#I went years after when it first aired without watching it again and only watching s1 and 2

[lihhelsing]

Eddie and Steve who dated for a while but broke up over the most dumb shit. Neither of them wants to admit they were wrong so they just go on like that.

After 6 months, Dustin starts texting Eddie at least once a week asking if he and Steve are back together already.

At first, Eddie laughs it off. The kid went through an adaptation process when he first learned the two of them were together so it's expected that he needs a minute to wrap his head around their break up.

In the first month, everyone thought they would get back together.

And then it just didn't happen.

Dustin would text the most random things.

"Steve's getting us tacos. Does that mean you're back together?"

"Steve's watching Star Wars. I'm sure you're back together."

"Steve bought a new vinyl player. Did you two made up?"

At first, Eddie would just laugh and say no. But the texts went from once a week to every other day. Sometimes it was just like "when are you two getting back together?" and it broke Eddie's heart a little.

Things changed when Dustin sent a photo of Steve sleeping in one of Eddie's shirt.

He texted Steve the next day, asking if they could talk.

Eddie apologized. Said he couldn't live without him. He missed him too much. And Steve apologized too.

They kissed, fell into bed together and never looked back.

A few weeks in, they were all at Steve's place. Eddie was doing a DnD one shot for the kids and Steve was there just because he couldn't stand being apart from Eddie for too long.

Sometimes Eddie would even let him sit on his lap during the session, which always earned a few eye rolls from the kids.

But he didn't care. What mattered is that he had his baby with him again.

Everyone was getting ready to play, Steve was setting up the snacks table when Eddie spoke.

"Kinda miss when you texted me every day, Henderson."

Dustin looked up at him with a confused expression.

"What?"

Eddie smiled. "I know you got what you wanted. I just think we could text more often still."

Dustin shook his head, laughing. "Sure man, whatever. I don't think I texted you outside of our gc in over a year but I can do that if you want."

Now it was Eddie's turn to be confused.

"What?"

But Dustin was already engaged in another conversation and it was only when he looked at Steve that he understood.

Steve was looking at him wide eyed, hands froze mid-air. Eddie frowned at him, a silent conversation and Steve just shrugged, laughing it off.

Damn. Had he been tricked by Steve Harrington into getting back together with Steve Harrington?

[fastandcarlos]

All Your Little Things : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: imagine being able to date the perfect gentleman, well that's exactly what you get being the one in a relationship with max

To say he was protective of you was an understatement, there was no greater job for Max than the job of taking care of you, with all of the little things he did for you. 

It was the things that you never paid attention to, the little habits that he had picked up over the years that came naturally to him, without even having to think Max’s body guided him to those spots where he could look after you. 

As you walked out of your apartment onto the streets of Monaco, hands landed on your shoulders and moved you from one side of the pavement to the other. Max smiled back at you as he slipped his hand in with yours, much more comfortable on the side by the cars instead. 

“They’ll hit me first,” he simply smiled as you looked at him questionably. 

“Hopefully that doesn’t happen.” 

“Well, if it does, I’m here to make sure you’re safe,” Max responded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

Once you got to the restaurant that you were eating at, Max led you to one side, taking a step forwards so that he could be the one to open up the door for you too.  

“I got it,” Max grinned as you looked back at him, sending him a glance as if to remind him that you were more than capable of opening up a door for yourself. 

The pride in his expression though brought a smile to your own face too, allowing Max to hold onto your hand and lead you to the table that you always sat at. 

“For you,” he spoke, pulling your chair out from underneath the table for you. 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, taking your seat as Max tucked you in. 

“Only for you,” he sung, kissing the top of your head once again before moving around the table and taking a seat opposite you. 

“I don’t think Lando would like to hear you say that,” you chuckled, taking the menu that Max held out for you to read. 

“Trust me, Lando doesn’t compare to you.” 

As you sat to your meal, Max listened intently to every single word that you had to say. Admittedly, you were talking a little bit of nonsense, but Max still listened, nodding to show you he was there, interrupting every so often when he wanted to add a little nugget of advice. 

It was something of nothing for him, after all he loved listening to your voice and the passion that you had as you spoke. But for you, it was nice to feel as if you were heard, having spent so many years feeling as if you were talking to yourself, now every word was held onto by Max. 

You couldn’t have wished for more for your evening, even as the cheque came, a hand grabbed it before you could take a look. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, watching Max pull out his card from his wallet, “you know what I’m going to tell you Verstappen.” 

“And you know what I’m going to tell you,” he smugly replied, swatting your hand when you went to reach for your bag from under the table, refusing to let you get your purse and pay towards your meal. 

Max’s head shook, “this is my treat, I want to pay for this tonight,” he told you, handing his card across as the waitress came back over to your table. 

If he had it his way, Max would pay for you every night, he loved spoiling you and treating you whenever he could. Of course, you always tried to protest but Max would never listen, he didn’t care about the cost or what you’d been up to, he wanted it to be on him. 

“Thank you,” you told him as the waitress walked away, offering him a wide smile. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Max assured you, placing his card away safely into his wallet. 

“I do, you didn’t have to do that,” you noted, standing up from your chair, heading out of the restaurant. 

Your body tensed up as soon as you walked out into the cold air, but before you could even say anything, a jacket was draped over your shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw you shiver, immediately taking his jacket off deciding it was better use around you instead. His hand helped onto yours tightly, trying to keep you as warm as possible as you walked. 

As you got to the corner, where your apartments split, you came to a stop, leaving Max slightly ahead of you. “Where are you going?” You asked him, brows knitting together. 

