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twice-inamillion · 1 day ago

Text

The Company Series

Sister Reunion

Smut

Chapter 21

2,040 Words

(Welcoming someone new is always nice, so is having a bit of fun. )

“Just one more, you almost got it.”

“Argh, fuck… I can’t! I can’t…”

“Come on, you can do it.”

“Shut up, you’re why I’m in this place.”

Jessica squeezes your hand with all her might. “Argh, I’m so tired…”

The doctor enthusiastically says, “Just one more, almost there.”

Jessica gives one final push, “Argh!”

You feel like your hand is about to break off from the force when you hear a loud cry.

“There you go, “Congratulations to the both of you.”

Jessica finally lets go of your hand and asks, “Doctor, how is he?”

“A perfectly healthy baby boy.”

“Thank god.” Jessica’s relieved after going through so much, “Can I hold him?”

“Of course.”

You watch as the nurse approaches Jessica and gives her the newborn. She holds her baby with precaution and moves the thin blanket covering him. The baby is so tiny, its eyes struggling to open.

“My… my baby,” she says, caressing his face. Hearing his mother’s voice, the newborn slowly extends his hand, wrapping its fingers around her thumb.

——-

It’s been a few weeks since the baby was born. You’ve spent most of your time with Jessica and your child. At first, it was a bit nerve-wracking as you didn’t know how to hold or even change the baby.

Luckily, you picked things up quickly and enjoyed your time with them. You watched as the baby would cry whenever he was hungry and Jessica would immediately feed him. You could feel the sudden change, the motherly warmth she displayed.

“How is it that I’m jealous of my kid?”

Jessica looks at you and says, “This is for the baby.”

“Come on, let me have a taste,” you say as a tease.

”Stop… don’t say that in front of the baby,” she says in a playful tone.

“Then let me put him to sleep.”

Gently, you put the baby in the crib after a few minutes in your arms. It’s hard work but something that you hope to get used to.

As you turn your head, you see Jessica in a relaxed position, her blouse unbuttoned and her breasts completely exposed. She waves you down, “Come on, get mommy’s milk.”

You hip your lips and walk towards Jessica, laying your head on her lap. She slowly kneads her right breast, causing a slight cream fluid to appear from her nipple. She teases you and says, “Come get your drink.”

“Are you for real?”

“You said you wanted some, so here, have a taste.”

There’s no need for second thoughts as you trace your tongue across her nipple. Jessica feels goosebumps from the sudden sensation but doesn’t stop you as she watches you take her breast into your mouth.

“There, there… does it feel good drinking mommy’s milk?”

You nod, increasing the pressure of your suckling. She caresses your head and slowly gets turned on by the position you two are in.

“Let’s have some fun while we’re at it,” she says, looking at your shorts.

She slowly moves her hand, unzipping your shorts, not wanting you to get distracted. She fishes out your limp cock and wraps her cold hands around your member. It startles you, the cold sensation, but you don’t lose your attention on her breast.

Jessica gets a firm grip and slowly pumps your cock, peeling your foreskin until your mushroom head is in full view.

Hungrily, Jessica says, “I missed this cock so much.” You slightly open your eyes and see Jessica licking her lip. “It’s so nice and thick.” You feel her grip get stronger as she pumps you, “I know you’re fucking other women while, in a way, you're a fucken man whore.”

All you do is listen as you continue to suckle on her breast. Her strokes intensify, using your percum as lube. You grunt, “fuck… keep going.”

As she increases her stroking pace, you hear the door suddenly open, “Unnie, I brought you something to eat…” Krystal’s eyes widen at the scene before her, “Umm… sorry…”

“Don’t, it’s fine, come in.”

Krystal walks into the room and tries to avoid eye contact, but the sound of your meat being stoked prevents it. She stands a few feet away, but Jessica calls out for her, “Come, remember this cock?”

Krystal shyly walks towards the both of you and just watches as her older sister strokes your cock. Her eyes focus on the large amount of pre cum leaking from your cock.

With Krystal just above you, Jessica grins and increases the intensity of her strokes. “Remember his cock inside of you? How his cum filled you inside.” Jessica watches as her sister’s breathing becomes heavy, the memory of her being taken by you. Krystal feels herself getting wet just thinking about it.

Suddenly, she feels a hot sensation on her face, which snaps her back to reality. She touches her cheek and looks at her finger, a semi-transparent liquid. “What the hell… did he cum on me?”

Jessica looks at Krystal and says, “Sorry, he couldn’t hold it any longer. Look, he’s still leaking.” Krystal remains silent, watching as the tip of your cock slowly releases a stream of cum.

“Be a good younger sister and clean him off, please.”

“What? Wh…why should I?”

“Please…. You know I would, but, you know…” and looks at you, still sucking on her breast.

“Fuck, fine… where’s the tissues…”

Jessica tries to hold her grin, “Oh, I didn’t mean to use tissues; that’s a waste. How about you use your mouth.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t you know how precious his cum is?”

“But…”

“Do it…”

Krystal realizes how serious her sister is about this. She nods and slowly sits on the opposite side of Jessica. She gulps as she sees your cock covered in cum. Her body trembles as she puts her tongue on your slimy cum covered cock.

“Come on, Krystal, lick it off like a good girl.”

She whines, but deep down, she feels a sense of adrenaline from being treated so poorly. Slowly, she licks the base of your crotch, working her way from the bottom.

Eventually, after much licking, she gets to the tip of your cock. “Go on, have a taste from the source.”

Krystal grabs your cock and slowly presses it between her lips. Her mouth stretches as she takes most of your cock. She slowly bobs her head, remembering the previous time she had with you.

On the other side, you feel Krystal’s hot mouth on your cock and give a slight view. Jessica turns your cheek and kisses you, distracting you from what’s below. She suddenly whispers in your ear, “Go on, baby, have a little fun. She’s told me she can’t forget that one night.”

Your expression changes, and grabs Krystal’s head, “Your sister said you like my cock.” Krystal lifts her head and notices your smirk, causing her heart to suddenly beat faster.

“Come on, this cock isn’t going to suck itself.”

“Uh..uh…”

”Uh.. what? Go on.”

Krystal's body trembles, and nervously nods her head. She goes back to pleasuring your cock. She feels your gaze, knowing that you’re watching her as she goes down on you.

“Fuck… try taking more of it…”

She tries taking more of your member into her mouth, but it’s too much. Her mouth is already at her limit; she feels like her mouth would break. Krystal looks up and sees your face, “Go on…”

You get frustrated as Krystal takes her time and decides to give her a helping hand. Without her noticing, you put your hands around the back of her head and push her down. Krystal eyes widen by your sudden action. She feels her mouth stretch to its limit and tries to pull away but can't. It might just be a slight amount of pressure, but it’s too much for her small frame.

Krystal feels like her jaw is about to break, and a slight panic kicks in. She looks up at you and notices your face of satisfaction. She’d seen that face before with her boyfriend whenever she would go down on him and get upset when he would be forceful. With you, it was another story; she knew that you could be sweet based on your interaction with her sister but knows that getting you upset wasn’t something she would want to do.

She takes a deep breath and lets herself be used by your cock. You bob her head on your cock, feeling every part of her mouth and throat. You feel no resistance coming from Krystal and continue to enjoy yourself.

“Your mouth feels so good. You two are really sisters, haha.”

You press her head deeper, reaching her throat even more. The deeper you push, the more of a reaction you get from her. “I can’t stand it anymore, I’m going to fuck your face.”

Krystal’s facial expression changes as she feels a tighter grip around her head. She begins to gag as you thrust your cock back and forth. “Fuck, yes. That’s it.”

“Gawk, gawk, gawk…”

All you hear is the sound of your cock hitting Krystal’s throat, becoming a real-life fleshlight. Little by little, the lack of air causes her to panic; she puts her hands on your thighs and tries to push you off.

Instead, you hold her tighter than before, wanting to see her struggle with the remaining air she has. Krystal pushes you once more; she gives you a few smacks on the leg, signaling that she’s about to pass out.

She looks at you, and you can see the look on her face; she is begging you to help her. Words like, “Please, stop, I can’t breathe” go through her brain, but she can’t say out loud.

With her head on your hands, you feel Krystal tremble, her eyes twitching and starting to roll back. Suddenly, your balls explode and pour into Krystal's throat. You hold her with all your might as you pump her stomach full of your thick milk.

Krystal’s eyes finally roll back completely as her last remaining air runs out. “That was good,” you say as you pull out your flaccid cock out of her mouth.

Krystal slips off and hits the floor, your cum oozing out of her. You watch as there is no reaction from her. You kneel and grab her face, giving it a gentle slap.

*Cough, cough*

Krystal coughs heavily as her body takes in as much air as possible. “Look at the camera, little sis.”

Jessica snaps a series of pictures of her sister and says, “This is what you get for getting on my bad side.”

———

You’re returning to Korea after spending a few weeks with Jessica and your child. Currently, you’re in a conference call with Jieun to discuss the final details about the survival show that you and JYP plan on doing soon.

“Everything is going well with the preparations. You should have the most up-to-date information on the survival show.”

“Thanks for your hard work while I was gone.”

”It’s no problem, sir. I’m more than happy to step in when needed.”

There is a brief silence, “Something on your mind, Jieun?”

”Yes, sir. I have some news.”

”Go on.”

”I’m sending you a file through your secure phone.”

*Ding*

You grab your phone, see it’s a jpeg attachment, and download it. The screen changes, and you see Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé, and Lisa standing in a line, holding something in their hand. Your expression changes, “Is it what I think it is?”

”Yes, sir. Congratulations on breeding all four members.”

You can’t help but have a large smile and ask, “What was their reaction?”

”Jisoo and Jennie took it quite well. Lisa was a bit confused at the beginning but accepted the fact. Rosé, on the other hand, was bawling at the news and locked herself out for a whole day, but after a firm talk, I made her understand her position in the company.”

”Good…”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, sir.”

”Relay a message to them.”

”Of course.”

”Tell them that I expected a lovely welcome when I arrive.”

#kpop smut #male reader #TM smut #the company series #the company #company series #snsd jessica smut #jessica jung smut #krystal smut #Krystal Jung smut #g idol x male reader #idol x male reader #girl idol smut #kpop idol smut #idol smut #girls generation smut

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studiogrimm810 · 3 days ago

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Agitated

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you know you're outmatched for a hunt so you call up bobby for some help but instead he sends dean. now you're forced to deal with his cocky attitude and still somehow get this hunt done. this man will be the death of you

warnings: bickering and annoyance, some blood and a fight scene, fadeaway to sex but nothing too graphic

word count: 5,121

A/N: this is a request!!! oh my god i could not stop writing this. i really hope i captured the pure annoyance they have for each other and also framed it into some steamy sexual tension,, idk, lmk how feel about this one!! :):)

———————

This is the worst. The absolute worst. You knew better than to try and go at this hunt alone but you seriously think you’d reconsider if you knew this was the outcome. You got here early, getting a motel room for yourself and eating lunch while waiting for him. Ugh. Him.

There was a nest of at least half a dozen vamps camped out nearby that you’ve been tracking for a while but you’re out of your league here so you called Bobby.

Ah, Bobby. How you loved him. He was quite the mentor for you when you lost your mother. He showed you the ropes, gifted you a car he pieced together on his lot, and offered a listening ear when you needed it. So of course, when you need help, you call him.

Except this time he’s busy so he sends, what he calls his ‘second-best’, Dean fucking Winchester.

God. You had asked if there really wasn’t anyone else he could send but he insisted that Dean was the best he could do. Bobby and Sam apparently were deep into some research for whatever apocalypse they’ve got on their plate now and they could spare Dean for the sake of your safety. Dean needed to hunt anyways, he itched to get back into action.

So now, halfway through rage eating your lunch, you hear the familiar rumble of Dean’s trademark gas-guzzler and plant your face in your hands. If you wanted to successfully complete this hunt then you needed to just take a deep breath and shove aside your irritations.

You finish your lunch and wait for the text or call saying that he’s got a room and is ready to regroup. That call came a lot sooner than expected.

“Hey, Dean,” you greet indifferently.

“Heya, sweetheart,” you can hear his sarcastic smirk and it makes you roll your eyes, “listen, I’ve kinda got a problem here.”

“What?” You try, but fail, to keep the bite out of your voice.

“Motel’s all booked up and the only other one is across town, looks like I’ll have to bunk with you.” God- of course.

“You’re kidding,” you internally groan, biting your tongue.

“Wish I was, sweetheart,” you can hear his own stifled sigh.

“Don’t call me that,” you scold, standing to go to the door and properly greet him. You open the door and he’s leaning against the hood of his car, pocketing his phone and plastering a fake smirk. You’ve noticed he knows how to make you tick. It usually starts as a feigned sweetness but soon sours as you aren’t receptive. He claims he’s trying to keep the peace between you two but you claim he’s full of shit.

“Whatever, princess,” he uses more sarcastically, as if it’s such a high request to ask to be addressed by your own name. “Hope you’ve got the room ‘cause I’m not sleeping on any floors,” Dean states, rounding his car to get his bags out of the trunk.

Fuck. You could shoot yourself if you had the fucking gun.

“Yeah, about that,” you fold your arms over your chest, squinting from the blinding sunlight you’re forced to face to keep looking at him as he moves. Fucking dick.

“No,” Dean demands, his shoulders slacking from lack of effort to keep his bags held. Yep, he’s pissed.

“I never have to share a motel, Dean!” You shrug with an annoyed bitchface. “I’m not all ‘buddy-buddy’ like you and Sam are. I like my privacy.” You squint at him like that’s a dig and not really a chip at your own lonely ego.

“Well I call the bed sweetheart, you can take the couch,” Dean grumbles, scrunching his nose in a mocking manner as he walks past you and into the motel.

Regardless, this was the last room the motel had so it’s not your fault there’s just one bed.

———

“So, you think they’re camped out here?” Dean asks, looking at the map with his arms crossed over his chest. You nod, nibbling on the end of a pen.

“I’ve been tracking them for a while- it’s their kinda hideout,” you add, thinking of different ways to approach this. Dean turns back as if to say something but rolls his eyes at you.

“That’s disgusting,” he points loosely like the oral act isn’t even worth the energy to spotlight.

“Good thing it’s not your pen,” you retort, looking back down at your laptop and refreshing the local news. Dean just scoffs, walking over to the small fridge provided by the motel.

“No beer?” He baffles.

“I’m not an enabler,” you sass, finding it your current life’s mission to kick him at any turn. God, the nerve to come into your room, make his snippy comments at your fidgets, and bash you for not keeping beer on tap like a fucking bartender. You couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“And I’m not an alcoholic.”

Ha, yeah okay.

You scroll around the 3D map on your laptop, looking for different access points of the rundown building but the shitty satellite rendering is too blurry and bubbly to really make anything out.

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wasting your time with?” Dean raises a brow.

“I’m checking my bases, Dean, back off,” you groan, leaning back in your chair and rubbing a hand down your face.

“Just sayin’, you’ll get more info first hand, princess, may as well just get on with it,” Dean insists, “not like we have any way to pass the time,” he’s not letting this beer thing go.

“Fine! Let’s just go, guns blazing,” you sit up, scooting back your chair with the force of which you popped up. You go to ruffle through your bag, grabbing a long sleeve shirt to slip over your tank top.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Dean says plainly.

“Shut up,” you shoulder-check him on the way out.

———

The sun is starting to set, casting a beautiful golden haze across the horizon. You two are headed north so thankfully the sun isn’t blinding your peripheral but instead Dean’s.

The drive is quiet other than the hum of some 80s band, or whatever it is Dean is obsessed with, on the radio. It’s weird, you don’t know why your hatred for Dean blossomed so naturally but it just did. Since the second you were disappointed to find that that is who was the sweet Sam Winchesters brother you’ve been irked by just the reminder of his presence.

He probably started it anyway.

The Impala starts to slow as you two come up to the hidden gravel drive for the abandoned building on Dean’s GPS. The rumble of gravel crunching under the tires is a satisfying dig in your ears.

Dean parks the Impala so you two can go the rest of the way on foot. You both gear up and sneak along the tree line until the building is in sight. It’s an old rangers station- blanketed with moss and vines, shards of glass poking out of crunched window frames, entrance doors missing- it looked completely vacant.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your hunch was wrong,” Dean straightens out of his pre-fight stance. You don’t offer him a response, you just step past him to the entrance to see if there’s even a hint of this being the right place.

There’s nothing.

God, how could you be so stupid? You felt a pit of embarrassment swirl its way around your insides. You couldn’t confront Dean right now. You couldn’t deal with his sarcastic quips.

You have to though, you have to face him to get back to the Impala and back to your shared room. This was torture.

What if more people get hurt because you didn’t find the right spot? The longer you sit and stew the more likely that is to be true. You have to just keep your head on straight and find the next lead.

So with that, you spin on your heel and head back to the Impala. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you mumble as you pass him, this time shifting your shoulder out of the way so you don’t bump into him.

You miss the way Dean’s features soften with understanding and guilt and he decides to keep his mouth shut.

The drive back for you was thick with tension. Your mind ran with how to go about the situation next. What lead to follow and what instincts to trust because apparently this one was wrong.

The drive back for Dean, however, was different. He kept the music to a volume he knew wouldn’t bother you as much and he drummed along to the beat on his steering wheel with his fingers casually, hoping the common habit of his will show that he’s not angry and how you shouldn’t blame yourself so much. That even if it feels as detrimental as it does that in reality it’s not a big deal but just a failed lead.

He doesn’t use his words though. He’s offering common decency and not pleasantries.

You’re quick to duck into the motel as soon as the car is in park and recenter yourself at the drawing board.

Dean hesitates, finding it annoying how much you’re beating yourself up over this. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s because he understands the guilt of not being good enough. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t want to be around some mopey child. Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“There have been a few disappearances- the last location they were all seen is this bar. Maybe we could start there,” you’re starting to doubt yourself.

“I agree,” Dean nods from behind you. You turn to look at him, a little taken back by his compliance. No shoving and no pushback.

“Really?” You cock a brow, still finding it odd that he hasn’t bashed you more for your screw up earlier.

