and kissed her. his arms wrapped around her upper-half as her arms wrapped around his neck. the kiss was slow and gentle. when they finally pulled away, y/n rested her head underneath his chin.

"i love you." she whispered.

"i love you more." he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.

[literallylovelynosolaire]

This took me almost a month and I actually fucking hate it but for those who wanted the Treasure turning fic, it's your lucky day!!

Tag List: @darlin-collins @brainrotcharacters @aimedis @therealbr1gh7ey3s @spuffyfit and I think that's all

Warnings: Physical Violence, Car Accident, Unconsensual Turning, Mentions of previous arguments, suicidal implications, depictions of dissociation, probably some mischaracterization, and I will admit my writing here feels a little lazy so I apologise, also I didn't proof read because I'm tired.

Happy New Years/New Years Eve!! Depending on Timezone

"I'm not the only coward in this room"

Those words burned into their tender heart as they reminisce just moments before now. Their mind flooding with every blink of their eyes, their fists clenching as they glared at the laundry pile Porter had earlier ridiculed. They glared for what felt like hours until they felt a moisture slide down their cheeks. They couldn't possibly be crying. Their ears rang as the tears fell, and their body moved on it's own. Shoving through the door and wandering aimlessly and thoughtlessly.

*What am I doing?* Their thoughts finally coherent, the dissociation finally worn off. The feelings finally broken through their barricade. They continue to wander, to make any desperate attempt at escaping their thoughts. Their *feelings*.

Hours had passed, though it felt like weeks to them. Aimlessly trudging through damp, dark forest terrains, recklessly thudding into trees, bruising their arms and sides.

Their clothing now dirtied, their eyes sunken and red from the endless streams of tears, their nose stuffed with the agony of the earlier argument, their legs weak from the abuse they had given themselves to escape the abuse of their mind.

"If you think for one second that what we have here isn’t both of us running away, then you need to turn that appraising gaze inward for a bit."

There they were again. Those words burning and bruising their being as they question, everything.

Were they just an escape to him?

Did he ever truly care for anything *but* his escape?

Why them?

Their vision blurred as the tears stung their cheeks again, now stumbling out of the forst and onto a sidewalk.

"Look at that person over there, they look a mess!" A drunken voice cackled from across the street, followed by a group of friends laughing. Their gaze fixed onto the ground as their agony and despair turned to anger and a rage that would soon be unbridled.

Before common sense could stop them, they lunged off of the sidewalk and into the traffic, avoiding doom narrowly as they approached the group.

Seconds later, the voice's face was full of Treasure's fist. They pounded and pounded, wailing as all the emotion they carried finally poured itself out.

The moments blurred together, their arms were taken by another member of the group, one that unfortunately, looked a lot like Porter. The hair, the build, they screamed Porter.

"LET ME GO" They scolded in protest, flailing their limbs before the leader finally threw their punch. The Porter-lookalike, let them go just before the hit was landed. The impact threw their limp, weak body into oncoming traffic a car hitting them mid-fall.

Blood. It was all they could feel, all they could hear, all they could see. Barely conscious, in the middle of the street Treasure attempts to sit up, failing miserably.

Just as miserably as they failed at helping the one they loved.

Their body numbed as their thoughts continued to belittle them before unconsciousness finally overtook them. Their blood flooding the street as the driver leapt out of the car with urgency, Lovely. They rushed to Treasure's side, panic overflowing their senses.

Treasure would never be able to come back from this. Their bones snapped like twigs scattered across a park, bleeding out to what could've been death.

Lovely frantically rested their fingers on Treasure's neck, checking their pulse. Listening for their breathing. It was shallow, quiet, tortured and agonized.

***They aren't going to survive this.***

Lovely's head rushed as what little composure they could've kept cracked under the pressure. The adrenaline taking the reigns on their body, they bit their wrist before feeding their blood to the pitiful, withered, unconscious Treasure. Picking up Treasure's wrist and beginning to sip.

Blood for blood.

A new 'life' over a death that Treasure yearned for.

A death Lovely had almost granted them.

*Timeskip*

Ears ringing, heart pounding, body numbing like a corpse. Hushed voices came from behind the door as Treasure's exhaustingly heavy eyelids lifted themselves to reveal their unfamiliar surroundings. Their mind became frantic while their body was all too exhausted and broken to do anything but look around with anxious eyes. Taking in the exquisitely decorated room around them, it ever so slightly resembled the room Porter took them to, the night of their first dalliance.

Where am I?

Is this some sort of afterlife?

*Am I finally free?*

Questions arose within their mind as the doorknob turned, the long creak of the door opening ringing in Treasure's ears as Lovely entered. Their hands trembling with a guilt only a Maker would know.

"Are you alright?" Lovely chirped out, still shaken up themselves. They approached Treasure's bedside, resting their gaze on the pathetic creature.

"Wh..Who are you?" They sighed out, mind still rushing with questions their body wasn't ready to articulate.