“I’m walking you home, where do you think I’m going?” Max responded, staring back at you as if the answer was obvious. The stars were out and there was a bitterness in the air, there was no way that Max was ever going to let you walk home by yourself. 

Before you could reply, he took your hand and carried on walking beside you, listening to your ramblings next to him. He knew the way to your apartment like the back of his hand, once again keeping you away from the traffic as he made sure you got home safe. 

Max came with you all the way into your apartment block, up the elevator and to the front door. You knew he wasn’t expecting to come in, all he wanted was to see for himself you going through that front door so that he could go home and make sure nothing could hurt you. 

When you opened the door, you spun on your heels to face him, unable to hide the smile that was on your face. “Thank you for being such a gent tonight,” you told him. 

The corners of Max’s smile turned up, “I wasn’t doing anything, just being a good boyfriend,” he mused, unaware of all those little things that you’d spotted throughout the night. 

You knew that Max was never going to take the credit, even if he was aware of how well he treated you. He didn’t need appreciation for it because it was just him, it was what he did, it was because of how strongly he felt about you that made it all come naturally to him.  

“You have to call me when you get home,” you told Max, passing his coat back to him to keep him warm on his journey home. 

He raised an eyebrow back at him, “that’s the sort of thing that I say to you, you can’t start stealing my lines.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because that’s what I say to look after you,” he chuckled, watching as your head shook back in reply to him. 

You leant your head against the door frame, “I’m allowed to look after you too. A world-famous driver walking the busy streets of Monaco, who knows what might happen.” 

“I reckon I might be alright,” Max grinned, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping further away from your door. He could feel your eyes narrowing on him, unable to hide his smile. 

“Call me,” you shouted as he walked around the corner, out of sight and heading for home. 

You could hear him scoff as he disappeared, knowing exactly what Max was like. However, for all the little things he did for you, you wanted to do the exact same thing for him too. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[sugugasm]

BET | love and deepspace

⟡ tags : underground boxer! sylus + reader — sylus isn’t afraid of going all in when it comes to you.

ミ★ content warning : fem! reader uses she/her prns, mentions of blood & injuries, mentions of female anatomy as well as male anatomy, oral fem! receive, gentle to rough sex, pet names like bby, dove, kitten, honey, 5.0K WORD COUNT

you step into the dimly lit underground boxing gym, the air thick with the scent of sweat, cigarette smoke, and leather. it’s a seedy place, hidden in the heart of the city’s most notorious neighborhood, where the law doesn’t dare to tread. the crowd tonight is a mix of rough characters - bikers with gang patches on their jackets, local gangsters with glares and expensive watches, shady high-rollers in suits looking to place big bets on the illegal fights.

as you navigate through the throng of people, you spot him in the corner, preparing for his match. sylus - the man who happened to be your ex-boyfriend . . oh, and only the most feared bare-knuckled boxer in the underground circuit. he was a sight to behold, all rippling muscles and newfound tattoos, with messy silver hair that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. you watch as he methodically wraps his hands, his intense red eyes focused on the task.

your history with sylus is complicated, to say the least. you met him two years ago at a biker rally, drawn to his bad-boy charm and undeniable charisma. he swept you off your feet with his daredevil antics on his custom harley and his smooth talking ways. but sylus’s world was always filled with danger, violence, and illegal activities. as the leader of onychinus, the city’s most notorious motorcycle club, he ran an empire built on illicit evol weapons, protocore deals, and underground fighting.

at first, the thrill of it all was intoxicating - the adrenaline rush of riding on the back of his bike, the wild parties at the onychinus clubhouse, watching him dominate in the ring. but as time went on, you grew tired of the constant chaos and the fear that one day, sylus’s risky lifestyle would catch up to him. you wanted stability, a future - things that sylus scoffed at. ‘i live in the moment, babe,’ he would say with that infuriating smirk. ‘and right now, all i want is you.’

but it wasn’t enough. six months ago, after a particularly brutal fight that left sylus battered and bleeding, you reached your breaking point. you told him you couldn’t watch him destroy himself anymore, that you needed more than he could give you. sylus, stubborn and proud as ever, refused to change. ‘this is who i am,’ he growled. ‘so take it or leave it.’ so you left, walking away from the man you loved, determined to build a life free from the violence and uncertainty.

now, seeing him again after all this time, you feel a mix of emotions stirring within you. anger, hurt, frustration . . . but also a undeniable pull of attraction and longing. as if sensing your presence, sylus glances up, his red eyes locking with yours. a slow, confident smirk spreads across his handsome face as he saunters over to you, the crowd parting before him.

“well, well. look who it is,” he drawls, looking you up and down appreciatively. “didn’t expect to see you here tonight, [★]. come to watch me dominate the ring as usual?”

you scoff and cross your arms, determined not to let him see how much his presence affects you. “i’m not here for you, sylus. i’m just here to collect on some bets.”

he chuckles, a deep, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “sure you are, sweetheart. keep telling yourself that.”

sylus takes a step closer, invading your personal space. he smells like musk and sandalwood, a scent that brings back memories of stolen moments and passionate nights. “i miss you, you know,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. “everything’s been so boring without you around to keep me on my toes.”

you try to stay strong, but you can feel your resolve wavering. damn him and his charm. “i’m not here to rehash the past, sylus. what do you want?”

his eyes glint with a challenge. “make a bet with me - when i win the championship belt tonight, you give me another shot. a chance to prove that we’re meant to be together.”

you laugh in disbelief. “you can’t be serious. we’re done, sy. i’m not falling for your games again.”