“Yeah, I think that’s the next step,” Dean repeats, the annoyance of having to do so showing in his tone. You squint slightly as if waiting for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

“Fine, let’s go,” you walk right back out of the room and to the Impala, not bothering with your jacket or keys.

Dean snatches your keys from the kitchen table and locks up the room. You could thank him but why thank him for locking a door? It’s not like he did anything special.

The bar was in the middle of town so the drive consisted of a lot of turns but was still rather swift. You reach for the door knob but Dean stops you.

“What?” You ask defensively.

“That look normal to you?” Dean points, not matching your tone. What is up with him?

You follow his point, finding a couple making out against the side of the brick building. They look drunk and disoriented but nothing too out of the ordinary for a Friday night outside of a bar.

“He’s faking,” Dean adds, keeping his eyes on the couple but taking your silence as confusion. “He’s not drunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Watch,” he leans in a little closer to see them from your angle. “When she kisses his neck he loses his ‘daze’. You can see him scan-, there!” He cuts himself off as the man across the parking lot does exactly what Dean is describing. You look a little closer now, seeing a slimy smirk lift the man’s lips as he grabs the woman with a bit more force.

“Dammit,” you mumble, straightening up in your seat a bit. Before either of you can get out of the car in time, the woman is shoved into a nearby truck and the man climbs in after. Dean fires up the engine and follows the truck from a safe distance.

You beat yourself down a bit, wondering how you managed to miss something so clear. You would’ve overlooked them without a second thought and they turned out to be your next lead. Were you really this bad of a hunter? Maybe Dean was right to have such little trust in you.

“How damn cold do you keep this car?” You hound, wrapping your arms over your chest to try and churn some warmth over yourself.

“I told you you’d be cold,” you could hear the eye-roll without even looking at him. You stare out the window, Dean still staying on the truck's tail.

A few moments pass and you continue to ignore him. “God, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he adjusts, grabbing a spare flannel of his from the back seat, “here.”

“I’m not pouting,” you scoff.

“Sure you’re not. Just take it,” he shoves it in your lap and you hesitate to touch it. “I’m not diseased, princess, you can borrow my clothes. Won’t kill ya’.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing the flannel and slipping it over your arms. The cloth settles over your skin like a warm blanket and you have to force yourself to ignore how much it smells like him. You feel a need to thank him again but seriously, was it really that special or was he just doing the bare minimum? Or perhaps you were too embarrassed to thank him because doing so would admit that you didn’t entirely dread his presence.

Dean glances over to make sure you actually put it on and hasn't discarded one of his favorite flannels- which he would take as an act of war quite frankly- but is a little stunned to see how homey it makes you look. You're practically drowning in the tarp of cloth, but the way it melts with your skin catches his eyes for a bit too long. To see your hair settle over the pattern like a claim makes him want to never look away.

But he has to because he’s driving and just nicked the rumble strips.

“Driving at night is hard, huh?” You tease, “heard it gets that way with old age.”

“Hey! I’m not that much older than you,” he defends, forcing his eyes in the road ahead and the truck to follow. He can’t let himself wonder why you caught his attention so intensely or why he’s itching to look back for another peek.

Finally, after what felt like years to Dean, the truck turns off into a driveway of an older farm house. Dean drives past and parks off the side of the road around a turn where they won’t be spotted.

Now it’s time to really gear up, but this time it’s a little different. Dean finds himself wanting to make extra sure that you’re set and that you have any possible weapon you might need.

“Stay close, don’t split up under any circumstance,” Dean instructs. He hadn’t done that last time and you want to combat him because who is he to tell you what to do? But the wind brushing over you too carries his scent past your nose again and it’s almost like it shuts you up completely. You just nod in response.

The night sky rained over you two, soft pelts of misty rain dampening your clothes and you’re now really starting to feel thankful for the offered flannel, maybe you should’ve said something. But as you near the home, you reckon it’s not the right time to mention a lousy ‘thanks’ for such a simple offer.

Dean picks the lock of the back door and you follow him in, machete in hand. You can hear voices and laughter flowing from what you guess to be the main room. Dean halts right along the door frame, ducking in to count what they’re up against, he holds up 3 fingers to you and you nod.

On his signal, you both pounce.

The fight is brutal on your muscles since you often forget just how strong vamp’s are. The one you’re up against is at least a foot taller than you and is bulkier than is really fair, but you use the advantage of being smaller to slip out of his grasp and decapitate him from behind.

Dean is next to take care of his opponent and now it’s two against one. The vamp comes after you first, probably thinking you’re a quicker target, but Dean intercepts and slams the vamp

against a wall. You take this opportunity to go to the woman from earlier who is huddled in a corner, watching in horror as this happens.

Thankfully, she is physically unharmed and the adrenaline of the situation has burned through the alcohol she had ingested.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you shake your head with arms braced to show you aren’t a threat. “Can you walk?” You ask. She nods. “Good, okay,” you reach over to the pocket of one of the vamps, seeing a set of keys hooked to his belt loop, and hand the keys to her. “The truck outside. Take it and go- now.”

She snatched the keys and bolts. You breathe a breath of relief at how easy it was to get her out of here. You turn to see that Dean is still fighting the creature and you jump to your feet, approaching them. You bring up your weapon but the vamp sees you in time and shoves you hard. You stumble into a dusty china cabinet and hear Dean call your name. The impact rattles through your body but you have to help. You have to.

Getting to your feet takes a moment, but a pained gasp sets you with a fresh rush of adrenaline. The vamp has latched its teeth into Dean’s neck. He’s paralyzed with pain, raspy breaths barely escaping his gaped lips. That’s all the fucking power you need. You ram into the vamp, getting him to unhook his jaw and throwing him to the ground. In the blood drunken haze, you’re able to rid of its head with a quick swipe of your machete.

Dean groans, sliding against the wall and you drop your weapon, running to him.

“Hey-, you’re okay,” you speak before you have enough evidence to believe it. “You with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he pants, his head going slack on the side he wasn’t bitten. It’s deep.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, reaching down to rip off a good portion of your shirt to cover the bleeding. He reaches out to stop you. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious flannel I’m tearing up,” you actually joke. Not as a mock or tease but as an actual joke that you smile for to show your lightheartedness.

“With you? I’d never know what to believe,” he comes back. He doesn’t seem to have enough energy to smile but you can tell the initial joke was receptive.

He hisses as you press the cloth against his wound, your other hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His intense screw of pain seems to melt a bit under your touch.

“We gotta get you outta here, big guy,” you pat his cheek lightly, trying to keep him present. “How dizzy you are, can you walk?” You ask, unsure of how much blood he’s lost.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he slurs. Dumbass.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you huff, removing your free hand to grab his own hand. You swear he whined when you did so, but it was so quiet and could’ve been excused as a draw of pain. “Hold tight, okay?” You instruct. You knew if he had enough energy he would be batting you away and demanding he knew how to handle a wound like this and it almost worries you that he’s not. “C’mon,” you snake your arm around his back, lifting him the best you can and thankfully he works with you. You’re really gonna have to start saying your thanks out loud.

You lead him out the front door and curse as the rain has picked up. You can’t walk him through this- between the blood loss and getting wet, he’ll freeze. You set him in a semi-stable looking chair and use your hands to steady his face. The reaction he gives you when your skin lands on his stirs a curiosity in you.

“Wait here, keep applying pressure, I’m gonna get the car,” you enunciate so he can really hear you.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m letting you drive my baby,” he slurs but you're already fishing through his leather jacket pockets.

“Try and stop me, pretty boy,” you say it as a tease- reprimand for the nicknames he’s bugged you with- but it rolls off your tongue with more meaning than you intended.

He doesn’t fight you as you head off to the hidden location of the Impala. The rain drenched you quickly but you don’t let that slow you down. Dean needs you.

Dean would fight more- he really would. If this were a situation where you needed him or Sammy needed him, he could fight past the haze of blood loss. He could drive his own damn car to safety. If he really needed to, he’s sure his body could supply enough adrenaline to power him through his own petty pain. But that’s just it. He doesn’t need to, and in all reality he can’t but it’s just that if he convinces himself that he’s choosing to let you take care of him then that’s less embarrassing then failing you.

He forces on his consciousness, waiting for the familiar growl of his precious Baby. His chariot to take him far from here and to shelter him in times of need.

And there it is.

He peels his eyes open enough to see you emerge for his car and goddamn. Your clothes are wet and stuck against your skin- his flannel hugging your torso like he should be. To see you in his clothes and in the driver's seat of his car is enough to feel his heart stutter.

“Let’s get you situated,” you announce, slipping your arm to its previous hold around his body. He stands with more strength now and you feel your worry dampen. Dean doesn’t argue and doesn’t make a comment about you driving his car again but he does mumble something about you letting him get in the car by himself so you can get out of the rain. You don’t listen and it ignites the familiar burn of anger in his chest that he’s actually used to with you.

After making sure he’s settled, you close his door and round back to the driver's side, pulling out of the driveway and carefully navigating through the foggy rain and back to the motel.

Light conversation buzzes between you in a primary attempt to keep him awake but also a secondary want to continue to just chat. You’ve never really just talked with him like this before. When you first met, he was quick to flirt and when you weren’t receptive you assumed he took it to heart and turned cold on you. You don’t recognize that Dean right now in the slightest.

He’s able to walk by himself by the time you make it back to the motel. He stumbles out of the car in a stubborn attempt to prove such but you remind him that just because he technically can doesn’t mean he should be expected to. He doesn’t mention how much your statement actually resonates with him.

“Sit,” you instruct, placing him on the king bed that reminds you of your sleeping arrangements. It’s a subtle irk but not enough for you to dwell on again, you have bigger problems to deal with at present. You grab your first aid kit and shuffle through the items and get to work.

The heat is blasting and you managed to get a towel to wrap around his damp frame to keep him from shivering but he’s also got enough energy to combat you, so now you’ve ended up with the towel around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask as you pour the disinfectant over the wound. He hisses but answers the distraction in the form of a question.

“Fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about me,” he says in his usual gruff. No longer slurring. Progress.

“Too late,” you murmur, cleaning the stained blood.

“Awe, someone starting to care? Who gave you a heart?” Dean smirks. You don’t entertain the usual banter.

“You could’ve died,” the words pass your lips with a slight waver. You dry the wound, starting to dress it.

“But I didn’t,” Dean reminds, his eyes watching yours for any hint as to why you got so freaked.

“Yeah,” you say out of obligation and not belief.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stop your working hands and when you don’t meet his gaze and calls your name. “I’m okay,” he repeats once your eyes meet his- you couldn’t help yourself with the way your name sounded on his tongue. “I’ve survived a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s meant to.”

You sigh, looking down at his hands around your own now idle ones.

“Okay,” you finally agree, hoping the false belief will settle your nerves enough.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” he jokes with a smirk, “you know how persistent I can be,” he winks and you roll your eyes even if his wink bubbles something in you that’s never been effected by him like that before.

“Shut up and let me finish this,” you push aside his hold and secure the bandage to his skin. After packing back up the kit you start to stand but Dean stops you. His hand grips your wrist gently but the gravity of something not physical pulls you against your will. His lips part like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He almost looks ashamed as he drops his hold on you like it’s burned him.

“What?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

“Nothin’, sorry,” he shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“You can tell me,” it’s not something you’d ever expect to offer but you can quite help yourself when he looks so pathetic.

“We should get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, knowing that’s not what he was talking about but accepting it as it is. You grab your bag and get out some comfortable clothes for sleep. You excuse yourself to the bathroom but curse at the broken latch.

“No peeking,” you warn after alerting Dean to the issue and he just scoffs a smirk.

“No promises.” And fuck, he’s glad he didn’t make it because through the crack he catches a glimpse of your shimmering skin as you dry off and replace your outfit with a pair of sleep shorts and a way too big shirt. He admires the cozy feel your clothes give you. As you exit the bathroom he clears his throat and busies himself with getting his bed ready on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he lays a blanket over the couch.

“Getting ready for bed,” he says as if it’s a stupid question.

“We can share a bed, Dean, it won’t kill ya,” you use his own remark from earlier against him. You don’t know why he’s suddenly so docile. You worry maybe the injury burned him of his usual spark. “Seriously, don’t make me watch you sleep crunched up on that couch,” you insist.

“Fine,” he subsides, making his way back over to you and the bed. You start to crawl under the covers, sticking to your side but the radiating heat of how close he is makes you want to scooch closer.

“Night, Dean,” you say as he flicks the lamp off but he’s quiet and unmoving, like he has some sort of unfinished business. You push yourself up on your elbow and look back at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay seriously, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Dean?”

He sighs, turning to look back at you as well. His profile is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a split in the curtains.

“Thank you,” his voice is small like you’ve never expected he was capable of. You sit up fully, turning to him with your legs folded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, a small smile pulling up your lips. He doesn’t return the expression.

“You’re a good hunter, yaknow,” he compliments like he won’t get another chance to tell you so. You smile a bit bigger.

“Dean Winchester, did you just flatter me?” You tease.

“You’re strong and resilient,” he continues and your smile falters a bit due to your confusion. “Stubborn and a pain in my ass,” his expression remains a softened yearn. “I never knew why you got to me so damn bad. You’re smart and funny and captivating,” he snaps his jaw like he crossed a line and his cheeks flush. “I- I think I know now,” he finishes after a beat.

“Know what?” You ask, your heart puttering in your chest.

“Why I can’t get you off my mind,” his eyes dip down to your lips, “why, no matter what I do, I can’t forget you,” he looks so pained. So conflicted.

It hits. It all hits. His helpful offerings, your banter, the way he responded to your touch, and the way you felt yourself reciprocating his apparent feelings.

You lean in, you can’t help it, he’s so beautiful in this light- the way his eyes sparkle under it- but he tenses as you get too close so you halt.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask with a simple head tilt.

“I uh-, haven’t got that one worked out just yet,” he scoffs simply and his smile forces a small one of your own.

“Then just shut up for a minute,” you shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. It’s almost a ghost of a kiss but you can feel the emotion he funnels into it. He’s soft and gentle at first but his desperation takes over, leading the kiss through a dizzying spiral as he guides you into the mattress, hovering over you and encapsulating you with his radiating heat.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re unsure where your clothes have ended up. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you forget your own name. He doesn’t stop kissing you until your breathless pants slow from your high.

And when all is said and done, he doesn’t stop holding you through the night until the warmth of the sun blesses your exposed skin.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

#supernatural #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural fandom #spnfandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #dean winchester angst #enemies to lovers

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tetragonia · 2 days ago

Text

A Functional Family

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

summary: Gojo took you and 9 year-old Megumi to a restaurant down the road. It was the closest you all had to a functional family.

notes: fluff/angst? Megumi is a smol bean, younger!Gojo, and all that

words: 600+

It was a rare evening off, and the three of you found yourselves at a small, cozy restaurant tucked in the corner of a quiet street in Tokyo.

The neon lights outside flickered as you sat down at a corner booth, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

Gojo, ever the curious one, was leaning over the menu like it was a life-or-death decision. He didn't seem to notice how Megumi was absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the table, eyes focused more on you than the menu itself. You already decided what to eat just from a glance. You almost finished the novel you brought, knowing that this would be another long day with Gojo.

"Just pick something already," you said lightly, not even looking up from your book.

"Give me a second, (Y/N)! This is crucial," Gojo replied, flashing his usual mischievous grin. "I need the perfect dish to accompany our evening. Can't just settle for anything."

You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he’d pick something without a second thought once he made his decision. Megumi, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally broke his silence.

"Do you two always get along like this?" Megumi asked, his voice quiet but amused.

You looked at him, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You were just introduced to Megumi a couple months ago, but you already knew that this kid was way too mature for his age. Too perceptive as well sometimes.

"What do you mean, Megumi-chan? Can’t you tell? We’re the perfect team."

Gojo raised an eyebrow at you, "I dunno, (Y/N). You seem a little too relaxed around me for someone who constantly gets annoyed by my antics."

You chuckled softly.

"The more I get used to you, the less I care about your nonsense. But don’t get comfortable—I know when to reel you in," you winked at Megumi, who now had a knowing smile on his face.

"I don’t think I've ever seen this side of you, (Y/N)," Megumi said, voice just a little quieter, his gaze soft. "You were always serious and hardworking."

You paused, realizing how much you had come to rely on their company, the warmth you hadn’t realized you craved. You reached out to ruffle Megumi’s hair, her touch light but affectionate.

"That's 'Onee-san' to you, Megumi-chan," she teased.

Gojo snorted from across the table, "Hey, that’s my line. I'm the one who's been his big brother, not you!"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Sure, Toru, but I'm the one he respects the most," youw voice was playful, but there was something softer in her eyes when she looked at Megumi.

Megumi didn’t argue, though the blush on his face betrayed the warmth he felt in that moment. He might even want to ask Gojo if Tsumiki could join them too one day...

Suddenly, the elderly woman serving them came by and paused to smile at the sight of you three.

"Aah, what a happy family you are," she said with a grin, her eyes twinkling as she looked at the three of you, pausing on Megumi. “He looks like you, Ma’am.”

Gojo choked on his drink, you coughed, and Megumi blinked, clearly caught off guard by the comment.

You, trying to regain her composure, cleared your throat, "Oh, I—"

Gojo, ever the one to make a scene, put a hand over his heart dramatically, "I know, right? I'm just so proud of my family."

You shot him a glare while the nice old lady smiled and went back to the kitchen.

"Satoru, you're the last person I want to hear that from. And do I look that old for people to assume that I’m Megumi-chan’s mother? Oh, no.”

But despite the teasing, there was a warmth in your voice as you spoke, an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond they had. Even Megumi, his face still flushed, couldn’t help but smile softly.

It was moments like this—small, unexpected, and full of unspoken connection—that made the chaos of their lives worth it. A family, even if it was one of their own making.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo #megumi fushiguro #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk fics #jjk imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x you #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen imagine #fushiguro megumi #tetrapost

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zerosbubble · 1 day ago

Note

Hello I have an idea for Tim x rookie reader.

They get a call that seems pretty normal and when they arrive Kid gets shot.

They end up in hospital ICU where Tim is sat next to kid saying how everything is his fault ect.

When Kid wakes up and hears Tim saying how it’s his fault she reminds him that is isn’t.