"Lovely, Lovely Solaire. I'm so sorry I..." They trailed off, guilt dripping from their voice, their silvery crimson eyes avoiding Treasure's as they clasped their hands in a purely pathetic attempt of self soothing. "You.. were in an accident, and you weren't going to make it"

"Weren't?" Treasure's hoarse cracked voice interjected, "I'm not.." realization began set in. Making itself comfortable and torturing Treasure's mind almost immediately.

Death hadn't claimed them.

*Solaire*, this person was a member of Porter's house.

*Why can't I ever escape him?*

Their breath hitched as their mind began to rush again

*An accident?*

Their exhales became shakier as their lips began to tremble as they looked over at Lovely. Taking note of their eyes and paled skin, before looking down at their own hands.

Paled, dry, *dead*.

"What have you done?"

Lovely exhaled, trembling "I'm so sorry, I..I panicked and I lost control, it was the only thing I could think to do, and I know I shouldn't have, and I am eternally in apologetic debt to you, I'm so sorry" They sputtered, and stumbled over their words, sincerity dripping from their apologies as Treasure blankly stared down at their hands. Their senses blurring as their breaths became quicker, the thoughts became louder.

***This had to be a nightmare, right? They were going to wake up any second, in Porter's arms. Right?***

"You're lying. You have to be." Treasure muttered, their mind refusing to accept their new pathetically purposeless, eternal, reality.

"I'm so sorry...I'm telling the truth, this is all real and I'm so incredibly sorry"

The lump in Treasure's throat grew denser as realization had completed its task in making Treasure's mind its playground.

A strong tensioned silence filled the room, as Treasure began hearing what was once unhearable.

"..What does this mean for me?" A strange, unnatural, chilling calm had settled over them, still staring at their hands.

"I don't..I don't know. There's this house-"

"The Solaire house"

"Yes, the, Solaire house..they aren't, *ideal* but you'll need stability after something like this"

"Yeah. I get it."

Timeskip!!

Days passed like hours, the turning transition was rough, but Porter's absence was rougher. They'd never admit it after what he'd said but, they missed him more than any part of their humanity.

"Hey..you okay?"

Lovely's voice snapped Treasure out of their spiral, dragging back to their absolute shitshow of a reality. No matter how helpful their maker tried to be.

"You got everything?"

Treasure nodded, zipping up their last bag, full of their laundry.

"Whatever your equivalent conundrum would be, like..I don't know..should you actually do your laundry tonight or just push the pile farther over on the bed?"

***"Again?"***

Treasure hugged their arms into their chest, sitting on the floor of their old home looking around at its emptiness.

"Lovely"

"Yes?"

"Will I matter here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've spent my whole life mattering the least, being told that, my problems are mere and trivial. Will that change here?"

"I can't promise that you'll be treated the way you should be, not by everyone in the house."

"So no."

"You didn't let me finish"

"And you didn't let me die."

"I..Treasure I'm sorry I-"

"Forget it. Please. Let's just get this over with."

Treasure's pained snarky response punctuated the conversation as they stood, picking up their bags and carrying them outside. The moon gleaming down on their paled skin as they released the bags from their hands.

"What now?"

"William has sent assistance to help you take your stuff to your new-"

With a woosh Lovely was cut off by a fellow vampire arriving to the scene in a car. Without another word they loaded the car and off they went.

The short minutes dragged on in Treasure's mind as they made their way, before they knew it, they had arrived.

Stepping out of the car, they gazed upon what looked like a palace out of a fantasy book.

"Cmon, I've gotta introduce you to William..ugh."

Treasure arched their brow silently following behind Lovely, striding into the castle, a light clicking of their heels upon the velvety floor as they made their way atop the staircase. Lovely knocked, almost immediately warranting William's silky voice in response.

"Come in"

Lovely inhaled shakily, pressing the door open and stepping inside, Treasure trailing behind.

A tensioned silence flooded the room after the door shut.

"Treasure..?"

Porter stood, once facing William now looking at his jewel. Eyes widening at their altered appearance he studied them, "Treasure what happened-"

"Why so concerned Porter? Oh..i see, do I finally have more than laundry to worry about now? Am I extraordinary enough to care about you now?"

William cleared his throat, the room filled with an awkwardness only a poet has the words to describe.

"Lovely, I believe this..conversation is best had another day." He says with a rare gentleness, glancing between Porter and Treasure

"Right." Lovely nods, signaling Treasure to turn and walk back out. As Treasure lifted their leg to walk out, a swift hand snatched their wrist. Porter.

"Treasure, please I'm sorry-"

Treasure yanked their hand from him, turning on their heel as the door shut behind them, now in the hallway.

"You're not fucking sorry"

"Treasure please believe me there is nothing I regret more than the way I left you that night"

"Good."

"What..?"

"You heard me. You've got super hearing don't you? Fucking use it. You said you wanted us to get to know each other. You promised a vulnerability that you then cut me down and hurt me for wanting. I guess you were right, Porter...

I don't and never will understand you."