“who says it’s a game?” he counters, his expression turning serious. “i know i messed up, [★]. i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want you back in my life. i need you.”

you hesitate, torn between your lingering feelings and your better judgment. sylus is a force of nature, wild and untamed. being with him is like dancing on the edge of a razor - thrilling but dangerous. can you really risk your heart again?

“and what do i get if you lose?” you ask, buying yourself time to think.

sylus flashes you a cocky grin. “you know i never lose, kitten. but if by some miracle i do . . i’ll leave you alone. for good. unless you decide you can’t resist me and come crawling back.”

you snort at his arrogance, even as a part of you wonders if he might be right. sylus has always had a hold on you, an undeniable magnetism that draws you in against your will, “fine,” you hear yourself saying, almost as if from a distance. “you’ve got a deal.”

his grin widens, triumphant. “get ready to come back to where you belong, [★] - with me.”

the crowd starts to get louder, chanting and cheering as the lights flicker and dim. it’s almost time for the main event - sylus’s championship fight. he starts to walk towards the ring, but pauses and turns back to face you.

“watch closely now, honey,” he says with a wink. “i’m about to show you what you’ve been missing.”

with that, he strides away, his movements graceful and predatory. you watch him go, your heart pounding in your chest.

what had you gotten yourself into?

as the crowd’s chanting reaches a fevered pitch, sylus steps into the ring, the picture of coiled power and raw aggression. his opponent, a hulking brute known as ‘the mauler’, glares at him from across the mat, pounding his meaty fists together in a show of intimidation. but sylus just smirks, unfazed. he’s taken down bigger, badder fighters than this guy.

the referee calls them to the center, going over the rules - not that there are many in the underground circuit. “no biting, no eye gouging, fight ends with a knockout or tapout. keep it clean . . ish. touch gloves and come out swinging!”

sylus bumps his taped fists against the mauler’s, staring him down with those intense red eyes. then they’re backing away, the air crackling with tension as the crowd falls silent in anticipation.

the bell sounds and the mauler charges forward with a roar, swinging wildly. but sylus is too quick, too skilled. he slips and weaves, dodging the heavy blows, letting his opponent overextend himself. sylus fires off a rapid jab - cross combo, snapping the mauler’s head back and drawing first blood from his nose.

the big man snarls and redoubles his efforts, trying to use his size to his advantage, to trap sylus against the ropes and pummel him. but sylus is like smoke, always just out of reach. he targets the mauler’s weak spots with surgical precision - a knife-hand to the solar plexus to crush his wind, a heel kick to the floating rib, an elbow smash to the jaw.

each blow lands with devastating impact, chipping away at the mauler’s formidable stamina and sending the crowd into a frenzy. they chant sylus’s name like a war cry, thrilling at the sight of the chiseled, tattooed demigod of the ring in his element.

you watch in breathless awe, pulse racing, body heating. damn him. he’s magnificent like this - a perfect fighting machine, all fluid grace and controlled violence. it’s enough to make you forget why you walked away, to let yourself imagine those powerful hands on your body once more . .

a pained grunt snaps you back to the moment as the mauler finally lands a solid hit, a haymaker to sylus’s ribs that sends him staggering. your heart leaps into your throat. but sylus just shakes it off with a feral grin, spitting blood and bouncing on his toes as he beckons for more.

they trade blows in a brutal, lightning-fast exchange, neither giving quarter. the mauler is flagging but still dangerous, pure grit keeping him on his feet. sylus bleeds from a cut over his eye but barely seems to feel it, an unholy light in his gaze as he scents victory.

he presses his advantage with a dizzying flurry of strikes, driving the mauler back . . back . . until he’s pinned against the turnbuckle. sylus hammers his torso without mercy - left hook to the liver, right uppercut to the chin, again, again. the mauler’s knees buckle and sylus steps back, letting him crumple to the canvas.

the crowd erupts as the ref counts it out. at “ten,” sylus throws his hands up in triumph, basking in the adulation. his eyes find yours across the room and the heat in them makes your breath stop. in three long strides he’s out of the ring and hauling you into his arms, crushing his mouth to yours in a searing kiss.

for a moment, you forget where you are. forget the mob of rowdy spectators whistling and catcalling. forget every reason you swore you'd never let him back into your heart. all you know is the demanding press of his lips, the steel - cable strength of his blood-slicked body, the intoxicating rush of his victory and your surrender . . .

“looks like i won our bet, babe,” he says smugly, smirking down at you. “hope you’re ready to pay up.”

you scowl, hating how easily he affected you. “one. drink. that was the deal.”

sylus touches his tongue to the seam of his split lip, gaze roving hungrily over you. “oh, i’m just getting started.”

he drags you through the throng of well-wishers and sycophants, his grip on your hand unbreakable. outside, the night air is cool against your overheated skin, charged with tension and the distant growl of engines.

sylus leads you to his pride and joy - that sleek demon of a harley crouched by the curb. the way he straddles the throbbing machine is blatantly sexual, all hard muscles and black leather. he jerks his head at the space behind him.