Thank you ☺️ x

Rookie down.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

Summary: No amount of training could’ve prepared you for the moment you got caught up in an active shootout—and for Tim, no amount of stoicism could rid of the guilt.

a/n: I find it adorable how we’re just referring to reader as kid now. 😭💕

The call had come in like any other—routine, nothing out of the ordinary. A disturbance at a small corner store. Dispatch barely sounded concerned.

Tim had driven, you in the passenger seat, legs bouncing absently as you sipped at the coffee you barely had time to grab that morning. The other units were still a few minutes out, but this was just supposed to be a check-in. A quick look, a clear scene, and back to patrol.

You should’ve known better.

The second you both stepped out of the shop, everything exploded. Shots. A full-blown active shootout between two rival groups, and you and Tim had walked straight into the crossfire.

Instinct kicked in. Take cover. Return fire. Call it in.

You barely made it behind the patrol car before searing pain bloomed in your side, so sudden and white-hot that it stole your breath. You staggered, barely registering that you were going down until your knees hit the pavement hard.

Some part of you dimly registered Tim’s voice—loud, commanding—but the sound of gunfire muffled everything else.

You pressed a hand against the wound, and your fingers came back slick with blood.

Not good.

Your breath shuddered. You had been trained for this, prepared for it, but the sheer force of reality hitting you was different than a controlled scenario.

The pain wasn’t controlled. The fear wasn’t controlled. And despite every instinct screaming at you to hold it together, your vision blurred with unshed tears as your breath came in short, ragged gasps.

“Hey! Kid—stay with me.”

Tim was there, dropping down beside you, one hand pressing firm against the wound to slow the bleeding. His other hand gripped the radio, calling for an immediate medic response, voice sharp, commanding—desperate.

You blinked up at him, your body trembling violently from the shock. You tried to regulate your breathing, to not let him see the fear that had crept into your bones, but it was damn near impossible.

“I—” Your voice caught, breath hitching. Your lips parted, trying again, but all that came out was a shaky exhale.

“Hey. Look at me, kid.”

You did, barely able to keep focus on his face, but you tried. He was pressing harder now, trying to stop the bleeding, and it hurt. God, it hurt.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Tim said, voice steady. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

You nodded, a quick, jerky movement, but you weren’t sure if you believed it.

“I need you to stay awake, alright?” His grip tightened just slightly, the rare, vulnerable edge in his voice cutting through the panic clawing at your chest. “Just keep breathing, okay? Just like that. Slow it down.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to do as he said, but the pain was starting to get unbearable. Your head swam.

“I—” You sucked in a shaky breath. “Sir, I don’t—I’m scared.” You muttered between breaths.

Tim shook his head, shifting to cradle the back of your head, steadying you as you started to sway. “Nope. No, none of that shit. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you to a hospital, and you’re gonna be okay.”

He was holding it together, but just barely. You could see it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched, the tension in his grip as if he were forcing your body to stay with him.

He wasn’t letting himself break, not yet, but you could feel the desperation beneath his words. Tim was talking like he needed to hear the words more than you did. He was trying to convince himself, just as much as he was trying to convince you.

You wanted to say something, anything to make it easier, but you didn’t get the chance.

“Kid? Damn it, keep awake!”

Everything blurred into sirens and movement and then—

“Don’t do this shit to me! Please.”

Nothing.

The ICU was quiet. Too quiet.

Tim sat beside your bed, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. He hadn’t moved much since they’d let him in, since they’d assured him you were stable, that you’d made it through surgery.

It didn’t matter.

This was his fault.

He should’ve clocked the situation faster.

Should’ve called in backup first. Should’ve done something different, something better, because now you were here, unconscious and hooked up to machines, your face too pale against the stark white hospital sheets.

It felt wrong to be in a room this quiet with you in it, like he couldn’t adjust to the absence of hearing you chew unnecessarily loud on a bag of chips that you made him pay for—or when you’d ramble on to him about something he could care less about.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face, fingers digging into his temples. “Damn it, kid.”

He wasn’t even sure if he was talking to himself or to you. It didn’t matter. Either way, the weight of it pressed down on him like a vice.

The soft beeping of the monitor filled the absence of the voice he knew.

Then, slowly, the sound of movement. A shift in the bed. A quiet, pained inhale.

Tim’s head snapped up instantly. “Kid?”

Your eyes were barely open, hazy with sleep and medication, but you were awake.

Tim sat forward, relief hitting him all at once. “Hey. You with me?”

You blinked sluggishly, gaze struggling to focus, but eventually landed on him. “…Sir?”

His throat tightened. “Yeah. I’m here.”

You took another slow breath, still visibly groggy, but the confusion was settling. Then, after a pause, your brows furrowed slightly. “…Why do you look like that?”

Tim scoffed, a quiet, breathless sound, but his expression was still tight. “Like what?”

“Like—” You swallowed, shifting slightly, wincing at the movement. “Like you ate the chocolate bar I hid in the shop.” You mumbled, managing to let out a weak and quiet laugh.

But when Tim didn’t laugh, or even roll his eyes at your half-assed joke and just stared with that same guilty look on his face, your gaze softened.

“Like me getting shot was your fault.”

Tim said nothing.

You exhaled, voice softer now, but still firm. “It’s not.”

Tim’s jaw clenched, gaze flickering away. The stubbornness in his eyes lacing itself with his guilt, “I should’ve—I should’ve secured the perimeter before we stepped out,”

“Sir,” you huffed in disagreement.

“No, kid. If I had done that, you wouldn’t have been fucking dying in my arms.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

You pushed on, despite the exhaustion settling deep in your bones. “This was never on you.” You mumbled, “Yea, I got shot. But I would’ve ended up actually dead if I didn’t have a T.O who took down half of them, and then called for backup and R.A.”

His shoulders tensed. Then, after a long moment, he let out a breath.

“…Get some rest, kid.”

You watched him for another second, then, finally, nodded, letting your eyes drift closed.

The tension in Tim’s chest didn’t ease. Not fully. But as he sat back, watching your breathing even out, some small part of him finally let go of the guilt just enough to breathe.

#platonic #the rookie #fluff #angst #found family #oneshot #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #dadford

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ouiouimochi · 20 hours ago

Text

pairing/s: jin kamurai x reader

genre/s: romance, childhood friends

wc: 1.4k

warning/s: description of anxiety, no beta we die like his mom, absolutely sorry if my cultural representation is wrong, HELLA LONG

note/s: firm believer that jin wasn't as prickly as a child, uhhh I'm sure as hell this was gonna be long as I'm writing it

written for this request, thank you again for requesting :D

.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ੈ❆‧₊˚༺✦༻*ੈ❆‧₊˚.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆.: ⋆*･ﾟ

synopsis: stepping into unfamiliar land as a kid, you meet jin and grow up together

⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ੈ❆‧₊˚༺✦༻*ੈ❆‧₊˚.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆.: ⋆*･

The sound of classical ballroom music reverberated throughout the wide expanse of the event hall. The attendees of various ages chatter amongst themselves as you quietly observe everything in the corner.

Your back pressed against the wall, hands clasped behind in a nervous attempt to quell the anxiety creeping up on you. Seeking solace for yourself and hoping it'll do the job.

Though the scene around you was familiar– having attended similar events back in France from a young age– the feeling of alienation was still there. You had yet to grow used to the emptiness of being left unseen despite all these years.

It wasn't that people mistreated or ignored you intentionally, it was just no one ever really noticed. Like a shadow– present but never acknowledged. It was the same even in your own home.

Like a ghost– just like thin air.

You look down at the expensive fabric of your dress, accepting that even if you wore the most luxurious of garments, no heads would turn in your direction. It wouldn't be enough to make you visible to anyone.

You eyed the people with envy, wondering how it'd feel to belong— to be seen. You hoped this time was different but deep down knowing it’d be another evening of disappointment. With a quiet sigh, you made your way to the empty balcony.

Now in the company of the moon and stars, and embrace of the gentle night breeze, you felt your nerves ease a little bit. The music, although fainter, still managed to reach from inside the hall– reminding you of the world you had just stepped away from.

You close your eyes to enjoy the lonesome peace you've always sadly resigned to, quietly humming along with the song being played in the background while stretching your upper body to rest your head and folded arms on the railings.

“Hmmm~ hmm~ hmmhmmm~ ♪” Your feet tapped rhythmically on the marble floor.

Your body gently sways to the melody, imagining yourself dancing with your partner amongst the guests. Locking your eyes with him, moving in perfect harmony as if it was just you two.

“Hm~ hmmhm~ ♪” The song drew to a close, everyone graciously bowing to their partners as you smiled up at yours, a bubbling feeling filling up your chest.

With the last note having faded, your eyes fluttered back open, finding yourself calmer and comfortable. You lazily scanned your surroundings to find the same moon, stars, and breeze accompanying you, making you content for now.

As your gaze wandered, it froze as it locked with a beautiful pair of icy blue ones. You blinked, so did the other pair.

“So what are you doing here alone?” The boy’s voice broke the silence, your mind taking a moment to put together what he was saying.

You straightened, having to look around and behind you to check if he was referring to anyone else, but you pointed at yourself to make sure.

The white-haired boy just gave you a funny look before raising an eyebrow.

“Who else would I be talking to?”

You were flustered, understandably so. This boy could see you, like actually see and acknowledge your presence— he was even talking to you and not to forget he was cute! You stammered, words tumbling in a rush of nervousness, accidentally blurting something in French instead before you could catch yourself.

You felt your face flush from embarrassment when you realized, never have you thought your zoning out during language lessons would bite back like this— having believed deep down that nobody would notice you, much less talk to you while you were in Japan.

words spoken in french are in “quoted italics ”

“I assume that you're not yet accustomed to Japan?” He spoke perfectly in French, making you gape at him with how flawlessly he did so.

“I-I— Yes, I never really had anyone to talk to… since I arrived…” You bashfully admitted.

He tilted his head, hair gracefully following his movement.

“Why's that?”

You don't know if it was the desperation for someone to notice you or that he seemed real nice and charming, but you found yourself spilling your woes to him. He listened and absorbed your words, and for the first time in your life, you felt seen and heard. It was this moment that you had long yearned for.

“Something must be wrong with everyone's eyes then, I can see you just fine.” His words sent a fluttering emotion that made you feel like you were floating.

At that point you just knew that this boy would be someone you'd forever be grateful for

“I'm (Y/n) (L/n), nice to meet you!” You curtsied before smiling radiantly up at the taller boy.

He pauses slightly, slightly taken aback by how your smile seemed to make you glow and the area much brighter, before returning a small smile of his own.

“Jin Kamurai, the pleasure is all mine.”

But alas, as all good times must, the event comes to an end.

“I hope we meet soon, (Y/n)”

⋆ੈ❆‧₊˚༺✦༻*ੈ❆‧

And as fate would have it, you two met again. As it turns out, both of your parents were well acquainted with his father— of which he showed small signs of discomfort to, an observation unnoticed by everyone but you. Actually, his discomfort seemed to have eased when his eyes met yours, and yet again you get the same fluttering feeling from being the first person he noticed.

The adults then dismiss you two in order to talk business that you honestly don't care about— grateful you'd be spared the boredom to just watch the adults talk.

When you and Jin got out of the stuffy room with refined poise, your eyes met with his before you both released a synchronized sigh of relief.

“Glad we're out of there, let's go somewhere else” He turned to you offering his hand as you stared at it for a bit before tentatively putting yours on top.

He led you to a drawing room and the first thing you noticed was the grand piano sitting by the big window, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. A sight of something straight out of a painting.

Your eyes sparkled with wonder, turning back to him in a silent question. Wordlessly, Jin led you over to the large instrument, pulling back the bench before seating himself comfortably and patting the empty spot beside him as an invite.

You eagerly sat beside him, your feet dangling from up the high seat. His eyes trailed over your frame and compared it to his that had his feet firmly planted.

He lifted the fallboard and you couldn't help but to trace a finger over the smooth ivory keys, hesitant to press too hard and make a sound.

“Do you play?” He softly asked as he straightened his back and adjusted himself at the piano, you shook your head.

“Can I watch and listen to you play? Any song” You looked at him expectantly, although he was already planning on playing a piece or two for you. One look at you and he already knew what to perform for you.

Jin’s fingers hovered over the keys before producing the first few notes you recognized from Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. How could you not? It's one of your favorite songs from a ballet you liked. You swayed your body to the tune, your legs swinging and imagining performing the dance itself.

Soon, the song comes to an end and you smile up at the silver haired boy, having enjoyed the experience.

“I wouldn't have thought this would be the first thing you'd play on the piano.” You admit to him that you didn't think he'd play that song first, having pegged him as someone who might’ve favored Handel’s compositions more.

He faces you and raises an eyebrow as if asking whether you just assumed his taste in music or not— but yes, you were right that the piece wouldn't be his first choice either.

“I just thought the song suited you, that's all.”

Yet again warmth crashes over you like a wave, very flattered he thought of you that way.

You were wrong to assume he'd be someone you'd only be grateful to— you were also quickly growing attached to him to the point of developing a crush already.

And you weren't bothered by that at all

⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ੈ❆‧₊˚༺✦༻*ੈ❆‧₊˚.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆.: ⋆*･

note/s: have to cut it here and make it multi part instead (ahaha it's so long y'all) and I haven't done a revision of the latter parts so hope y'all look forward to it! it'll prolly run for one or two more chapters :>

taglist: @nenesofficial my dear requester, @ryescapades , @justwinginglife , @minasfwoopyponytail + anyone else who wants to be added to any future works!

#kamurai jin #jin kamurai #jin kamurai x reader #kamurai jin x reader #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker fanfic #tokyo debunker x mc #tokyo debunker x reader #tkdb #tkdb x reader #tdb #tdb x reader #tdb fanfic #tkdb fanfic

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moth-sapphic · 2 days ago

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I know Kili and Ori are meant to be young adults probably the human equivalent of in their early 20s but we know from Thorin "oldest member of the company" (yeah right) that the movies aren't accurate to the book for the dwarves ages - and everytime Kili and Ori are on screen they just scream teenagers to me

The way Ori talks especially in the Bag-end scenes, when he asks Bilbo where to put his plate he sounds like a kid reciting what his parents (or likely older brother in this instance) taught him to say to be polite, the way Dori is so protective and telling him off constantly and has to convince him to eat his greens, "Have they got any chips?" That's a teenager if I ever saw one

Kili is also obviously not quite an adult yet like maybe he's a little bit older that Ori but the way he acts and some of the looks on his face he's just a goofy reckless innocent kid that wants to go on an adventure like the look he has on his face when Thorin puts down his sword for the trolls he honestly looks like he's about to have a bit of a tantrum lmaooo and the LOOK ON HIS FACE after "I could have anything down my trousers" that's not a grown man confidently flirting that's a dumbass teenager saying something crass cos he thinks it's funny and being not quite sure if he's gonna get in trouble for it/trying not to laugh PLEASE also the promise stone from his mum/his mum being worried about him where (as far as we know) Fili didn't get the same treatment (probably cos he actually is an adult) I just KNOW Kili is the baby

#bilbo is SHOCKED when he realises how young these two actually are #if he wore shoes hed be smacking thorin over the head with one #the hobbit #fili and kili #kili durin #ori the hobbit #ori the dwarf #thorins company #fili durin

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midnight1nk · 23 hours ago

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So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

I'M HERE I'M HERE *trips from stone pebble, face first* i'm here...

That's right, my dear fellows, your local theorist is back and freed from the basement! WA-HOO 🎉 What episode do we got today... *sees thumbnail+title* ...oh. huh.

Team...*inhales* care to tell me what. the. fuck is this? "SMG4:" IS BACK ON THE TITLE?! AND THIS DESCRIPTION?!

oh my god the Team hates me so BAD (/lh /jk) WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!

(the following is my live reaction:)

dude, i don't even know what to expect from this but it looks like i'm going to be incredibly annoying in this review 😅 (sorry in advance)

the way Mario goes to the front door of his home is exactly how i enter every room

Mario to Luigi: "Trying to get me back after locking you in the fridge for 5 days?" wha ...y'know what? that sounds about right

*war flashbacks to Ben's tweet*

*slowly turns to Team* what did you do? :) NOW'S NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR KNOWING SMILES, ONLY I SHOULD DO THAT. ANOTHER FNAF REF WITH THE VANNY MASK ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

(hey nicc, buddy, how are you holding up?)

btw the Team could've gone with any mask but they went with this for 4 & 3 🤔

*points at 4* he wants that cookie SO BAD

UE UE UE THEY MEAN THE WORLD TO ME💙💜 they do be scheming

look how much they've changed 🥹 (and i will talk about them later)

AND their expressions? *dies*

*stares at Team suspiciously* wow the framing of this scene is quite interesting, huh

speak yourself, 4. you could barely handle horror games

OH I GET THE CLUE NOW @arco-doodles never could i have ever imagined a roles-reversed version of "the princess carry" 🗣️LET'S GOOOOOOO

SMG3: "You've used the same laugh in like all your videos." and ofc, you would know that. you were like his biggest fan (in the classic era), obsessed even smh /affectionate

HOLY SHIT ARE WE DOING FOUND FOOTAGE THROUGH 3'S POV/PHONE?!?! dude this is SICK

*deadpans at you through the screen* y'know...

I'm a sucker for this animation, dude

gonna bounce around the screen like the DVD logo, spooky style

well this feels familiar

and also the fact that Mario looked like that one meme with the realistic eyes (link) that Ben used as his pfp one time. what's crazy is that Ben hasn't seen this episode yet lmao

OH A BIT OF 2D PNG ANIMATION. also the eyeliner 👀

(hmm why do 4 & 3 get trapped in the weirdest places tf? /lh)

welp we found Luigi, we did it guys *cheesy thumbs-up* roll the credits

also it's giving:

i'm just going to drop this here, ok? ↓

4 lifting 3's chin :)

a TADC ref? in my SMG4 episode? it's more likely than you think

love the small details of not only Mario's post-it note of "Mario's Spaghetti, DO NOT EAT" but also his drawing of "stinky 4" just hung up on the fridge

it is still Mario....... NOT EVEN THE SPAGHETTI TRAP?

somehow 3 summoning ghosts fit with his internet graveyard/dark web role

*WHEEZE* the 2 dollar store item...

*danny phantom theme plays*

oh. uh, i'm intruding, aren't i? i should go...... ("he wants that cookie so bad" 2: electric boogaloo???)

i hired 3 & 4 to stare at you /silly /ref

love how 3 has his contacts with the regular names (Karen, Bob, etc.) meanwhile for 4, it's "StinkyMessGuy4". 4's different 💅

aw 4 🥹💙 you did a good thing in apologizing

3 NOOOOOOO

*IGBP war flashbacks*

oh, what's that? i was staring at space again? oh, no, I was trying to figure out HOW DID I MANIFEST 4'S CASTLE COLLAPSING IN AN IGBP PARALLEL OF AN EPISODE?! oh god, did the Team somehow see my WIPs of my door fanart? they're hacking into my tablet /silly

so let me get this straight: a supernatural entity with multiple eyes and red is causing chaos, starting from emerging out of the PC to eventually corrupting the castle and its ground, meanwhile, the friends believed that one of them is possessed by said entity and trying to save them in several ways. AND by the end, 3, having a character development moment, sympathizes with their "possessed" friend...

🧍 ...ok yeah I see how it is, Team. and while i was gone for the weekend? smh

eh close enough, welcome back IGBP

before i move on, it's crazy how the Team kept punching me in the gut for the "Eye of Horus/Ra" stem of the Goop!4 theory and now they jumped into the theory's "Eye of God" and Christianity thing with Mario's new form. "wow Mario really is 4's avatar" i can never catch a break 😔 /silly

here's some context *flashback noises*:

*le gasp* he apologized?! BIG MOMENT HERE FOLKS AAAAAA

...and it didn't work? oh shit. i'm still very proud of you 3 💙

THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE SAYS SO MANY THINGS.

ok ok first off, the fact that 3 was serious about his apology. For once, doing the right thing only to be rejected. It feels very similar to the YT arc when 3 was doing his own thing with Snitch Productions. Here tho, 4 is affirming 3's actions, approving it. 3 really did good. if it was 4 back in the classic era, 4 might've had a harder time believing 3 bc of them being enemies, which was what eventually caused Snitch Productions to get destroyed and 3 clicking into his villain arc. BUT HERE, 4 believed and trusted 3's sincerity, especially since we all know 3 isn't the usual type to be emotionally vulnerable. 4 knows bc of what 3 said to him in IGBP

second, this might be a dark subject so fair warning about death. can we talk about how 4, time and time again, doesn't mind the idea of dying? I know we talked about the death guidelines of this universe and sure, it entirely depends on the context/intent behind it. But the fact he's ok with it regardless... Here, in IGBP, and other sillier episodes, it's almost like he accepts it as some sort of punishment, just enough bc by what seems like the end for him, he's doing the right thing or something he loved or from his own doing/fault. And that is what i worry bc in a serious arc, sooner or later, something like this is gonna happen again, and 4 might say he accepts this supposed fate bc he "deserved it" after everything he's done, even before IGBP. This got sad real quick, dude

Really, Team? All this in a silly spooky episode? damn

...let's go on and try to go back to silly mode, ok? ok

GET PRANKED, BRUH‼️🚨🚨‼️‼️

*shaking violently* Team, was it necessary for you to shove the fact that the window to the boarded-up room is right there, in my face? really?

and let's not prank Mario ever again :D

Congrats to Not_wizz for your art being featured in the end credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

[Ink here! Sorry for the late review, I literally passed out for the whole day from the conference and immediately had a rough production day yesterday. But I'm here now, coming in fashionably late 💅]

This. This was an INCREDIBLE episode, I don't even know how. The animation, the story, all of it was crazy /very pos. If you haven't noticed my insanity already, this feels too familiar to IGBP (says the co-CEO of the Goop!4 theory). at this point, the Team is teasing us. So Team, while I'm upset at the fact that I had to miss this, touché. congrats, you got me good.

Now, some of you might've noticed in the end credits that Cube is the producer instead of Kevin. For the jokes and giggles, Kev may not make it out alive from Creator Clash when his opponent's out for blood, so he's passing it over to Cube. Even some of the Team joked about it when it was first announced RIP Kev /jk.

But no seriously, Cube has been the producer for several episodes now and it's nice to see the Team growing and trusting each other with these roles. I'm sure Kev will be around but hey, things change. we just gotta adapt.

Ok, back to the episode itself. 3 & 4 have really shown how much they've grown over all these years. Obviously 4, who didn't do "childish" pranks before, now does bc of 3's influence and is really getting along with 3. But 3 went through some change from 4's influence as well, episodes before and "subtlety" now. 3 tried to save his friends in Puzzle Park (more worried of their safety than his own) and now he apologizes for that prank they did to Mario. Like he said, he swallowed his pride, and 4 believed in his word. another step of character development for these two, we love to see it.

and ofc, another episode of our goofball Mario, it's really in-character for him to into a biblically accurate angel just for a prank lol.

Anyway, this has been an incredible episode and I applaud to everyone who worked on this 👏 something's brewing and I'm so excited to see what comes next. Apparently, I owe my moot a can of rizz soda so chat, I'll see you all at the next one, and remember: numbers go first........

...so *slowly turns chair* Team, what's up with that title huh? you ain't slick, "SMG4: IT'S A ME..." is LITERALLY a few words away from "SMG4: IT'S GOTTA BE PERFECT". and HEY, what's up with the framing showing the DOOR, huh? NO i'm not delusional, ANSWER MEEEE /silly

#smg4 #smg4 spoilers #ink reviews #belated review ig #smg4 smg3 #smg4 mario #smg34 #CRAZY THEORIST ESCAPES THE BASEMENT. more at 11 #the Team's really out to get me /silly

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song-for-sylus · 5 hours ago

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The Princess and The Punk

Summary: a one shot loosely inspired by Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne

Characters: Sylus x MC

Word Count: 7.2k

Note: You can find edits to accompany some scenes on my Instagram!

“Let’s end here for the day. Don’t forget about the quiz next week.” The professor wrapped up the lecture in record time.

I shoved my books into my bag and bolted for the exit, weaving through the crowded hallways. My fingers fumbled inside my bag, searching for my phone. I needed to call my chauffeur Trevor.

I didn’t see him until it was too late.

I slammed into a solid chest, the impact knocking me off balance. My bag slipped from my shoulder, its contents spilling across the floor as I landed, hard, on my butt.

Crap. I’m gonna be late for ballet practice!

I pushed my glasses up and glared at the guy who’d rudely interrupted my escape. “Hey, watch it!”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Shouldn’t you watch where you’re going, princess?”

His arms were crossed, his stance relaxed, like he had all the time in the world while I scrambled to collect my things. I snatched up my notebook, stuffing it back into my bag with more force than necessary.

With one last glare—daggers, really—I turned on my heel and stormed off, muttering under my breath. Punk ass.

Earning extra credit as a peer tutor had its perks, and it was a productive way to spend my time on campus. I made my way to the designated spot in the library, flipping through my Shakespearean Literature notes from last semester.

“Sorry I’m late, my class ran long—” I plopped down into the seat, finally looking up at my assigned student. And froze.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“You?!”

The guy from yesterday sat at the table, looking far too amused for my liking.

“Ah, princess.”

His red eyes gleamed with mischief, longish silver hair falling just past his eyes in an effortlessly messy way. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, wearing a smug expression that made my blood boil.

Of all people, why him?!

“Seriously, you’re who I’m supposed to tutor?” I asked, more to myself than to him.

“I don’t want to be here any more than you do.” He yawned, stretching his arms behind his head like this was the most boring thing in the world. “But I need to pass this course, so you’re here to help me.”

I blinked. “You’re failing Intro to Shakespeare?”

“Not exactly,” he said, his red eyes gleaming as he gave a half-shrug. “It’s more like…I was strategically ignoring it until it became a problem. It’s only an elective, after all.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, temporarily shifting my glasses upwards. “It’s literally one of the easiest classes.”

He smirked. “Not for someone who thinks iambic pentameter sounds like a disease.”

I groaned. “Okay, let’s rewind. I’m Sabrina, first year in Literary Arts. And you are?” I needed to address him by something other than ‘asshat.’

He grinned, sitting up a little straighter. “Sylus. Third year Business Major.”

I sighed, already regretting signing up for this. “Okay, Sylus. Let’s start with the basics. What play are you studying?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

Of course. The most dramatic play for the most dramatic person I’d ever met.

I opened his copy and slid it across the table. “Read Act 3, Scene 1. Tell me what you understand from it.”

He picked up the book like it was some ancient relic, flipping lazily through the pages. Then, without even glancing at the words, he deadpanned, “Two guys fight. One dies. Then Romeo does something stupid.”

I stared at him. “…That’s your summary?”

“I mean, am I wrong?”

I resisted the urge to slam my forehead against the table. Instead, I flipped through my notes to avoid looking at his stupid, infuriatingly smug face. “Let’s try again. What’s the significance of the scene?”

He shrugged, dragging a hand through his messy silver hair. “I dunno. Romeo gets himself exiled ‘cause he can’t control his temper?”

“…Okay, not entirely wrong,” I admitted, tapping my pen against my notebook. “But the scene is about more than that. It’s about fate, impulsivity, and the consequences of unchecked emotions.”

“Right. So, what I said.”

I shot him a glare. “You summarized it like a toddler explaining a soap opera.”

He grinned. “Still accurate, though.”

I took a steady breath. Patience. Losing my temper wouldn’t do any good - not when I was supposed to be the mature, composed, better person here. “This is going to be a long session,” I muttered, applying pressure to my temples with my fingertips.

He chuckled, resting his chin on his palm. “Good thing we’ve got plenty of time, huh, princess?”

God. I want to wipe the floor with his stupid face.

He’s late.

I tapped my foot against the carpeted library floor, clicking my pen with one hand and flipping through my Computational Logic and Algorithms textbook. Might as well get some studying done while I wait.

“Hey, princess.”

“Glad you decided to finally grace me with your presence. And stop calling me that,” I replied curtly. I didn’t even need to look up. I could already feel him standing there, that familiar mischief lacing his voice.

“Computer science? I thought you were a Literature Major,” he mused as he pulled out the chair around from me and sat down.

“Did I mention I’m a double major?” I shrugged, putting my textbook away and pulling out *Romeo and Juliet *again. “Anyways, let’s get to the fun stuff.”

He raised a brow. “Before we dive in, I should let you know - I can’t make it next week.”

I narrowed my eyes, not buying the sudden change of plans. “You do realize your midterm is in two weeks, right? What’s more important than that?”

He flashed that devil-may-care grin. “Could we meet at the Meow Café near campus on Saturday instead?”

I sighed. He completely ignored my question, but at least he’s not cancelling altogether - that must mean he cared, at least a little bit. “Fine. I’ll see you there at 1.” If I haul ass after morning ballet practice I should make it.

“Cool. Thanks.”

I slid my copy of the play across the table. “Alright, Sylus. You’d better show me something more than your usual antics today.”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m all ears.”

I resisted the urge to snap at him, instead opting to turn the pages of the play. “Act 3, Scene 1. Take it away.”

Sylus’s expression faltered for a second, his gaze skimming over the page without much focus. “This again? Where the two guys fight each other?”

I groaned inwardly but kept my composure. “Romeo and Tybalt, Sylus. Romeo and Tybalt. You’re supposed to read and understand the context behind the violence. Not just gloss over it.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, leaning closer. “And how does this little fight tie into the bigger picture? Enlighten me, Miss Sabrina.”

My fingers drummed against the table as I tried to remind myself to stay patient. “It’s not just about the fight. It’s about pride, family loyalty, and the consequences of acting on rage instead of thinking things through. That’s what makes Romeo’s decision to kill Tybalt so tragic. It’s impulsive—”

“And that’s where Romeo acts like a complete idiot,” he interrupted, flashing a sly grin.

I shot him a quick glare. “Exactly. But it’s not just about him being an idiot, it’s about how emotions and decisions tied to family honour shape the events that follow. It’s like… there’s no going back after that point.”

Sylus tilted his head, like he was actually considering it for once. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Family drama, huh? Sounds a bit too real.”

I tried to hide my grin, adjusting my glasses instead. “Well, when you’re in Verona, it’s the only drama that matters.”

“Pfft. Verona’s overrated.” He leaned back in his chair, but his eyes lingered on the page for a second longer than usual. “But fine, I get it. It’s not just some random fight. It’s about what comes next.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I smiled, feeling a small victory at the progress.

“Could’ve been worse,” he replied with a lazy smirk, clearly pleased with himself.

I shook my head, tapping the table lightly. “I’m just glad you’re paying attention for once.”

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m always paying attention to you.”

The way he said it made me freeze for a moment. Was he being serious? Or was this just part of his usual cocky act?

“Sorry I’m late! Traffic was awful,” I panted, plopping into the seat across from Sylus.

He glanced up, an eyebrow arched, his gaze scanning from my flushed face to my hair. “Didn’t know you were a ballerina.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Your bun,” he said nonchalantly, sipping his coffee and sliding the menu toward me. “Did you just come from ballet practice?”

I brushed my fingers through my bangs, fumbling to fix the loose strands around my face. “Oh, uh, yeah. I was hurrying to get here. Didn’t have time to fix it.”

He gave me a long look, still scanning my face. “But where are your glasses?”

I shrugged, still focused on my hair. “I don’t actually need them. I wear them around school so people take me seriously.”

He raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, studying me in that way he did.

I shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze. “What?”

His grin grew, light and teasing. “Nothing. You just look really cute right now.”

I quickly looked away, hoping the heat creeping into my cheeks didn’t show. Thank god my hair was covering my ears—I was pretty sure they were turning red.

“Damn,” Sylus said, leaning back with a thoughtful expression. “I didn’t think I’d actually get it today.”

“You’re welcome,” I said with a small smirk.

He flashed me a grin. “You’re not so bad at this tutoring thing, princess.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

Sylus leaned in, his gaze shifting from the textbook to me. “So, do you really like* Romeo and Juliet* or something? How do you know so much about it?”

I straightened up, launching into one of my favorite topics. “You’d be surprised how relevant Shakespeare still is today. His plays tackle stuff people still deal with—love, betrayal, identity. It’s timeless.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sylus mimicking my posture, sitting up straighter with an exaggeratedly serious expression. I shot him a look, but he only smirked and nodded along as if I were delivering the most profound speech of the century.

I ignored him and pressed on. “Take Twelfth Night, for example. It’s all about mistaken identities and unrequited love. People get tangled up in their emotions, and sometimes, they can’t see what’s right in front of them. It’s all so…messy. Kind of like real life.”

Sylus rested his chin on his hand, copying my movement with annoying precision. “Twelfth Night, huh? Sounds like a whole lot of pretending and getting tangled up in your feelings. Guess I should taking notes, wouldn’t want to miss out on all this deep stuff,” he mused, his voice dripping with mock thoughtfulness.

“Do you always mock your tutors?” I asked, raising a brow.

He grinned. “Only the cute ones.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I tried to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. Maybe I was getting a little carried away. Clearing my throat, I quickly added, “But, uh, yeah. That’s why Shakespeare sticks around. His themes are timeless.”

He finally leaned back in his seat, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You’re pretty smart, huh?” he said, clearly impressed. “Didn’t expect that.”

I blinked, a little taken aback. “What?”

“I mean, not only are you tutoring me on this stuff, but you’re also taking computer science classes, right?” He tilted his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re sharp.”

I tried to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “I like to challenge myself,” I muttered, glancing at a passing customer to avoid his gaze.

Sylus rested his chin on his hand again, this time for real, watching me like I was more interesting than anything on the page. “Guess I underestimated you.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Clearly.”

His smirk deepened, but there was something thoughtful beneath it. “Good thing I’m a fast learner.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, voice easy and smooth, “here we are. Miss Sabrina’s academic prodigy in the making.”

The session wrapped up, and I packed up my things, trying to ignore the subtle weight of Sylus’s gaze. I didn’t know what it was, but something about the way he was looking at me made my skin tingle. I quickly grabbed my phone and called Trevor.

“Hello, Miss,” the voice on the other end said,* “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m stuck at the moment. I’ve got a flat tire. It’ll be a bit before I can get it fixed.”*

“Oh. It’s alright Trevor, I’ll get myself home.”I hung up and sighed, glancing at Sylus. “Great. Just my luck.”

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyebrows slightly arched in concern.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to brush it off. “My driver’s having some issues. I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“A chauffeur, huh…” He leaned back with a mischievous smile. “I could take you home. I mean, if you trust me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You? Take me home? What, are you going to pull out a white horse and carriage next?”

Sylus chuckled, unfazed by my sarcasm. “Not exactly. But I have a motorcycle parked a block away. I’m not that bad of a driver. Unless you’ve got something against motorcycles?”

I paused for a moment, considering the offer. My first instinct was to reject it - motorcycles weren’t exactly my idea of a safe ride. But something in his eyes made me hesitate. He looked sincere.

“Fine.” I gave in. “But if I end up in a ditch, I’m blaming you.”

“You won’t,” he said, grinning as he led the way outside.

I stepped out of the café and followed Sylus down the street toward his motorcycle, which gleamed under the sun. As we walked, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye - a scruffy-looking cat huddled near the corner of the sidewalk. It was a stray - thin, its fur matted, its eyes wide with hunger. It looked like it had been out there for a while.

I slowed my pace, glancing at Sylus. He’d stopped too, his gaze softening as he looked at the cat. To my surprise, he reached into his bag, pulled out a can of tuna, and squatted down in front of the stray.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmured, opening the can. The cat immediately perked up and cautiously approached, sniffing the tuna. Sylus held the can out, and the cat eagerly ate.

My heart did a weird little flip as I watched him, noticing how gentle and patient he was with the stray. I’d never pegged him as someone who would stop to help an animal, let alone feed one from his own bag.

“Do you just… bring canned tuna with you?” I asked, blinking in disbelief.

“Of course,” Sylus said with a shrug, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You never know when you’ll come across a hungry cat. Plus, I’ve got a soft spot for strays.”