“c’mon - you know the drill, hop on.”

your hesitation lasts a mere heartbeat before you throw a leg over the bike and wrap your arms around his waist, molding yourself to his back. the rumble of the engine between your thighs and the furnace heat of his body shreds the last of your resistance.

your hesitation lasts a mere heartbeat before you throw a leg over the bike and wrap your arms around his waist, molding yourself to his back. the rumble of the engine between your thighs and the furnace heat of his body shreds the last of your resistance.

then, sylus kicks off and you’re flying, the city lights a neon blur as he opens the throttle. your pulse pounds in time with the roar of the pipes, excitement and desire a heady drug in your veins. by the time he screeches to a stop outside a dingy saloon on the outskirts of town, you’re dizzy with need.

inside, the bar is a den of sin and swagger, all scuffed leather and polished chrome and clinking bottles. eyes follow sylus with a mix of fear and reverence as he stalks to a booth in the back, one possessive hand at the small of your back.

he orders a whiskey, neat, and your favorite poison, not bothering to ask what you want. at your raised eyebrow, he shrugs.

“i remember.”

two words. but the weight of history and unspoken emotion behind them squeezes your heart. your fingers tremble slightly as you raise your glass in a mock toast.

“to your victory. and my reckless wager.”

sylus’ gaze is molten as he clinks his tumbler against yours, gaze holding you captive over the rim as he tosses back the smooth liquid. the slight burn of the alcohol is nothing compared to the smolder of his stare.

“what are we doing, sy?” you ask into the charged quiet, liquid courage loosening your tongue. “why now, after all this time?”

a muscle ticks in his jaw. he looks down, spinning his empty glass, broad shoulders rigid with tension.

“i fucked up.”

his voice is low, raw with a vulnerability you've never heard from him. your breath snags.

“i thought i needed the rush, the rep, the respect. and yeah, maybe i did, for a while. but none of it meant shit without you.” slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he reaches for your hand — lacing his scarred, tape-wrapped fingers with yours, “i was a coward. i pushed you away because i was scared shitless of how bad i wanted you - needed you. needed your strength, your goodness. you made me want to be better. and it truly fucking terrified me.”

his grip tightens, almost painfully. anchoring you to him.

“losing you . . it broke me, [★]. made me realize that the only thing i’m actually afraid of is living without you.”

sylus swallows hard, his throat working. when he looks up at you, his eyes are blazing with fierce intent.

“i know i don’t deserve another shot. i know i need to earn back your trust. but i swear to whoever may hold my fate, if you give me a chance, i will spend every waking day proving that you’re my whole damn world.”

your heart is a wild bird in your chest, frantic and yearning. you search his face, finding only sincerity and aching tenderness beneath the bruises and blood.

“i never stopped loving you,” you confess, voice breaking. “no matter how hard i tried to hate you . . i couldn’t let you go.”

sylus makes a rough sound, halfway between a growl and a groan. then he’s kissing you, deep and urgent and saying everything he can't put into words. you fall into him, all hunger and desperation, the levee finally breaking on the flood of your need.

“take me home,” you gasp into his mouth, fingers curling in the sweat-damp silk of his hair.

“i thought you’d never ask, dove.”

the anticipation is a living thing as sylus speeds through the lamp-lit streets, the throaty growl of his harley between your thighs a heady reminder of the man commanding the machine. by the time he pulls into the cavernous garage beneath his loft, your body is humming, every nerve ending alight with need.

sylus is on you the moment you dismount, crowding you back against the rough brick wall, his large frame enveloping yours. his kiss is searing, possession and passion, strong hands gripping your hips as he grinds into you. you moan into his mouth, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his leather-clad shoulders, craving more.

“been dreaming about this,” he rasps against your lips, his voice like gravel and whiskey, igniting heat in your veins. “having you back in my arms, in my bed. fuck, [★], need you so bad it's like a sickness.”

“then take me,” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant hunger shining in those crimson eyes. “i’m here, sylus. i’m yours.”

something animalistic unfurls behind his gaze, a primal sort of satisfaction that has you clenching with want. in a burst of movement, he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his lean hips as he strides purposefully to the industrial elevator that will carry you to his domain.

the short ride up is a haze of frantic kisses and roving hands, two years’ worth of pent-up longing seeking outlet. by the time sylus kicks open the door to his loft, you’re both panting, clothes askew and lips kiss-bruised. he carries you straight to the bedroom, a cavern of shadows and silver moonlight spilling across rumpled black silk sheets. when he lays you down in the center of that decadent expanse, the reverence in his touch steals your breath. his battle-scarred fingers shake slightly as they skim over your curves, learning you anew.

“so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, crimson gaze tracking hungrily over your body like he's committing every detail to memory. “can’t believe i almost lost this . . lost you . .”

“never,” you whisper fiercely, reaching up to cup his angular jaw. “i’m here, sylus. right where i belong. and i’m not going anywhere.”

he turns his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm, the heat of his breath making you shiver as his lips graze your fingers — and ever so gently, he bites. then slowly, deliberately, he divests you of your clothes, unwrapping you like a gift. you echo his actions, baring him inch by glorious inch to your avid gaze.

sylus’s body is a work of art, all chiseled muscle and inked skin, a roadmap of violence and survival. you take your time tracing the ridges and hollows, the scars and scrolling tattoos, familiarizing yourself with this new landscape of him. he shudders beneath your questing touch, eyes fluttering shut, a low rumble building in his chest.

“[★],” he grits out, and fuck, how you’ve missed the way he says your name, guttural and raw, like a prayer and a plea. “please, baby . . need to taste you.”

“yes,” you hiss, already aching, empty. “please, sylus.”

granted, he descends on you like a man starved, that talented mouth charting a path of fire over your sensitized flesh. he maps every curve and valley with lips and teeth and tongue, each nip and suck and lap stoking the inferno building in your core.

when he finally settles between your trembling thighs, the first bold stroke of his tongue punches the air from your lungs, your spine arching involuntarily. he groans in appreciation, strong hands splaying your thighs wider, opening you fully to his voracious appetite.

“fuck, i missed this,” he rasps against your slick folds, the vibration of his words making you keen. “missed the way you taste, the sounds you make when i devour this sweet cunt. could feast on you for hours, little one . .”

you whimper breathlessly, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other tangling in his silver hair, holding him to you. sylus takes the encouragement for what it is, sealing his mouth over your aching flesh and suckling greedily. stars erupt in your eyes, pleasure rioting through your veins as he works you ruthlessly, adding clever fingers to his oral assault. he curls them just right, rubbing that secret spot that has you seeing god, all while his wicked tongue paints obscene promises on your clit.

“s-sy, fuck!” you wail, back bowing, thighs clamping around his ears as he drives you higher and higher. “oh god, yes, just like that! don’t stop, please, i’m gonna’ cum . . fuck, baby-”

he doubles his efforts, a man possessed, growling his own pleasure into your core. “that’s it, my love,” he urges gutturally between long, lewd licks. “go ahead and give it to me, wanna’ feel you drench my face, want you gushing on my tongue . .”

his filthy encouragement hurls you over the edge with a strangled scream, release slamming into you like a freight train. you shatter spectacularly, pulsing and clenching around his thrusting fingers, slick gushing into his eager mouth as he works you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

when you finally drift back down to earth, aftershocks still rippling through you, sylus is grinning up at you wolfishly from between your thighs, his beard glistening obscenely with your essence. “fucking incredible,” he rumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your still-twitching center. “could watch you fall apart on my tongue forever and never get tired of it.”

“get up here,” you demand breathlessly, tugging him to you. he comes willingly, settling his considerable bulk over you, caging you beneath miles of warm, hard muscle.

you claim his mouth in a filthy kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. he responds with matching hunger, hips rocking into the cradle of your thighs, the thick ridge of his erection a brand against your sensitive flesh.

“please,” you whimper into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “need you inside me, sylus. been too long, i want it . .”

“fuck,” he snarls, the words seeming to snap his restraint. “far too long, honey. be patient, you know i will.” slowly, giving you time to adjust, he notches himself at your entrance and pushes forward, gasping harshly at the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him. “goddamn,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forehead pressed to yours. “silly me. i almost forgot how fucking perfect you feel. like coming home.”

“yes,” you moan, reveling in the familiar stretch and burn of his thick length entering your body. “missed this so much . . missed you . . love you, sylus, so fucking much.”

“i love you too,” he rasps, pulling nearly all the way out before surging back in, starting a deep, rolling rhythm that has your toes curling. “i never stopped, never will. you’re only for me, [★]. only me.”

you lose yourselves to the timeless dance, bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, rediscovering every perfect angle and hidden sweet spot. sylus takes his time, building you back up with long, measured strokes, whispering words of worship into your skin, branding you with his love.

“so good,” he groans, hitching your leg higher on his hip, sinking impossibly deeper. “could stay buried in this tight little pussy forever. never wanna leave.”

“don’t.” you gasp, fingers clawing at his flexing back, desperate for more. “stay — harder, sylus, fuck me harder. wanna’ be able to feel it tomorrow.”

with a low, approving growl, sylus complies, snapping his hips faster, driving into your yielding body with the piston precision of the machine he rides. the wet, obscene slap of flesh fills the room, punctuated by your escalating moans and cries.

“i’m not gonna last,” he warns, rhythm faltering. “too good, too fucking good. tell me you’re close, baby . .”

“s-so close,” you pant, the coil in your belly wound to the breaking point. “just a little more - fuck, right there, sy . . o-oh my —”

sylus hammers into you, grunting with the effort, sweat sheening his skin. he wedges a hand between your straining bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles. “cum on my cock,” he demands, voice strained. “let me feel that pussy grip me, milk me . .” his words are your undoing, hurling you into oblivion with a keening wail. your inner muscles seize around him, rippling and fluttering, trying to pull him deeper as you drench his driving length in release.

“fuck, yes!” sylus roars, pistoning wildly, chasing his own end. “gonna’ - ah, shit, kitty, i’m cumming!” his climax overtakes him with a force that borders on violence, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself deep in your still-spasming core, painting your inner walls with thick ropes of his seed. you mewl weakly in blissed-out overstimulation, aftershocks rolling through you as he fills you to the brim.

finally spent, sylus collapses onto you, taking care not to crush you with his bulk. you cuddle as sweat and other fluids cool on your skin, hearts gradually slowing in tandem. he’s still stuffed deep inside you and you clench involuntarily around his now-softening length, loving the way he groans, overused nerves sparking. “keep that up and we’ll be going again real soon,” he warns playfully, nuzzling into your neck.

you huff a laugh, carding your fingers through his damp hair. “yeah, yeah,” you tease. “we’ve got time now, sylus. all the time in the world. i’m not going anywhere.”

he raises his head to look at you, crimson eyes soft and full of wonder. “damn right you’re not,” he rumbles, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “i’m never letting you out of my sight again. you’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

“eh, could be worse,” you quip, grinning up at him. “i think i can handle being stuck with you. it’s only forever, after all.”

“forever,” sylus echoes solemnly, like an oath. “i like the sound of that. you and me. binded as one.”

“ . . . and loving each other stupid every chance we get,” you finish impishly, wiggling your eyebrows.

he barks a laugh, the joyful, uninhibited sound making your heart soar. “oh, that is definitely part of the plan,” he assures you, a wicked gleam in his eye. “gotta’ make up for lost time, don’t we?”