I stood there for a moment, watching him. I don’t know why, but seeing him like this - kind and unexpectedly thoughtful - shifted something in my perception of him. The playful guy I’d been tutoring suddenly seemed… different. More real, somehow.

He stood up and brushed his hands off, looking back at me with a grin. “You okay there, princess? I didn’t expect you to be so quiet.”

I cleared my throat, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… didn’t know you had it in you.”

Sylus chuckled, slinging his bag back over his shoulder as we continued walking to his bike. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

We reached the motorcycle, and he handed me a helmet, the playfulness in his eyes still there, but something softer had replaced it. “Ready to go?”

I hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Let’s do it.”

The hum of the engine sounded almost like a promise of excitement - something I hadn’t realized I was craving. As we took off, I couldn’t help but think about how, for once, I was glad to be wrong about someone. Sylus was proving to be a lot more than I expected. Maybe even more than I was willing to admit to myself.

“Miss, a word?” The head maid poked her head into my bedroom.

I glanced up from my textbook. “What is it, Theresa?”

“The boy who brought you home earlier…” she trailed off.

I raised an eyebrow. “My tutoring student? What about him?”

Theresa hesitated, her expression carefully neutral. “I don’t think your parents would approve of you associating with… that kind of person.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “There’s nothing going on. It’s just for school.”

She pursed her thin lips. “If you say so, Miss. Just make sure it stays that way.”

With that, she closed the door behind her. I turned back to my studying, but my mind refused to cooperate. I kept seeing him - Sylus, with that easy, self-assured smile. The way he chuckled, arms crossed like he knew exactly how to get under my skin. His stupidly cocky face.

Oh, dear god.

Sylus’s cryptic text clung to my thoughts all morning, making Greek mythology feel even more endless than usual. The second the lecture wrapped up, I crammed my notes into my bag and slipped out, barely catching the professor’s closing remarks.

What does he want? And why a music room, of all places?

The music building sat on the far end of campus, tucked away like some forgotten secret. I kept my pace casual, ignoring the weird flutter of curiosity in my chest. Room 109 wasn’t hard to find, though it was in a quieter wing. As I got closer, the soft sound of a piano drifted through the cracked door.

It wasn’t some fancy classical piece. Something softer, more fluid. And…a little messy. Almost improvisational.

I peeked inside. Sylus sat at the piano, his back to me, fingers moving lazily across the keys. He was humming along. Badly. I had to bite back a laugh. Is he tone-deaf?

“Princess, how long are you gonna stand there spying?” His voice, smooth as ever, cut through the music.

I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open. It closed behind me with a soft click. “Maybe I was trying to figure out why you sound like a dying cat.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “Jealous of my skills already?”

“More like concerned.” I slid onto the bench beside him, arching a brow. “So? What’s with the meetup spot? Did you sneak in here?”

“Nah, I minor in music. This is practically my room.” He reached into his bag, pulling out a crumpled stack of papers. “But this - this is what I wanted to show you.”

I took the papers, smoothing them out as I scanned the top page. My eyes widened. “Wait… this is your midterm.” I flipped through the pages, stunned. “And you didn’t just pass - you crushed it!”

“Try to contain your excitement, princess.” His voice was casual, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.

“Are you kidding? I’m proud of you!” I grinned, giving his shoulder a light punch. “Looks like all those tutoring sessions actually paid off.”

He leaned back against the piano like he wasn’t secretly glowing under the praise. “Well, I have a cute tutor. Keeps me motivated.”

I snorted. “Flattery won’t get you extra credit.”

“Worth a shot.” He nodded toward the back of the packet. “Check out the last page.”

Curious, I flipped to the end and found a ticket paperclipped to the corner. I held it up. “A concert ticket? And a backstage pass?”

“My band’s gig this weekend.” His tone was breezy, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You should come. Unless you’ve got some thrilling, upper-crust gala to attend instead.”

“You’re in a band?” I gave him a skeptical once-over. “Is that why you rescheduled that time?”

His laugh was warm and easy as he nodded. “We played a festival that week, that’s why I couldn’t make it.”

I twirled the ticket between my fingers. “Is that why you're in here? Writing your next big hit?”

“Trying to.” He played a few more notes and hummed off-key again. “Turns out, musical genius is harder than it looks.”

I grimaced. “Clearly.” I nudged him aside gently, laying my hands on the keys. “Here, let me try.” I replayed his notes and hummed his melody best I could, adding a smoother, more polished variation.

He let out a low whistle. “Damn. As if being a double major and ballerina wasn’t enough. Piano and vocals too? You’re a show-off, princess.”

I pretended to flip my hair. “Somebody’s gotta raise the bar.”

His gaze lingered a beat too long, something unreadable flickering behind it. “Maybe I should hire you as my personal music coach. You know, if this tutoring gig gets boring.”

“If that’s all it takes to fix your tone-deaf humming, why not.”

Before he could fire back, my phone buzzed against my thigh. With a sigh, I pulled it out.

“Hello, Miss. You’re going to be late for ballet practice,” Trevor’s voice could be heard on the other end.

I hesitated, glancing at Sylus, who was watching me with that trademark smirk - half amusement, half challenge.

“I, uh… need to stay behind for something important,” I said, forcing my voice to stay light. “I’m afraid I’ll be skipping practice today.”

A pause. “Shall I pick you up later then, Miss?”

“No need. Take the rest of the day off. I’ll get home by myself.”

“If you insist. See you tomorrow, Miss.”

I hung up, putting my phone on silent and tossing it into my bag.

Sylus leaned closer, voice low and teasing. He gently tugged my glasses off my face and put them on the piano. “Skipping ballet for me? Didn’t think you had it in you. Guess I’m rubbing off on you.”

I shrugged, playing it off, but I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks. “It’s not like I actively enjoy ballet. I just do it because my parents expect me to and I’ve been doing it for so long. And I’m not skipping for you. Though I am betting on you giving me a ride home again.”

His smirk softened at the edges. “I don’t mind having a passenger princess if it’s you,” he teased.

I snorted. “Please. You’re lucky I’m even considering sitting through your off-key serenade.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Joke’s on you - I don’t sing. I play bass. Someone’s gotta hold the whole thing together while our frontman’s in the spotlight.”

“Ah, so you’re the responsible one,” I teased, tilting my head. “That explains so much.”

“Someone’s gotta be.” His voice was light, but there was an ease in the way he said it—like he didn’t mind playing the background while everyone else took the spotlight. He shrugged, almost like the words didn’t mean much. “I just keep things steady.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Right. And yet, somehow, you’re still my most hopeless student.”

“Didn’t I just ace my midterm?” he retorted playfully, leaning in just a little, his smirk lazy and self-assured. “Guess I owe you one, Miss Sabrina.”

“You owe me more than one,” I shot back, twirling the ticket between my fingers. “Don’t embarrass me.”

His smirk softened at the edges. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

I could feel the weight of his gaze on me as we sat in the quiet music room, the air thick with the fading hum of the air conditioning. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. Outside, the sun was sinking lower, staining the sky in hues of deep orange and soft pink, spilling golden light into the room, making the grand piano’s glossy surface shimmer. It was getting late, and yet, time seemed to stretch as we sat there on the piano bench, caught between words, the room almost holding its breath with us.

I found myself lost in the stillness of the moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the world outside, yet feeling an unmistakable pull between us, a tension that had lingered longer than I cared to admit. I’d never been good at letting people in, at letting them see the parts of me I kept hidden. But Sylus? He had a way of making me feel like I didn’t have to hide. Like it was okay to be a little broken, a little unsure.

Still, I kept my distance. I couldn’t help it. He was different, and that scared me.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he said, breaking the silence and catching me off guard.

I glanced at him, his casual tone not matching the intensity of his gaze. “What makes you think that?”

He leaned back against the lid of the piano, that smirk returning to his lips. “You do that thing where you overthink everything. Let it go, Sabrina.”

I exhaled sharply, trying to hide the sudden shift in my chest. He’s never my name like this. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” He cut me off, his voice softer now. “You’re always trying to figure out how everything fits into place. But sometimes…you don’t need to.”

My stomach twisted at his words. He was right, and it made me uncomfortable. He saw through the walls I’d built around myself—walls I’d spent years perfecting.

“I don’t know how to just… let things be,” I confessed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “Everything has always had a purpose. A reason.”

“And now?”

“Now?” I took a shaky breath, meeting his gaze. “Now, everything feels out of control. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

His expression softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing my cheek in a gesture that was both reassuring and intimate. “You don’t have to fix anything, Sabrina. Not with me.”

I didn’t pull away. Maybe, for the first time, I didn’t want to. Instead, I let myself savor the way my name lingered on his lips, the sound of it warm and familiar, like a secret only he could share with me.

He stood up, gently pulling me to my feet, his hand still in mine. “Come on, it’s getting late. Let’s grab dinner, then I’ll get you home, princess.”

I had barely stepped into my through the front doors when Theresa appeared in the hallway, arms crossed like she’d been waiting.

“Late night, Miss.” Her voice was smooth, but the disapproval wasn’t exactly subtle.

I kicked off my heels, pretending not to notice. “It’s barely nine.”

“Mm. Trevor told me you missed ballet.” Her gaze flicked to my jacket - the one Sylus had draped over my shoulders when the evening chill kicked in. “The boy with the motorcycle again?”

I sighed, tugging the jacket off and tossing it over my arm as I made my way to my bedroom. “His name’s Sylus. And yes, he gave me a ride home. I didn’t realize that was a crime.”

Theresa briskly kept pace with me. “You know how your parents feel about… that type.”

“He’s not ‘that type.’” The words came out sharper than I meant. I forced a casual shrug. “He’s my friend. That’s it.”

Her expression stayed neutral, but the pointed silence that followed wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Friend, huh? Last I heard, he was your tutoring student.” She plucked a crumpled concert ticket from the pocket of the jacket. Her lips twitched in something that definitely wasn’t a smile. “Strange study habits.”

I snatched the ticket from her hand. “He invited me to his band’s show. So what?”

Theresa tilted her head, her voice softening. Too soft. “I’m sure your father would be delighted to know you’re spending your evenings with a musician. Should I let him know?”

I froze for half a second, just long enough for her to notice.

“No need.” I plastered on my best, most charming smile as I entered my bedroom. “Unless you want to explain to him why I’m still acing my classes while expanding my social circle.”

She gave me a long, searching look - one that said she’d let it slide, for now.

“Your life, Miss,” she said at last. “Just be careful who you let pull you off track.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the room too quiet. I flopped onto my bed, the ticket still crumpled in my hand.

Pull me off track, huh?

I should’ve been annoyed. But all I could think about was the stupid way Sylus grinned when he caught me humming along to his piano playing earlier.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t felt the pull before. I was used to feeling something for someone. A fleeting attraction here, a spark of chemistry there. But Sylus was different. I couldn’t keep pretending it was just a “fun flirtation” anymore. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t drawn to him in ways that made my heart race and my thoughts scatter.

My phone buzzed in my bag. I fished it out, already knowing who it was.

I sighed, my thumb hovering over the keyboard before I gave up and video-called my best friend.

Brookie picked up on the second ring, her face appearing on my phone screen with her lavish bedroom behind her. We’d practically grown up in each other’s houses - long weekends spent bouncing between ballet rehearsals and family galas, our lives intertwined because our parents’ business partnership made it inevitable.

“Well, well. Our primadonna’s alive,” she said, settling back against a pile of silk pillows. “Where have you been? Madam Millicent nearly had an aneurysm when you didn’t show!”

I groaned, flopping onto my bed. “Don’t remind me. I was…busy.”

Brookie raised an eyebrow. “Busy? Lemme guess - it was your bad influence.” Her voice practically sparkled with mischief.

“He’s not a bad influence,” I muttered, but the warmth rising to my cheeks betrayed me.

“Sure he’s not.” Brooke sounded entirely unconvinced. “You missed ballet for him, so he better be worth it. Spill.”

“It’s not like that,” I protested, but even I didn’t sound convincing. “We just hung out, and he invited me to his gig, no big deal.” The ticket burned against my palm.

“No big deal?” She gasped dramatically. “Sabrina. You hate live music. And now, here you are, giddy over a concert ticket.”

“I’m not giddy,” I lied, biting back a smile.

“Whatever. You’re obsessed,” Brookie declared, and before I could argue, she added, “And honestly? I’m proud of you. Finally living a little.”

I tried to roll my eyes, but her teasing made it harder to ignore the warmth creeping into my chest. “I’m not obsessed.”

“Mhm. Sure. So why do you sound all dreamy and tragic right now?”

I hesitated, fingers tightening around the ticket. “I don’t know. He’s… different. And I don’t know how to feel about it.”

For once, Brooke didn’t tease. “Well, how does he feel?”

I thought back to the way his hand lingered on my shoulder when he gave me his jacket. The way his gaze always seemed to find mine, no matter how crowded the room.

“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m starting to think I want to find out.”

For once, Brooke didn’t tease. “Then maybe you should let yourself.”

I exhaled, the weight on my chest lifting just a little. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Maybe I should.”

The concert venue was dark, crowded, and sweaty. I hovered around the back of the room, subconsciously pulling my baseball cap a little lower, hoping no one from campus recognized me. What was I even doing here? I should’ve been at some charity gala or tucked away in my room, not standing in a sea of strangers, waiting for him, dressed in black and wearing baggy jeans.

I shook my head at myself. Why did I even agree to come? Why did I sneak out for this? It isn’t like I owed Sylus anything. Sure, we’ve been friends for months now, but it isn’t like I’m invested. Am I?

A burst of cheers cut through the noise as the lights dimmed. My stomach twisted. Anticipation, nerves, something else I didn’t want to name. Then, they walked onto the stage.

And there he was. Sylus.

Under the glow of the stage lights, he looked different. A black bass hung low on his hips, fingers gliding over the strings like he was born doing this. The easy smirk I knew so well? Now it held an edge - something reckless and magnetic.

He didn’t glance at the crowd. He didn’t need to. The moment the music hit—loud and raw—I felt it hum through my bones.

I knew Sylus was confident. Cocky, even. But this? This was effortless. Like nothing could touch him.

His band was good, better than I expected, but my eyes stayed locked on him. The teasing guy I spent hours tutoring was still there, but here, he was in his element. And I couldn’t stop watching. I told myself it was just admiration. Just his talent. Nothing more.

Between songs, he leaned into the mic, and his eyes seemed to lock onto me. Impossible, there’s no way he can see me from all the way over there.

“This next one’s for someone who’s way out of my league. But she’s here anyway tonight,” he said, voice rough and low.

Something in me shifted as the crowd cheered and the band started playing another song. My heart slammed against my ribs. He meant me.

And that realization felt like a gut punch. Why is my heart racing like this?

By the time the show ended, my heart was still pounding. I slipped past the crowd, flashing the backstage pass he’d given me to the bouncer.

Backstage was a mess of tangled cables, half-empty water bottles, and the lingering buzz of adrenaline. I wove through a few crew members, pulse racing harder than it had any right to.

I found Sylus in the dressing room, leaned back in a chair the way he usually did, like he wasn’t the reason half the crowd was still screaming. His head tipped back as he laughed at something his bandmate said. When our eyes met, his smile shifted - something softer, like I was the only thing that mattered.

“Princess. You made it.” he said breathlessly, pushing off the chair as his bandmate clapped him on the shoulder. Sweat from the scorching stage lights still clung to his brow, the warm dressing room lighting making the beads of moisture glisten on his skin. Despite the exhaustion evident in his posture, there was a spark in his eyes - like he was happy to see me, in a way I hadn’t quite expected.

I forced myself to smile as I entered the dressing room, even though my chest felt tight. “I’m not hallucinating, right? That was actually decent.” I kept my voice light, even though it didn’t feel that way on the inside. I didn’t want him to see how badly his words had rattled me.

The other guy snorted, shooting Sylus a knowing look on his way to the door. “I’ll leave you to it, lover boy.” The door swung shut behind him, leaving us alone.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show. And look at you all dressed up for me,” he smirked as he took in my attire.

I folded my arms, trying to play it cool. “I wanted to see if all your bragging was legit.”

And Sylus? He didn’t make it easier. He gently took the cap off my head and placed it on the table, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch lingering longer than it should have. My breath hitched before I could stop it. Why is this affecting me so much?

“You know,” he murmured, “I meant what I said up there.”

I swallowed hard. “Which part?”

“The song.” His steady gaze held mine. His voice was serious, showing no hint of the usual mischief I was accustomed to hearing from him. And his grin? Pure trouble. “It was for you.”

I couldn’t think straight. My mind raced through all the moments I’ve spent with him in the last few months.

“…Have you been flirting with me all this time?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. A mix of disbelief and something else, something softer and out of my control, lurked beneath my tone.

He chuckled, taking a slow step closer. “For someone so smart you sure are dense. Glad you finally noticed, princess.”

I should’ve had a comeback. Something sharp to keep the distance. But standing here—this close, with the music still thrumming through my veins—I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t pull away. What is happening? This isn’t me.

Because with his hair tousled and damp from the stage lights, with the heat from his body still radiating after the performance - I wanted him. The pull of his presence was undeniable. I could feel my pulse quicken, my breath shallow as I stood there, torn between the rush of desire and the weight of my own hesitation.

But I was done burying the way my heart skipped every time he looked at me. He’s right there, so close. I was done pretending I didn’t want him.

I grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him down, pressing my lips to his.

For once, Sylus was quiet. No teasing, no cocky remarks—just his hands curling around my waist, pulling me closer, like he’d been waiting for this too.

The kiss was reckless, messy, driven by something I couldn’t quite name, but also something I’d been denying for too long. I felt him there, pulling me closer, and it was the first time I didn’t want to resist.

When we broke apart, my breath was shaky. My mind was screaming at me to walk away, to step back from the edge. But I couldn’t. What am I doing?

I had always told myself I didn’t have time for relationships. My focus was on my career, on my responsibilities, on the things I was supposed to be doing. Romance, affection, vulnerability? Those were distractions I didn’t need.

Yet, there I was, standing in front of him, feeling something pull me toward him. And it wasn’t the usual rush of adrenaline or some temporary infatuation. This felt deeper, too deep.