“mmhm, that we do,” you agree readily, warmth suffusing you. “better get started on that. forever’s not getting any longer.”

“as my lady commands,” sylus murmurs, capturing your mouth again as he begins to stir inside you once more.

and as passion ignites anew, the promise of countless tomorrows enfolding you like a benediction, you know this is just the beginning of the ups and downs.

because this love, tempered by loss and longing, by time and truth . . it’s unbreakable. a bond that even the harshest trials will only serve to strengthen.

and with sylus by your side, his heart in your keeping as surely as yours rests in his scarred and steady hands . .

. . you know you can weather any storm.

forever, and then some.

★ SUGUGASM 2024 | please don’t copy, translate or share my work on other platforms without my consent. tagging @ramonathinks <3

[biteyoubiteme]

spilled drinks

taehyun x fem!reader x huening kai

synopsis: your now ex could never get you off, so they show you they can.

warnings: 🔞!!! threesome, fingering, oral (f!rec), sex toys, slight spit kink, double penetration (light mxm because of this) , no protection, creampie(s), overstimulation, subspace mention, bondage, reader called dumb/cockwhore/baby prob forgot some sorry

wc: 2.5k (again me when I lie and say I could do these under 2k)

an: thank you so much for requesting @prince-jjae ! ily but I don't think I got exactly everything you asked for but I tried <333

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

The tear tracks on your cheeks burn from the frost tinted air. They weren't tears of sadness but pure unadulterated tears of anger. You hadn't even felt them slip until they turned cold, all your emotions bubbling up, the tears a direct reflection of that emotional pot making your skin hot. The dusting of snow in the air only added to the annoyance. Every step had to be watched as you made your way down the street, the dotting of couples and friends splitting up as you walked near, sensing your need to lash out at one bumped shoulder. 

Although you weren't necessarily happy this morning, it was better than this. You could hear your now ex’s voice ringing in your head, that last little line that finally pushed you over the edge to end a relationship long overdue for the guillotine. You had stormed out of his apartment, phone already in hand when you texted the boys that you would in fact be able to make it to drinks.

The invitation was always open for you to join in a moment of changed plans, even ones as big as a breakup. You had sensed the end and felt a need to keep the monotonous relationship like a shirt you wore to summer camp six years ago. It had to be thrown out, but why throw out something that could be useful if you needed it? Even if you weren't spending time with your now ex he could be used as an excuse to get out of something, mostly when your coworkers invited you out for something you didn't want to do. And occasionally the sex was good enough to bring you back, but it was few and far between that you found yourself wanting to spend the night with him. 

It's what started the conversation in the first place, your offer to try something new and his defensiveness that soured your mood. But it wasn’t only about sex, everything just started to come up without you being able to hold it back any longer. And now you’re here, standing at the bar waiting for a drink to calm you down before you went back and ripped your ex apart. 

“You know if you’re sad-“

“I’m not sad,” you cut Kai off, “I’m pissed he probably thinks he came out on top in that argument because I needed to leave before I started breaking things,” 

taehyun chuckled beside you, “You should have broken something. The guy was an asshole,” 

“I don't even want to think about it anymore,” but it's only after the bartender places your drink down in front of you that you speak back up, “No actually if your girlfriend came to you and said ‘Oh the last few times we had sex I didn't finish we should fix that’ you don't just start listing things like she forgot to do the dishes once last month,” 

“He couldn't get you off?” Kai lifts his brow, fully invested in your ranting. His drink is right at his lips when he asks, head tilted in the question. 

“Not really but it wasn't the end all be all, I was willing to work around it and figure it out together, hell I started the conversation about wanting to try new things and yet I was completely shut down,” it's then that someone behind you bumps into your shoulder, the glass in your hand slick from the condensation slips from your hand. 

The sound of the shattering glass is an echoing representation of your inability to keep yourself from lashing out. “Fuck him and his stupid short fingers that he didn't know how to use,” 

“If you had said he couldn't get you off sooner I would have advised you to break up with him a year ago,” taehyun is quick to move you away from the bartender who comes to sweep up the mess made. “It's probably the same reason why you're so crabby right now,” 

“Yeah, I think a few orgasms could fix you right up,” Kai’s gentle giggle calms you down for only a beat. 

“I'm too angry to think about going home alone to my vibrator, the one I specifically bought so that I could use when we had sex and was told repeatedly that it wasn't important to use,”

“I can do most of the work if you wanted,” “I wouldn't mind helping.” you can't even remember who suggested leaving, you remember less the journey back to your apartment. Every fumbling move washed over in a sex-induced haze. 

It wouldn't be the first time any of you had flirted with the idea, not even the first time you had kissed one of them, let alone one after the other. But it was nothing like this. 

It was dizzying to have both of their mouths on you at the same time, kisses all down both sides of your neck, your hands twisting into their hair, moaning when Kai shoved his hand down your pants. His long fingers skillfully work over your now puffy clit. “You’re fucking soaked,” he moans, tongue lapping the trail of bruised marks he's sucked onto your skin. 

“Am I?” It's a stupid question when the sound of your wetness is enough to hear the second he's slipped two fingers into you. Neither of them had ever heard sweeter sounds from you in all your years of friendship. That desperate plea to have them touch you slinked in with every soft whimper escaping your pink kissed lips. 

Taehyun is the one to pull off your top, pushing you back against your bed so that he can have easier access to your chest. His nose follows the center of your body, mouth finding your pebbled nipples and taking slow turns between them. His teeth nip at the sensitive buds, tugging until you're whining, not only from the sensation but from Kai's third finger pushing into you. He's already gotten your pants down, reluctantly pulling away your panties slick with your arousal. 

The duel sensations make it hard to feel anything but pleasure, their hands sliding over your skin, fingers stretching you open, and when Kai gives a tentative kiss to your clit it makes your body jolt alive. Taehyun chuckles, the rumble of it pressed right to the underside of your tit, his task of sucking marks onto your chest forgotten when you sound this good.  

Taehyun pulls away asking, “Where is your vibrator?” 

You almost get a response out, pointing in the direction of the nightstand before Kai wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and rubbing his tongue at an expert pace. Your legs fall open, melting into the mattress as he works your cunt.

The question didn't even fully process in your mind until you saw Taehyun behind Kai, a soft kiss to the head of your vibrator like a taunt. “Just look at you, already getting dumb on nothing but fingers,” your hips rolling down onto Kai's Hand, mewling at the way he curls the digits right against that perfect gummy spot inside you. 

He doesn't even have to work hard for your orgasm to crash down on you, the perfect pressure mixed with his mouth is enough to have you trying to snap your legs closed. Freehand coming up to wrap around your thigh to push your legs open. When Kai finally pulls away his chin is dripping with your release, the back of his hand working it away as he groans, “fuck, you taste so good,” 

You should feel exposed laying out on the bed like this in front of them, both of them just with their shirts off, looking down at your aching cunt, still fluttering around nothing, wishing to be stuffed with one or even both of them. Even just the thought has your hips moving, “please, I need you,” 

“Who first?” Kai asks, but Taehyun is already unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. 

“Me,” he leaves no room for argument, the slight demand going straight to your clit. 

“But I want first,” the both of them are looking at each other like they could spend the next ten minutes arguing, the sound of your soft whines in the background to their stare down. 

You feel so empty after having Kai’s fingers in you, the loss of both of their hands adding to the desperation circling your bloodstream. 

“I want both of you, I need both of you,” your writhing form, drawing them back in, your hand slipping through your folds for only a second before taehyun is quick to push your hand away. 

“do not touch what's mine, If I already have to share you I shouldn’t have to worry about you cumming early on your own fingers,” 

“But you're not doing anything-” it's the last thing you say before he presses the vibrator to your clit, the little clicks made to turn it on ringing in your ears as you let out a squeak, the pressure on your already sensitive clit making your legs snap closed around his arm. His little smile is so teasing as he asks, “What was that? I don't think I heard you,” 

Kai chuckles his belt sliding through the loops of his pants until it's held in fingers he has licked clean. You feel the pressure of your next orgasm coming too fast, the tremble in your legs telling them exactly what they need to know, and you try to push the vibrator away, getting just past the valley of your thighs before Huening grabs your wrists in his hands, stealing both of them away. 

The leather of his belt is warm circling your skin, the tightness of your stomach matching that of your core seconds before you're cumming again. With your wrists now tied and in Kai's hands, you have nothing to hold onto when you arch off the bed, nails digging into his belt, his lips kissing your raised knuckles while you feel a gush of fresh release leave you.“Look at that, I don't think someone who's doing nothing could get you to squirt,” Taehyun teases, pulling away the vibrator from your throbbing clit. 

You're trying to find your voice, stuttering over your words incoherently. It's then that Kai presses a swift kiss to your cheek, “Tell me if you want me to stop baby, I'll take this right off okay?” Your weak nod is answer enough before he pulls you up the bed, slotting himself behind you. Your thighs are a mess, all your slippery slick making him moan. Your back is pressed to his chest, every word spoken felt against your hot skin as you roll your head back on his shoulder. He's Got your bound hands in only one of his, keeping your arms in place while Taehyun tosses him the vibrator before slipping off his pants and leaving his standing before you. 

Even just looking at his leaking cock was making you see stars, Kai’s cock already pressed to your thigh ready and red, begging to push into you at a moment's notice. When Taehyun climbs up on the mattress, knees digging into the sheets, he pushes your legs apart. 

It's only a few seconds but it feels like a lifetime waiting for them both to get their cocks in place, Taehyun using his tip to circle your clit, tracing your folds like he plans to map them out, Kai prodding at your entrance. “Please, it hurts- I want you- I wanna be stuffed full of both of you,” 

Taehyun spits on his fingers, needing as much lube as they can get if they are going to both slip into you. He gives a few loose pumps to his shaft meeting Kai right at your waiting hole. They both go slow as they push in, the stretch already having your eyes roll back in your head, it's unimaginable the way your body is feeling, the slight pressure mixed with the sting of being stretched so well around the both of them not even fully yet just their tips is making your brain short circuit. 

Kais rumbling moans are ringing in your ear, pressed to your back and fanning over your skin. Taehyun wants to take his time, but the second he's in far enough to let his hands fall away from himself and just hold your legs in place is his last straw, he's shoving into your warm walls, filling you out and needing more, the pressure from kai’s cock against his makes it feel like you're perfectly squeezing around him, sucking him in and wanting more. Kai is so still, trying to savor the way you feel around him but when he feels the movement of taehyun picking up his pace he can't help but move too. 

They are uneven in their thrusts, when kai finds himself buried deep inside you, taehyun is only just pulling halfway out. It's a constant mind numbing feeling, being this stretched, this full, it's working over your bones and making you lose all proper thoughts. “Fuck your pussy feels so good baby,” Kai's mouth is hot on your ear when he says it, your legs twitch at the praise. 