“Are you ever going to stop looking at me like that?”

Sylus’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at him longer than I’d intended.

I didn’t answer right away. What was I supposed to say? That every time I looked at him, I saw something new? Something real? That he made me feel like I could be something more than just the image I’d created for myself? The image my parents created for me?

But I couldn’t say that. I wouldn’t.

Instead, I shrugged and pulled away, trying to mask the truth behind my usual flippant tone. “You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

His grin widened, but I could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. “Is that your way of admitting you like me, Sabrina?”

The tease was there, but there was something else too. A quiet understanding.

“I don’t know,” I murmured, my thoughts jumbled. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

He stepped closer and tenderly took my hand in his. His presence was a constant, grounding force that I hadn’t realized I needed until now. “Just know that I adore you. We can figure the rest of it out together. It’s like…you’re the Juliet to my Romeo, cliché as that sounds.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Well, don’t go looking for trouble and get yourself exiled, Romeo.”

“What trouble could I possibly get into?” He had that look in his eyes - the one that said he knew exactly what I was thinking. He didn’t say anything more, though. He didn’t need to. He just smiled, that same infuriatingly confident smile, and waited for my thoughts to catch up.

Deep down, I knew I was already too far gone. I wasn’t ready for the feelings that were building between us. I wasn’t ready to let someone in. But Sylus wasn’t asking for permission. And in some strange way, I didn’t want him to.

I checked my watch again, glancing at the driveway through the window, and bit my lip. What was I even so nervous about? This is Sylus. Just Sylus.

But deep down, I knew it was more than that. Things were changing.

A moment later, the car pulled into the driveway. I rushed out the entryway as Trevor hopped out of the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door.

As Sylus stepped out, I couldn’t help but be taken aback. His freshly cut hair, the pressed shirt, the sweater draped over his shoulders, the understated watch on his wrist. He had even taken out his earrings.

This style suited him surprisingly well. He was still Sylus - there was no mistaking that easy smile. But something about him looked…more polished.

“Are you going to keep staring at me, or let me into your castle, princess?” He raised an eyebrow, flashing that signature smirk of his.

I blinked. “I was just…surprised. You clean up well.”

His grin was unapologetic. “Can’t blame me for wanting to make a good first impression, right? Your boyfriend is meeting your parents for the first time.”

I rolled her eyes. “You look almost respectable.” I intertwined our fingers, leading him through the front doors. “Just don’t forget to tone down the snark. You’ve got to get through dinner first.”

“Hey, I’m always a perfect gentleman.” He straightened up, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

She smirked. “I’ll believe it when I see it. No pressure or anything.”

“Pressure’s my specialty,” he said, winking. “Now, let’s meet your folks.”

I led him down the hallway, my heart beating faster than usual. The door to the living room loomed ahead. “You can charm the socks off my mom, but you might wanna be careful with my dad.”

Sylus tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Dad’s the tough one? What’s he gonna do, ground me?”

“Pretty much,” I replied, fighting the urge to laugh.

My hand hovered over the doorknob, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The anticipation was thick in the air—whether it was nerves or something else, I wasn’t sure. But I felt ready. With Sylus by my side, I could face whatever came next.

I looked up at him. His gaze was steady, and he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we, princess?”

With one last deep breath, I pushed open the door, and Sylus, with his usual grin, stepped right into the fray.

#sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus qin #one shot #sylus x you #sylus x oc #love and deepspace one shot #sylus one shot

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 1 day ago

Text

Lost in the mall

character: choi su-bong/Thanos x fem!reader

Summary: thanos gets lost in a shopping mall, trying to find you and your adorable 2 year old boy.

Warnings: none🦑🦑

Choi Su-Bong, also known as Thanos, was used to being in control. Whether it was in the game or his personal life, he liked knowing where he was going. But today was different. Today, he was lost in a shopping mall, and it was all because of you and your two-year-old son.

He had been following the signs, trying to reach the toy store you had mentioned, but something was wrong. The mall seemed to stretch on forever, and every hallway seemed to lead him in a new direction. It wasn’t until he glanced at his phone that he realized he’d been circling the same corner for the last ten minutes.

"Dammit," he muttered, rubbing his temples. He was usually the one guiding people, not the one who needed guidance. But there you were, somewhere in the labyrinth of colorful stores and noisy children, and you and your little boy were his priority.

He walked past the food court, giving a quick glance at the chaotic scene. Kids running around, mothers trying to corral them, and not a single familiar face. Frustration was beginning to mount, but then—he heard it. Laughter. Soft, sweet giggles, the kind only a child could produce.

That was your son. Su-Bong’s heart skipped a beat, and he followed the sound, his footsteps quickening.

A few turns later, he finally spotted the toy store. You were there, kneeling down on the floor, helping your son pick out a teddy bear from the shelves. His tiny hands held up a stuffed lion, showing it off with pride.

Thanos’s breath caught in his chest at the sight. You and your son, so full of life, so warm. He couldn't help but smile as he leaned against the store's entrance, watching you both. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and your face lit up with the same warmth he always found in your eyes. “Found you!” you said, laughing softly as you stood, holding your son in your arms.

"You're impossible," he replied with a playful smirk, though there was a tenderness in his voice that only you got to hear. "I thought I was never going to find you."

You giggled, walking toward him and placing a kiss on his cheek. "I know you’re used to being the one who keeps track of things, but we were just getting him a new friend.

" You looked down at the little boy who was now holding the lion close to his chest. "Do you think this one’s okay?"

Su-Bong looked at the stuffed animal and then back at you. His heart melted at the sight of the three of you together. “It’s perfect. He’s going to love it.”

The little boy let out another laugh, pointing at his father and his new toy with excitement. It was like everything had fallen into place. For once, he didn’t have to worry about survival or strategy. He had you and your son, and that was enough.

"Let’s go grab lunch," you suggested, slipping your hand into his as you all headed toward the exit. Su-Bong, still lost in the warmth of the moment, could only nod in agreement. “I’m never losing you two again.”

🦑🦑🦑

#squid game headcanons #squid game 2 #squid game netflix #squid game #squid game x y/n #player 230 #squid game imagines #thanos #choi su bong #squid game season 2

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curly-fry-3 · 14 hours ago

Note

I don't know if you write for wlw themes since all your posts are wlm, so if you don't just ignore this, I'll understand.

So I wanted to request daughter-reader after having a bf for maybe a year breaking up cause she released 'holy shit I'm a lesbo' and they like broke up on good turns like he sure he was a bit sad but understanding and they both stayed friends. So now she somehow has to tell Dean, like she knows Dean probably wouldn't be mad at her but still she's a nervous wreck, and he liked her, now, ex bf much and almost treated him like family (You can continue from here if you write for wlw themes like I said already (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ)

𖦹Home of Sexual𖦹

summary𖦹 Dean realizes he hasn't seen you hang around your boyfriend in a while and needs you to explain the sudden shift on your behavior

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Daughter!Reader

word count𖦹 1,276

notes𖦹 this request took me a while be cause IT IS AMAZING and needed to be handled with love and care

It had been a year. A year of dating your now ex boyfriend. You loved him, of course you loved him, but something just always felt off. You didn't understand why girls loved kissing their boyfriends or why other girls had a hard time staying celibate. You had always felt like something was wrong with you, that maybe you were broken. It took some self reflection–and a little exploration on the internet–for you to realise the truth. You're a raging lesbian.

If you had come to this realization under any other circumstances it would have been no big deal, it’s the 21st century #pride or whatever. But this wasn't any regular coming out. You had a boyfriend you had to break up with. A boyfriend that your dad really liked. Your dad, Dean friggin Winchester, had gotten over the fact that his baby girl was dating a boy and had started treating the kid like family. So of course, when you broke up with him, you did not tell Dean–you didnt wanna break his heart. You also maybe we're sort of kinda nervous to tell your dad the reason things ended, it's always hard coming out.

Your ex and you had split on good terms. Sure he was sad about it but he understood–it's not like you didn't want him you just didn't want boys (the problem really was you not him). But just because you two didn't hate each other doesnt mean you were best friends. Dean had noticed that he wasn't coming around as much. At first he didnt wanna ask about it; maybe you two were in a rough patch, you just needed to sort stuff out. But after a month of not seeing the kid he got curious (he missed him), He decided it was time to ask you what happened.

You were in your room one day after school. Dean noticed you doing that a lot lately, locking yourself away. He walked in and found you sitting on your bed scrolling on your phone. Working up the courage to start the conversation, he started picking up trinkets on your dresser and looking at them before setting them back down. Noticing your dads odd behavior, you cleared your throat and got his attention. He put down the toy in his hand and turned to you, leaning his body on the dresser and folding his arms over his chest. You put your phone down and sat up higher in your bed, “do you need something”

Dean rubs his hand over his face and stands up straighter “um kid you know you can tell me anything right”

You give him a questioning look “uh yeah, what is this about”

“Its just…I haven't seen your boyfriend in a while…you can tell me if there's trouble in paradise”

You freeze up a bit “oh…that”

He notices your change in behavior and his face hardens in confusion and worry “Are you two ok?”

You avoid eye contact and answer “well, yes…actually no, we um…broke up”

His gaze softens and he steps closer to the bed to comfort you. He reaches out and rubs soothing circles on your shoulders.“Aw sweetheart, I'm so sorry, you wanna talk about it? What happened?” You awkwardly shrug and look up at him “It was mutual”

He scenes your reluctance to give a clear answer and stops his soothing motions “Did he do something”

“N- No, no. He didn't do anything it just wasn't gonna work out” You stumble out

Dean immediately relaxes but doesn't stop his questioning “There has to be more than that, you guys were together for like a year”

“Im sorry dad, I know you liked him” You respond, looking down at your lap

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest again “Sure I liked him but I like you a hell of a lot more. Sweetheart, you sure you're ok? You can talk to me–tell me why.”

You look up at him anxiously “No judgement?”

“Do you seriously have to ask that, of course no judgment” he reassures

“ok…We broke up not because of any fight or anything…I just um…realized that it wouldn't work out because…I like girls”

“Oh?” Dean looks down at the floor for a second in contemplation then looks back at you “Oh!” His jaw is slack as he thinks about how to respond

You look around your room awkwardly “yeah”

He regains his composure “ok…cant say its too shocking but I still didn't expect it”

You focus back on him “Wait what”

He shrugs and continues “I mean, I know you only liked watching that live action scooby-doo cause of velma in the latex, can't blame you”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion and your voice raises “You knew!”

He puts his hands up in defence “I thought it could be maybe a phase or maybe you wanted to be her…maybe you swung both ways. I just never thought you would only like girls…You only like girls, right?”

“Um yeah pretty much” You respond

He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet while processing what you said “so you're a lesbian?”

You nod “Yeah…wait you're like totally chill with this”

He looks at you with slight disbelief “Of course, why wouldn't I be?”

“I mean I didn't think you would be anti but I thought you'd have more of a reaction” You answer

“I like girls, you like girls, so what” He says, nonchalantly

“I mean, I guess you're right” You agree

His expression turns serious and he lowers his head to catch your gaze“I'm glad you felt like you could tell me…cause you can tell me anything you know”

You look up at him “I know”

He relaxes a little and unfolds his arms, placing one hand on your shoulder “Good”

You stay like that for a second before dean interrupts the silence “Are you and him like done. Like is he never gonna come over”

You try to hold back your smile “yeah im pretty sure he doesnt wanna see me again”

Dean sheepishly asks “yeah, but do you think he would want to see me”

You chuckle slightly “are you serious”

He pulls his arm back and puts his hands in the air, exasperated. “He was a good kid. I'm not gonna apologize for liking him” He put his hands in his front pockets then mutters under his breath “at least he would want to watch football with me”

“Hey!” You interject “I heard that. Football is boring”

Dean makes a disgusted face “Football is the backbone of american culture, you would know that if you would watch a game with me”

You shrug “i'm ok with not knowing”

He looks down at his feet and sighs knowing that he isn't gonna win this one. As he looks back up at you, he gives you a warm smile “you ok…sure you two broke up for a good reason but you still cared about him”

You nod “i'll be ok”

“Good…now that that's over, you have to hang out with me again, I feel like you're always in your room.” He says

After Dean pulls you out of your bed you spend the rest of the night eating junk food and watching TV. He knew the breakup was still hard for you so he didn't even try to make you watch sports with him. Halfway through the movie you picked, you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Maybe you were a little different now, but that doesn't mean things have to change. You're still Dean's baby girl and he’ll love you just the same.

sorry if there are any typos and I hope you love it

@areswasneverhere

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #fanfic #dean winchester x daughter!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #sam winchester #dean winchester fic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction

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theconstantsidekick · 3 hours ago

Text

Avengers: Age Of Ultron ft. Static (3) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Idk what this is called. Ego stroking and Fluff?

Summary: The question of the hour is, who is Y/n Stark's favorite Avenger? Is it Tony Stark, The Iron Man, her brother? Or Steve Rogers, Captain America, her boyfriend? Everyone's dying to find out.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, yet to be codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Drinking, Cursing, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Bullying

a/n: there is a chunk in there about tony that i absolutely loved writing the shit out of. so tell me what you think, please. comment!

Avengers : Age of Ultron ft. Static (2) | Series Masterlist | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

When Y/n and Steve walk in, most of the guests have dwindled away. Leaving only the Avengers in the room.

Bruce is sitting on the couch, leaning over to talk to Natash on the armchair to his left. On Bruce’s other side sits Sam, on the backrest of the couch and below him is Clint, on the floor, fiddling with drum sticks—which she has absolutely no clue about the origins of. Maria’s right there next to him, on the floor, heels abandoned to the side. Tony’s standing by the bar, pouring a couple drinks, she’s presuming for himself and her. Rhodey’s taken the seat on Maria’s right, meanwhile Thor’s half lying on the couch opposite Clint and Maria.

However, the best addition to all this is Helen Cho, sleeping peacefully in one corner of the room, while the rest of them chat away.

“Hey, hotshot!” Sam yells the moment he spots her. “Who’s your favorite Avenger?”

“I heard you put your money on Tony,” she throws back very easily as she walks over to meet Tony at the bar. Steve, on the other hand, seats himself between Rhodey and Thor. “Worried you’ll lose?”

Before Sam can respond, however, Natasha speaks up, “Oh, he’s definitely losing.”

Y/n and Tony share a smile as he offers her the drink, then together, they head back to the centre of the room and join these crazy kids at the table.

“Why, Romanoff, you seem mighty confident for a girl who calls me a puzzle she can’t solve,” Y/n remarks, taking a seat on the armchair next to Thor while Tony sits down next to Rhodey. “Who’d you pick?” She knows the answer, she just wants to hear it. Stirring shit up is afterall, a Stark’s favorite family bonding activity.

Natasha makes a face like it should be fucking obvious. “Steve,” she says.

“Ah,” Y/n nods. “You think those baby blues work on me in the bedroom, so they must work on the field too?”

“No,” she counters with a smile. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you talk about him, not just Steve Rogers, the boyfriend but Steve Rogers, The Captain America. You admire him.” She adjusts herself to look right at Y/n as she adds, “You might be a puzzle I can’t solve, but I know this much, the baby blues work wonders on you. He’s it for you.”

The statement made is utterly true, and it makes Y/n want to look over at Steve for his reaction. But she’s frankly very afraid of what that might be, so chooses not to. Instead she barely sets her glass down to respond before Clint points a drumstick at her like it’s a gavel of absolute judgment.

“Baby blues can take a damn hike. It’s definitely Tony,” he declares, spinning the stick between his fingers. “It’s the law. Blood over boyfriends.”

“First of all,” Rhodey cuts in, with a cunning smirk, “we don’t even know if she picked anyone.”

“Please,” Sam scoffs. “That smile? That’s the smile of someone who’s already made a choice and is just waiting for us to catch up.”

She does smile. Because he’s right.

“Exactly,” Thor agrees, raising his drink like he’s toasting her superior intellect. “And the answer is clear! The bond of siblings is forged in the stars. Little Stark would never betray her brother.”

“Okay, first of all—” Tony interjects, pointing dramatically, “thank you, Point Break. Second, she would betray me, but only if it were funny.”

She raises her glass to him in silent agreement.

“That’s adorable,” Bruce says dryly, “but the answer is Steve.”

Hill hums. “Yeah, no. I’m gonna have to side with the Norse God on this one.”

“Exactly!” Clint inflates, seeing the tides turn his way again. “You can’t just disregard decades of Stark sibling history for some—” he gestures vaguely at Steve, “—muscles and morality situation.”

Steve, who’s been quietly sipping his drink, raises a brow. “Some muscles and morality situation?”

“I mean… accurate,” Y/n muses.

It makes Steve turn to her and pass a look.

‘Really?’ he asks her wordlessly. ‘Really.’ she replies with a smile.

The exchange goes unnoticed by the rest, who are still dead set on their debate.

“See?” Natasha smirks. “It’s Steve.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, no, no. Y’all are forgetting the key factor—who puts up with Y/n’s bullshit more?”

“Tony,” Clint says immediately.

“Steve,” Natasha counters, just as fast.

Bruce lifts a hand. “Steve literally chose this. Tony was born into it.”

“Oh, so it’s voluntary suffering that makes someone her favorite?” Maria deadpans. “That’s the logic we’re going with?”

“You’re acting like loving Y/n is some great hardship,” Tony says, putting a hand to his chest like a martyr. “It’s not, okay? It’s a privilege. A spectacular pain in the ass, but a privilege.”

Steve snorts into his drink. She just winks at him.

Bruce sits up then, “If we’re going purely by scientific method—”

“No one asked for science, Doc,” Sam cuts in.

Bruce is undeterred. “—she gravitates toward Cap in high-stress situations. It’s a subconscious preference.”

She tilts her head, intrigued. “That a fact, Doc?”

“It’s an observable pattern,” Bruce nods.

Tony scoffs. “Or, and hear me out, it’s just that Steve’s built like a brick wall and happens to be standing in the way most of the time.”

Steve sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here.”

Rhodey, having had enough, finally leans forward, aiming to end the debate. “You’re all wrong, by the way.”

That gets the room’s attention.

“Oh, this should be good,” Tony says. “Go on, War Machine. Who do you think it is?”

Rhodey smirks. “Neither of you two, that’s for sure,” he states with finality.

“How’d you figure that?” Steve asks, curious.

“‘Cause whenever you tell her to pick favorites, she answers with the most out of pocket shit—for instance, you ask her what her favorite Star Wars is, and you’d think she’ll say Empire or Return of the Jedi, right?” Everyone nods. Rhodey just shakes his head and looks at her, encouraging her to answer.

“A New Hope,” she obliges.

Groans sound out across the room, with complaints to boot.

But Rhodey smiles triumphant. “See?” He takes a sip of his drink, “It’s neither of you, trust me.”

“This proves nothing,” Clint counters. “Other than the fact that she has questionable taste—which seems to be the pattern,” he says looking at Steve.

Steve sighs, put upon. “You didn’t even know we were dating until an hour ago.”

“Which is absolutely wild to me,” Y/n chimes in. “You thought the kiss I gave him after the mission was purely platonic? Or did you think I kiss all the Avengers like that?”

“I knew you guys had a thing! I just missed the part where you made it official,” Clint defends.

“We’re getting sidetracked,” Sam butts in.

“Despite being hopelessly blind, Barton’s logic is sound,” Thor says then. “Choice made in Midgardian movies holds no bearing whatsoever on her choice of favorite Avenger.”

“You know what? We could go back and forth on this till the cows come home,” Tony states. “Let’s get right to the source instead.” He turns to her with a smirk and anticipation clear in his eyes. “Ready for it, Stark? Question of the hour…” the anticipation builds. “Who is your favorite Avenger?”

She lets the question hang in the air for a second, taking the time to leisurely sip her drink.

But then she looks up at him between her lashes and says, “Sorry, handsome.”

Steve, as expected, is gracious in his defeat. His head falls, as if he’d seen this coming a mile away, but he doesn’t quit smiling. She apologises to him silently with her eyes, and he forgives her all the same.

Tony, however, is anything but gracious in his presumed victory.

“Before you start celebrating—it’s not you either, dickhead,” she speaks up, putting a damper on Tony’s celebration howl.

He turns to face her instantly, “Then who the fuck is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Y/n asks, only to be met with silence. So, she answers her own question, “It’s Widow.”

“Out of pocket shit,” Rhodey reiterates, with a winning grin.

“Bullshit!” Tony slumps. “That’s a diplomatic answer you just made up, to avoid picking between the two of us,” he says, pointing from himself to Steve.

Y/n makes a face, “You wish.” Her tone is standoffish enough to get Tony off her back immediately. She takes another sip of her drink, having accomplished that goal. “She’s the only woman on the team and she’s one who keeps all you miscreants in check… which while not an easy feat, is not why she’s my favorite Avenger.”

“Alright,” Sam chimes in. “I’ll bite,” he announces, as if he’s volunteering to be the sacrificial lamb. “Why is she your favorite Avenger?”

She smiles. “You boys…” she begins. “You had greatness thrust upon you…” she looks around the room, just for good measure. “She stole it.” She takes another swig—takes her time with it too. “Please understand,” she begins, meaning every word, “I’m not trying to negate the fact that you guys had to go through some real fucking horrible shit to get to where you are today. I’m not just proud, but grateful to be associated with each and every single person in this room.” She needs to make sure that they mean it, so she pauses to let them soak in the words. And then adds, “But she’s different.”

She clicks her tongue, “I mean, she’s done her fair share of bad things. I’ve read her files and man, it’s really not good—some of it is bordering on grotesque. Frankly, I am surprised they didn’t redact more shit then they already had—”

She’s cut off by the voice of someone clearing their throat.

Her eyes fly to meet the offending party only to come up with a smile.

Natasha’s looking at her intently, face completely and utterly unreadable.

“But,” Y/n says then. “But…” She licks her lips, and straightens, and addresses Natasha directly when she begins anew, “To be able to face your past… to look back at your history, so marred and maimed by your misdeeds… and then to say ‘To hell with it. I am going to be good, now’, that—that takes the kind of courage that only someone with balls of steel could accomplish.” Her smile slips out, she can’t help it.

When she looks around, the rest of the team is smiling too.

She composes herself. “The way I see it… being good—is not inherent…” Her eyes meet Steve’s as she adds with a smirk, “Unless you’re Steve fucking Rogers…” Steve smiles back at her. “It’s a choice you make,” she states, tone far more grim, a stark contrast to the one she’s used thus far. “Every single day, with every single decision.” She swallows thickly with the weight of her words. After a beat, she scoffs—a little self-deprecatingly, “So, I’m not gonna sit here and say being good is easy—it really fucking isn’t, especially when it counts.” She knows that just as well, if not better than most of the people in this room. “But it is easier when you’ve been taught the difference between right and wrong,” she tells all of them. “She wasn’t. She chose to learn it, all by her lonesome… and then she stuck to it… And that is why, she is my favorite Avenger.”

There is a stunned yet warm silence in the room.

She can tell that everyone’s taking in her words, running it in their heads again, just to grasp it better. So, she lets it hang.

Tony, obviously, is the one who breaks it, “My God, that was a great answer. I—I mean, fuck! That was eloquent and emotional and very well thought out, and now I just feel like an asshole.”

“Don’t have to feel like an asshole, Stark,” she says leaning back into her chair. “You already are one.”

Tony just rolls her eyes at that. “Eat a dick, Halle Berry.”

She chuckles at that.

“I don’t mean this as an insult but,” Bruce pipes up, “I’ve never seen you like this before. I didn’t think you could…” He cuts himself off, clearly at a loss for the right word.

“Emote?” She supplies.

“Yes,” Bruce agrees immediately.

She snorts. “Yeah, well. I can…”

“Just takes a few drinks for her to get there,” Tony adds on with a cheeky smile as he comes to sit opposite to her on the couch next to Steve.

Clint’s instantly on alert. He pretends to cover his mouth and whisper-yells at Sam, “Get the woman a refill!” Sam, always happy to have a big emotional moment, obliges eagerly. It makes her roll her eyes with a smile. “Hey, Y/n?”

“Yes, Clint?”

“What do you think of me?”

The question shocks her a bit, she won’t lie. Clint and her interactions have been few and far between. She’s not holding that against the dude as such, seeing as the only time they ‘hang out’ is during a mission. It is a fucking fact. She can’t run away from it either.

“You really wanna know, Barton?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” Clint throws back at her while Sam offers him a fresh glass, a repeat of her drink.

With a wordless thanks bid to Sam she turns back to look at Clint.

And she can tell, he’s expecting something standoffish. A joke, maybe? But yeah, she can tell he thinks it’ll be a throwaway compliment at best and a complete dismantling of his worst habits at worst.

Well, isn’t it great then that she absolutely loves proving people wrong.

She sits up again, “No one asked you to do this.” The statement kicks the smug look off of his face instantly. Fucker, she thinks to herself, a little triumphantly. “You spent a long time in Black Ops, so taking up the S.H.I.E.L.D. gig would have been an easy choice, but no one ever asked you to go fight aliens.” She almost jumps in her seat, her words emphatic, “Especially, when their leader had mindfucked you seven ways to Sunday! No one would have held it against you if you decided to just take a day.” She clicks her tongue, “But you didn’t. You got back up and you fought fucking aliens.” She looks him straight in the eyes, “You’re just a man, Barton, and you fight with Gods… to most people that makes you a hero, but to me that makes you a terrifying role model.” Y/n can clearly see the moment that the words hit Clint with their full force. She thinks she can even see his chest cave with the weight of them. “You keep this team grounded. You keep ‘em human. You keep ‘em together.”

Silence.

For a second.

Then another.

And then, “Fuck!” Clint exclaims. “I mean… No, yeah. I mean, fuck. Cause, fuck!” Y/n laughs. “I thought you didn’t even like me.”

Her face falls instantly. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I like you?”

“I don’t know?” Clint defends, poorly. “You don’t talk to me.”

Her nose scrunches up. “No, you don’t talk to me.”

“I talk to you plenty!”

“You really don’t,” Natasha chimes in, looking at Clint over the top of her beer bottle.

“I don’t?” Clint looks around the room for an answer. And everyone replies promptly by either looking away awkwardly or a stern shake of their heads. “Fuck! I’m sorry. I just thought that you didn’t like me. But… That was—what you said…” Oh shit, the fucker’s about to get serious. His brow is scrunching up. “What you said means a lot to me. Thank you… And I’m sorry. I’m gonna—I’m gonna talk to you more now.”

She tries her best not to laugh as she replies, “Can’t wait.”

“Do Banner next,” Clint says, pointing to Bruce.

“No, no, no, no, no. Don’t drag me into this. This is Barton’s—” Bruce is cut off.

“Too late, Bruce.”

Bruce looks at her and then exhales. “No chance of me getting out of this?”

“None whatsoever,” she tells him solemnly.

“So I have to do this?”

“Unfortunately.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head slightly and finally lets a small smile slip out. “Fine…” He stares her down, “Hit me.”

He’s expecting the worst.

So why not hit him with it?

“You are a monster.”

At that, Bruce physically deflates, he collapses in on himself. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”

He’s not gonna get off that easy.

“You went to try and recreate a serum that made Captain America and instead you got turned into a raging, big green guy who has no understanding of ‘tasteful nudity’. Fuck, man. My heart bleeds for your wardrobe alone…” She can hear quiet chuckles from around the room. But then she tilts her head, looking him over. Sensing the shift in her demeanor, Bruce meets her gaze. “Anyone else would have taken it as the hit that it was and gotten… angry.” Bruce smiles at the pun. “Gotten angry at the world, angry at life, angry at everything… And I mean, who the fuck would have blamed you? You had every right to be angry. Because how the fuck is fair to be dealt a hand as shit as that, when they are someone as kind as you?” She thinks her words over, fidgeting with the glass in her hand. “I won’t comment on your struggles with the Hulk, I wasn’t there so it’s not my place. From what little I do know, I can imagine it wasn’t an easy time for you. I can—I can sympathise with that… But you took the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone and moulded it as such that now you use it to help people, to protect them. To be a hero.”

“I’m not—”

She cuts him off again, “I know you don’t see that in yourself, but I do, okay? I look at you and I see a hero. So does everyone else in this room.” She gives Bruce a moment—to look around at his team, who look back at him with the same faith that she’s speaking of. He seems a little too fucking surprised to see it. “And I don’t just mean that as the Hulk. Because you’re not just the green guy.” She levels him with a stern look. “I’m also talking about Banner, the guy with seven fucking PhDs.”

Bruce blushes.

He stares at his hands as he replies, “Well, Y/n… I really do appreciate the fact that you didn’t forget my seven PhDs.”

She can’t help it, she laughs. So do the rest.

“I know you don’t believe me but—”

Now it’s Bruce who cuts her off. “It’s probably the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Y/n. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She takes a large sip from her drink.

“I volunteer to be next,” Thor speaks up, glass in hand.

And who is she to say no to that? “As you wish, your highness.”

“Come on, Little Stark, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She smiles. “This isn’t your fucking planet, dude.” The big man is left confused. It makes her smile widen. “This isn’t your fucking planet, we are not your people, this is not your kingdom. You are neither obligated to fight for us, nor were you asked to… You could have just looked the other way. Ignored your brother’s annoying cry for attention and let this planet fend for itself, but you didn’t. Fuck, more than that, you kept coming—you keep coming back, helping in any way you can to help us fix things, even when it’s not your job to…”

Her eyes turn to his hammer, “That hammer of yours—you say it can only be picked up when you’re worthy, and sure, Odin’s seal of approval on you is great and all but—” her gaze fly up to meet his, “I don’t know him. So—and I mean no offense here—but him saying you’re worthy, means fuckall to me. All I know is that to me, you’re a God because you never turn away from someone asking for help. No matter where you are, no matter who it is—if they ask for a helping hand, they can always, always count on yours. That is what makes you worthy, and what will surely make you a great King.”

Thor sniffles.

He fucking sniffles.

Her eyes widen in surprise, so much so that she forgets to quip.

“A great King, you say? Well, if that ever happens, remind me to put you in charge of all my public speeches,” he says, eyes a little misty.

“Sure, yeah,” she answers, unsure of herself. “Whatever you want, big guy.” She never thought she was going to make the God of Thunder cry.

“You made the God of Thunder cry!” Sam states, a little astonished.

“I am not crying!”

She ignores Thor completely, “And it’s your turn next, Birdman.”

“What? No! I’m not even an Avenger!” He comes to his seat atop the backrest next to Bruce.

Bullshit.

“How the fuck does that matter when you’re the one I look up the most?”

Sam clearly wasn’t expecting her to say that. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!” Obviously. She plays with her drink a little, before taking a sip. “You have this infectious optimism about you—that a realist like me—”

“A pessimist like you,” Tony corrects her.

She flips him off, but agrees. “That a pessimist like me should technically hate… But I don’t. I kinda like it, a lot. It’s so fucking contagious that I think might just want to steal it.”

Sam smiles at her then, “I could just teach you, hotshot.”

Sipping her drink, she shakes her head. “If you’re going to teach me anything, teach me about loyalty, cause man! We came knocking on your window, with the entire might of the United States of America’s premiere Intelligence Organisation up our ass,” she points from herself to Steve to Natasha. “And you fucking let us in!” She sits up, folding up one leg under the other. “You didn’t just give us a place to lay low—no! You chose to join the fucking fight! Your first time around as an Avenger and you took down the plan Hydra had been crafting for fifty fucking years!” Sam laughs, partly at her enthusiasm, partly because she can tell he gets what she’s getting at. “That’s some top tier Avenger shit if I’ve ever seen any. Goddamn it, Birdman! Mark my words,” she holds up her glass to him. “You’re gonna take the world by storm… and when you do, I’m gonna go around gloating to anyone who’ll listen that Sam Wilson’s first mission as an Avenger was with me.” She winks at him and takes a swig. “You’ll see.”

Sam chuckles, with his head down and a hint of shyness blooming across his face. “I’ll hand it to ya, hotshot—you’ve got a way with words.” He looks over at the rest of the room, “And y’all had me believe she can’t express herself for shit!”

“That’s cause none of them have ever gotten drunk with her,” Rhodey chimes in.

“But you have, haven’t you, Rhodey?” She asks, on the cusp of slurring. The drink in her hand, the one Sam made, is doing exactly what Clint had hoped it would. “We grew up together, you and I…” Rhodey reacts exactly the way she thought he would, he looks at her with a quiet determination. “Which means you know that I love you, because I’ve told you a million times over. B—but I think I never really told you I respect you. And I do, Rhodes. I respect you more than anyone else in my fucking life. You know that, don’t you?” He nods slowly, with a smile. “I know I fought you tooth and nail when you joined the Air Force but—but you gotta know, it wasn’t because I thought you wouldn’t be brilliant at it. Of course, you would be. I knew that better than anyone. I just…” she licks her lips, afraid of the confession that’s about to come.

“I was being selfish. You weren’t just Tony’s best friend, you’re mine too. And I was fucking terrified of losing my friend, you know?” When she looks at him, he’s already staring back at her with an understanding smile. “It was an asshole move, but now that it’s been a long enough time, I’m gonna pretend that I’m old enough to admit—I have never been more proud to call you my friend, Rhodes. You have always been a hero to me… I’m sorry if I gave the impression otherwise.”

Rhodey doesn’t say anything at first. He just gets up from his seat and walks over to her. And then he kisses the top of her head while pulling her in “Not a damn thing for you to say sorry for, Chef.”

“Thanks, Chef,” she mumbles into the hug he pulls her in.

“Right back atchya, kid.” He kisses her head again. He’s just about to let go, when Tony rushes over to them and jumps in, hugging them both harder.

“This is by far the most emotional team building exercise I have ever seen,” Hill speaks up.

Oh, you sweet summer child. “That you’ve ever been a part of,” Y/n corrects her, fighting her way out of the bear hug the two men had engulfed her in.

“Oh no no no no no.”

“You really thought I’d forget about you, Hill?”

“I am not a part of this,” Hill retorts. “I’m categorically not an Avenger.”

“What the hell is up with you guys and rejecting the Avenger title?” She looks around the room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s cursed or something.” She takes a sip of her drink, “Look, Hill, you don’t know very much about me—”

“Apart from the suspicious fact that you’re a lawyer who can kick some serious ass,” Hill provides.

“Apart from that, yes,” she agrees. “So, I’m gonna tell you something—I know everything there is to know about everyone I meet. See, before Howie took me in, life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for me.”

“But it is now, that I’m part of it?” Tony pipes in, without any preamble as he and Rhodey take their previous seats again.

She ignores him, rolling her eyes. “Which kinda gave way to a laundry list of character flaws, one of which was a crippling and annoying amount of trust issues—it led me to develop a habit of digging into the past of anyone I had more than a one minute conversation with… I haven’t just read Nat’s files—I have made one on every single person in this room—including you. Now, the files might not tell me who you are, but as I’ve already stated, I happen to believe that a person is defined by their actions. And holy shit, Hill—you’ve got absolutely no right calling yourself anything less than an Avenger.”

She shifts to the edge of her seat. She can’t get close to Hill, who’s sitting on the floor, on the other side of the table, so this is the best she’s got right about now. “You’re painfully smart and confoundingly determined. You don’t take shit from anyone—not from Fury, not from the billionaire genius and not from the Super Soldier.” She smiles at her then, “And that makes you a fucking badass. And the rest of it? Like the op in Transnistria?” Maria’s eyes widen at the mention of it. Told ya. “In my eyes, shit like that makes you a fucking hero.”

And there it is again.

Silence.

Some more of it.

Hill, herself, is the one who breaks it this time. “Anyone ever tell you, you know too fucking much for a lawyer?”

Chuckling, she slides back into her seat, finishing up her drink. “Only the people who couldn’t afford me.”

She looks over the people in front of her, and she has to end it off on a good note, doesn’t she? “With all that said and done, I need you crazy kids to know that I meant it with every fiber of my being when I said that I’m grateful to be associated with every single one of you… but I will charge you all my entire hourly rate for every single litigation you get me and yourself trapped in. And I am very expensive.”

Everyone breaks into a laugh.

Well, everyone except Tony.

“Hold on, aren’t you forgetting someone?” Tony asks. When all he gets in response is a cocked brow from her, he points from himself to Steve. “What? Me and the Capsicle don’t get a heart to heart from Miss Summa Cum Laude Y/n Stark? How’s that fair?”

“You really want me to sit here and wax poetic about the two of you?”

“Why not?” Steve asks, with a cheeky grin.

“Really? That’s what you want?”

“As the old man said, why not?” Tony doubles down, kicking back with his feet.

“Cause you’re the two men I lov—care about most in the whole world,” she states. Fuck. Almost fucked that up, colossally. “You want a public proclamation of it now?”

Steve smiles at her, “Maybe we do, doll.”

Meanwhile, Tony takes this moment to stare at her and mouth the word ‘care’ like a fucking insult. The motherfucker is mocking her, giggling and snickering like a third grader and Y/n can’t even do anything about it. Cause Steve’s already looking at her, and if she gives in now, there’d be hell for her to pay.

She’ll get back at her brother some other fucking time.

“Fine,” she says, just to get Tony to stop. “Let’s start with you, shall we, Cap?”

Steve gets comfortable in his seat. “Let’s hear it, doll.”

And fine. If he’s gonna be cocky about it, it’s only fair for her to make him eat his shit-eating grin.

Ignoring Tony’s knowing gaze, she lets herself relax in her chair.

“Steven Grant Rogers, the man out of time,” she begins. “You know, I have been hearin’ tall tales about you since I was a fucking teenager. All these stories of the great Captain America, the soldier, the righteous man… the hero. I heard all about your adventures and your bravery, your crazy, damn near impossible mission, in the face of great, undefeatable odds… And you know what I thought?” Steve quirks his brow. “I thought, what a steaming hot load of bullshit!” Everyone laughs, but Tony’s sounds out the loudest, obviously. “They’d talk about you like you were this great, ineffable being—not even human. To them, you were larger than life. And I’d think what motherfucking horseshit!” She plays with the empty glass in her hand.

“I’m not saying they were lying but—” She shrugs. “Howie was always an unreliable narrator, and the rest of them were probably just caught up in the Captain America of it all…” But then… “But then I met you and suddenly,” she tongues her cheek, “it all made sense…” Steve’s smile falls away and gives way to a sort of startling realization. “It made sense that Howard Stark—a man who had very little faith in humanity—didn’t just talk about you like a friend, or like a hero, but like someone he aspired to be. It made sense then, that Peggy Carter…” His eyes shine and ears perk up at the mention of her name, “Fell in love with you.” She can feel the weight of Tony's gaze on her, telling her silently to not give away too much, to not reveal more than she had, to not dwell on this one particular topic. She gives in to her brother’s silent plea. “Even before the serum, you always fought for a choice, and made the right one when you got it, no matter how hard it was.” She exhales heavily.

“You fight for what is right, damn the consequences. You fight true and you fight hard.” She smiles a little then, “Now, I won’t go as far as to say that you’re some ineffable being, because you’re not. You’re a man, and you make mistakes. But—but from what I understand, the true character of a man is how he acts when faced with those mistakes. How he works to rectify them.” She’s a little shy about it when she says, “And I think I can say this now—I know you. The Steve Rogers behind the Captain America of it all… So, please understand that I mean it when I say—You’re a good man in a storm.”

She pauses so the words can hit as hard as she wants them to. And they do. Steve, her Steve does the thing he does when he feels overwhelmed, he sits up straighter and broadens his shoulder—like he’s being awarded a medal. “And while, it a fucking honor getting to share a battlefield with you, I will maintain to my dying day,” her smile slips out, “that getting to call you mine is a far bigger accomplishment.”

For a second, she thinks Steve’s malfunctioned.

“I think you broke him,” Natasha comments, and fuck she has to agree.

“Is he breathing?” Clint asks, sounding genuinely worried.

“I—” Tony turns to look at Steve whose eyes are set on her. “I don’t think so.” He begins clicking his finger in front of Steve’s face. “Hey? Hey, Steve? Anyone in there?” Steve doesn’t even fucking blink.

“Stop that!” Hill reprimands him by throwing a stray popcorn kernel at Tony. Who does stop but looks at her, offended.

“Rogers? Are you with us?” Thor questions from his seat.

“I think we should check his pulse,” Bruce states, leaning forward with creased brows.

“I don’t know, doesn’t it feel like if you touch him, he’ll—spontaneously combust into flames?” Rhodey wonders aloud.

“I’m with Rhodey on this one, give him a second. He’s just rebooting,” Sam suggests.

“Or maybe the years just caught up to him,” Tony retorts. “I think the old man’s a goner.” He turns to Y/n and says, “I think you killed your dear boyfriend, Stark—”

Before Tony can finish, Steve’s on his knees, in front of her in the blink of an eye.

“Steve—”

She’s cut off mid-sentence, swallowed by the delightfully crushing weight of a 6-foot-something Super Soldier as Steve Rogers closes the space between them in a kiss that feels like reverence made tangible.

He’s on his knees before her—not in surrender, but in devotion. His hands, strong, battle-worn, are impossibly gentle as they frame her face, thumbs brushing reverently along her cheekbones like he’s committing her to memory. Like she’s something holy.

The kiss itself is deliberate, deep, but never demanding. His lips press against hers with an almost aching care, a silent whisper of gratitude, of thanks that he cannot express with words, something dangerously close to worship. It’s not about hunger. It’s about feeling. About letting her know that he heard her, and he was rendered speechless with the weight of her words.

Her hands sink into his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. Shudders.

A man who has stood unshaken in the face of war, of gods, of the end of the world—and yet here he is, kneeling, unraveling, offering himself up at the altar of her.

The world around them still moves—distant voices, the soft creak of leather beneath her, their friends wolf whistles and crass comments at the overt display—but it doesn’t touch them. Steve kisses her like she’s the only thing that has ever truly mattered. Like she’s the one thing he ever got without having to fight with his entire might for.

When he finally pulls back, just barely, his forehead resting against hers, his breath is warm, uneven, filled with something raw. His fingers trail down her arms, tracing paths that feel like promises.

“Had to do that,” he murmurs, voice rough, a prayer in itself. “Hope you don’t mind.”

She exhales, a slow, wrecked thing, and tightens her grip in his hair. Like she’d ever let him go. “Don’t mind at all, handsome.” She kisses him once again. Quick and short.

“Thank you,” he says then, kissing her cheek. “You don’t know how much—thank you.”

And that makes her roll her eyes, because what the fuck does he have to thank her for?

“Go back to your seat, handsome. Before this becomes something less appropriate for public consumption.” She pushes him off. “Come on. Get away from me!”

Laughing, Steve obliges.

“Well, that got real steamy, real quick,” Tony comments, a little too cheeky for her liking.

Their eyes meet and she hums softly. Looking at the last vestiges of liquor in the glass in her hand, she says slowly, “I guess this brings me to you—” she looks up at him, “Anthony Edward Stark… the boy who saved me.”

No one else in the room understands the connotation of the words, the weight behind them, except the two of them. It makes the cunning smile from Tony’s face fall away. He didn’t see this shift in her tone coming. He didn’t think she’d reveal herself like this, not even this tiny bit. He sobers immediately.

And fuck, we can’t have that.

She turns to the crowd then, “When Tony was younger…” She shakes her hand in casual estimation, “12, I think?” She nods to herself, satisfied with her guess. “Howie shipped him off to boarding school after he broke some rule or another. Doesn’t matter.” She dismisses out of hand, because it truly doesn’t. “Now, what you gotta know about Tony, is that he was a late bloomer.” Snickers sound out from around the room.

“Thanks, Stark,” Tony admonishes her with no real heat.

She smiles, and corrects herself, “Not like that, I meant he was small for his age.” She pulls up her hand to her head to indicate his height. “He also cried a lot.” She shakes her head with fondness of the little Tony Stark in her memory. “I mean, I could make him cry by just calling him an asshole—he cried a lot.” She chuckles, Tony does too. “And… there is no nice way to say this… um, all that made him pretty fucking easy to pick on.”

Her smile fades as she continues, “So, when he would call me every night from the boarding school to tell me about his day… I knew he’d been crying.” She grits her teeth. “He wouldn’t say anything, of course. He would—he’d quip and crack jokes, and bitch about the classes and the teachers. He would act like everything was dandy—like everything was fine for a genius, scared little boy, at a school full of dickhead rich kids, who were taught by their parents to make everyone who was different feel lesser than…” She bites the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from breaking. “I’d ask him, again and again, ‘What’s wrong, Tones? Tell me what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it, together.’” She shakes her head, “He wouldn’t fess up. He’d say, ‘Everything’s fine, Y/n. Quit bein’ a worry wart.’ He’d act like everything was okay… But I could tell. ‘Course I could…”

She runs a hand through her hair, and exhales slowly, mustering up a smile. “So, imagine my surprise when I get a call one day and this fucker is just vibrating with pure excitement.” Her smile grows, as she puts a hand to her ear, imitating a phone. “‘What is it, Tones? What happened?’” She laughs a little. “‘I made a friend’ he said. ‘I made a friend, his name is Wallace! He just got transferred here from Hudson. You wanna talk to him?’ Of course I did!” Everyone else in the room matches her smile with their own brilliant ones. “So I’m talking to Wallace and fuck, a great kid! Apparently he was like a mini Thor?” She points at the God of thunder who looks like he’s a minute away from swooning. “Pretty big for his age?” She nods to herself. “Not the smartest kid you’ll ever meet, but he was kind. You know?” Everyone nods in unison, making her smile wider.

“So, I’m excited, Tony is clearly very excited, and now fucking Wallace is excited. We’re fucking brimming with it.” She slows down then, brings her hand to her lips and fidgets with them. “But then… the next night, I’m waiting by the phone for three hours, I don’t get a call.” Suddenly the tone in the room shifts. “It’s ass o’clock at night, I barge into Howie’s study and I pester the shit outta him for like two hours straight till he calls the School to check in on Tony. When he finally does, they tell us it’s all peachy. They tell us Tony’s asleep, safe and sound in his bed.” She sits up, “Of course, I don’t buy that, but he is safe. So, who knows? Maybe he had a rough day. Maybe he needed a night—some space to gather himself and he’ll tell me all about it tomorrow.” She hits the back of her hand into her palm. “But tomorrow night comes, and again—I don’t get a call.” She leans forward, just to bask in the curiosity that everyone’s wearing on their faces right now.

“Now that’s fucking suspicious.” She sits up straight then, “But I gotta play my cards right. I can’t wake up Howard again and light a fire under his ass. If anything had happened to Tony the school would have been obligated to call—Can’t afford to upset the guy who’s funding their new science wing. So, I gotta play it smart, I can’t be the boy who cried wolf.” She shrugs, “I gotta wait it out. Wait for him to call me tomorrow.” She pauses for a second, letting the suspense build. “Cut to—next night. No call.” She throws up her hands, and eases back into her seat.

“Means, it’s DEFCON 1. I am now screaming at the top of my lungs, telling Howard to call the School and check in on Tony. He’s yelling right back at me—telling me I’m overreacting. And fuck that. ‘I know Tony! I know my brother, Howard! And I am telling you, something is really fucking wrong! Just call the school, goddamn it!’” Her hands are flying everywhere as she enacts the entire scene out. “In the middle of all this, Maria walks in—and then shit hits the fucking fan. Now it’s Howie against me and Maria,” she enunciates with her hand. “The entire Stark Household is a fucking battlefield. Bullets are flying everywhere—curses the likes of which you have never heard. I have the telephone in my hand,” she begins acting out her words once again, “and I’m about to hurl that shit at Howard’s head so fucking hard, if he doesn’t make the goddamn call—” her voice quiets suddenly, “that we almost miss it when it rings.” Everyone’s suddenly on alert.

Her voice remains soft as she continues, with only a hint of a smile, “Now, we’ve made such a big, fat fuss about the whole thing, that even Howie’s on edge. He picks up the phone before it even has a chance to ring a second time.” She brings her hand to her face, taking a second before she breaks the suspense. “It’s the school,” she tells them. “Tony Stark has been expelled from their fine establishment for using household appliances to electrocute the shit out of the Mayor’s son.” She smiles proud and wide.

She shrugs, “Now, he’s not a violent kid, so why would he go and do that?” She gives them all a pause to guess, but it’s a rhetorical question and everyone treats it as such. “‘Cause of the bullying? Come on. He’d been living with that shit for a year—he didn’t break. So why now?” She hopes her face reflects the pride she feels inside when she says, “It’s ‘cause the douchebag had gone after Wallace.”

When she looks around at the room, everyone’s eyes have gotten a new kind of reverence as they look at her brother.

So she looks at him too. “When you came back from your God awful vacation in the desert and told me you wanted to be a hero, you might have thought of it as a career pivot—but to me… It was a prophecy coming true.” She can tell he’s trying really fucking hard not to cry. “Natasha Romanoff is my favorite Avenger, but you are my favorite fucking superhero, Tony Stark. Always have been, always will be.”

Just as Y/n makes her grand proclamation, Tony abruptly gets to his feet and turns away from the group. His hands rise to his face, fingers pressing against his eyes. She knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Tony?” Natasha calls out, her voice deceptively sweet. “Are you—Tony.”

“Is he crying?” Clint asks, slowly.

“He’s crying,” Rhodey confirms, deadpan.

“Absolutely not!” Tony snaps, but the slight waver in his voice betrays him.

Y/n grins and pushes up from her chair. “Told you it was easy to make him cry,” she announces, strolling over to him.

Tony turns away further, as if sheer willpower will keep his dignity intact. It won’t. Y/n doesn’t care. She wraps her arms around him from the side, her grip firm. “Old habits die hard, don’t they, Stark?” she teases, her voice warm. To make sure he knows she means no harm, she tightens her hold and presses a loud, obnoxious kiss to the side of his head.

“Shut up! It’s your fault!” Tony grumbles, but the sniffling ruins any heat behind it.

She chuckles, rubbing his arms in slow, comforting circles. “You’re the one who wanted me to wax poetic about you.”

“Not this poetic,” he gripes.

“Well, tough luck, genius,” she scolds, lighthearted. “You’re stuck with this—with me, I’m afraid. I’m right behind you, always.”

Tony turns so fast she barely has time to register it before she’s got an armful of Iron Man, holding onto her like she’s his last tether.

“Woah, woah—” she stumbles, unprepared for the sudden weight, but then there’s a steadying hand at the small of her back.

Steve.

With his support, she regains her footing and tightens her grip around Tony, holding onto her brother just as fiercely as he’s holding onto her.

“You’re my favorite too,” Tony whispers in her ear, just for her to hear and no one else. “I need you to know that. You’re my fucking favorite superhero too.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just kisses his head again and again and again. “Now, get off me you, damn, koala bear!” She pushes him off, not unkindly. “Okay,” she turns to the crowd, "I've hit my yearly quota for feelings in one night. If we don't change the topic soon, I might just self-destruct out of sheer principle.” Clasping the hand Steve has on the small of her back with her own, she looks over the room.

Steve takes the chance and pulls her onto his lap. She yelps in surprise, but he just wraps his hands around her, kissing her neck.

She’s just about to smooch the living shit out of her boyfriend when Clint, sensing the perfect moment to ruin everything, loudly announces, “Well, that was horrifying. I need something aggressively stupid to cleanse my brain.”

“Something not feelings-related,” Tony adds, pointing a warning finger at Y/n like she hasn’t already hit her emotional quota for the year.

Natasha smirks. “Like what? Another round of Guess What’s Gonna Kill Tony First?”

“First of all—rude,” Tony says. “Second, we all know it’s either gonna be my own brilliance or Steve’s disappointment.”

“I never said I was disappointed in you,” Steve says.

“You didn’t have to.”

Rhodey claps Tony on the shoulder. “I’m still putting money on ‘blows himself up doing something unnecessarily dramatic.’”

“Please,” Sam waves him off. “We’ve all got money on that.”

Bruce sighs. “At this point, it’s basic statistics.”

Tony hands shoot up to his chest, and onto his heart, he feigns injury and dramatically gasps like he’s been shot. “Et tu, Bruce?” To that Bruce just laughs in response, shaking his head.

“The only way Tony gets to die is peacefully in his sleep, at the ripe old age of 99!” Y/n announces to the room, ending all scope for argument. It’s a sore subject for her and no one but Tony knows the extent of that. “We’re not playing that morbid fucking game ever again!”

Natasha throws her hands up in surrender. “My bad.” Everyone else too has the decency to look admonished, except Tony who looks at her with fairly well hidden mild concern.

“So, what’s our options here?” Hill chimes in, dissipating the slight tension. “Bar fight? Competitive arson?”

“Something legal,” Bruce interjects quickly, because he knows this group too well.

Sam gestures at Y/n. “Can we get a ruling on what constitutes ‘legal’ in this room?”

She smirks, tilting her glass toward him. “Technically, nothing we do holds up in court.”

“Cleared by the legal department!” Tony declares.

Steve mutters, “I should be more concerned about that than I am,” dropping another kiss on her shoulder.

She throws her head back, chuckling, and kisses his temple in return.

Clint leans forward, rubbing his hands together. “You wanna talk about legal precedent? Let’s talk about divine precedent.” He jerks his chin toward the center of the room, where Mjolnir sits, unassuming and waiting.

Y/n raises an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously about to bring Thor’s hammer into this.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” Clint gestures at Thor, eyes narrowing. “Let’s discuss the so-called worthiness clause. By whose standards? Who enforces it? And most importantly—” He leans in. “Who’s to say you’re not just screwing with us?”

Thor pulls out the flask of that good fucking Asgardiaun stuff from his pocket and pours some into his drink. “Ah, Barton, your skepticism wounds me,” but the laugh that follows, renders the sentiment in the words irrelevant.

Clint gestures dramatically at the hammer, spinning the drumstick in his hand, looking around the room like he’s about to expose the world’s greatest con. “But, it’s a trick!”

“Oh no. It’s much more than that,” Thor counters easily, while passing the flask to Steve who takes a swig.

Oh, this is going to be so fucking good.

“Ah, ‘whosoever be he worthy, shall haveth the power!’ Whatever, man! It’s a trick.”