“Stretched around us so good and look at how dumb it made you, our little cock whore, I bet you want us both to stuff you with our cum too hum?” 

Your back arches at the insinuation, the new angle making Kai hits your cervix just right, and when taehyun pushes in he's pressed right against your g-spot. “Pl-plea-,” Kai uses his free hand not wrapped around your tied wrists to reach for the vibrator next to him. Your soft pleas turn to sharp yelps as he presses onto your clit. The vibration is enough so that both of them feel it even shoved into you. 

It's maddening to have you clenching so much around the both of them, sucking them in so much so that they can hardly pump in and out of you anymore. Both of them press so deep that when you finally cum it's a rush of pleasure taking over everything in you. Every little sensation building up to this moment as you break apart, the fluttering on your perfect pussy making the both of them moan, taehyun’s hold on your thighs tightening enough to bruise as he finishes, cock pulsing and filling you up only seconds before kai is adding him load into the mix. 

The brain fog you're experiencing slips over your body as Kai clicks off the vibrator. Kais kisses the side of your neck, pepper down over your beating pulse. The weak whimper when Taehyun pulls out follows the jerking of your legs close, still stuffed on Kai and yet missing having them both already. 

Huening unwraps his belt from you, tossing it, and giving you a rest, rubbing one hand on your tummy and the other on your thigh. Taehyun disappears for a second before climbing back into bed with a warm damp washcloth, used to clean up your aching cunt after Kai has pulled out, although not before they both admire the way your body pushes out their combined cream until it pools down to the duvet.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! and a thank you to my favorite person @hyukascampfire the light of my life, fire in my soul keeping me warm, the one who took the time to proof read/ beta read this for me.

[purifiedclitoris69]

Breaking point

a/n: Finally got to the nat version of silent comfort. It’s a little short tbh so sorry about that. hope you enjoy!

pairings: Natasha Romanoff x supersoldier reader

warnings: violence

You’d been with the Avengers for almost a year now, and in that time, you’d managed to carve out a space for yourself on the team. Sure, being the former Hydra experiment wasn’t exactly the most inviting introduction, but you didn’t let that define you. It wasn’t who you were anymore. You were the team’s go-to for a laugh, always cracking jokes, lightening the mood, and making it easier for everyone to handle the high-stakes pressure of their lives. What you didn’t talk about, though, was your past. Not because anyone had told you not to, but because you didn’t want to relive it.

Especially not now, when things were starting to feel... normal.

Normal was spending late nights on the couch with Natasha, arguing over which movie to watch but never finishing them because you’d get caught up in teasing each other. Normal was training together and catching her smiling at you when she thought you weren’t looking. Normal was her throwing playful jabs about how you talked too much, only to call you out on being unusually quiet when something was bothering you.

You weren’t sure when things had shifted, but somewhere along the way, the time you spent with her had become the highlight of your day. And judging by the way she always seemed to find excuses to stay close, you thought maybe—just maybe—she felt the same way.

Neither of you had said anything yet, though. It was comfortable, whatever this was, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

--------------------------------------------------------

The quinjet hummed softly as the team prepared for the mission. Hydra remnants were regrouping, and the team had been sent to intercept a high-level target.

You were double-checking your gear when Natasha sauntered over, a sly smile already playing on her lips.

"You know," she said, leaning casually against the wall beside you, "I’ve noticed you spend an awful lot of time fussing over that utility belt. Got a secret stash of candy in there or something?"

You snorted, pulling a strap tighter. "Jealous I don’t share my snacks with you, Romanoff?"

"Please," she shot back, tilting her head. "If I wanted candy, I’d just take it," she shrugged her shoulders, "I always get what I want."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try."

She stepped closer, her green eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, or I might have to prove it."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "You’re all talk."

"Am I?" She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of your belt, and for a split second, your heart skipped a beat. But instead of taking anything, she smirked and stepped back, clearly enjoying the way you were watching her.

"Tease," you muttered, pretending to focus on your gear again.

"You make it too easy," she quipped, crossing her arms.

Before you could come up with a comeback, Steve’s voice cut through the moment. "Gear up. We’re heading out in five."

Natasha straightened but didn’t move immediately. Instead, she leaned in just enough for only you to hear. "Try to keep up out there, rookie."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. "Try not to get distracted, Romanoff."

She laughed softly as she walked away, the sound lingering in the air long after she was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------

Though successful the mission had been thoroughly chaotic, to say the least. Things had been going smoothly until Natasha went off-script.

You hadn’t even known what was happening at first. One second, you were covering her six, and the next, she was gone, chasing intel Fury and Maria Hill had deemed critical. It left you in a tight spot, trying to hold your ground without her, and you’d taken a few hits you shouldn’t have.

By the time the mission wrapped, you were sore, bruised, and too exhausted to joke around like you usually would. The tension on the jet ride back to the compound was thick, everyone keenly aware that Steve was seething.

The hanger was suffocatingly tense as the quinjet’s ramp descended with a mechanical hiss, and everyone piled out, the weight of the mission hanging heavily in the air. Conversations were sparse—exhaustion mingled with the unspoken tension. You were still catching your breath, the fight replaying in your mind, when Steve’s voice broke the silence.

“Romanoff, we need to talk.”

You glanced at Natasha, who was walking beside you. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t stop, striding toward the hangar floor like she hadn’t heard him.

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice carried more force this time.

She stopped, turning around slowly, her face calm but her eyes sharp. “What?”

Steve’s expression was stony as he marched toward her. “What the hell was that back there?”

“The part where we got the job done?” Natasha shot back, her voice icy.

“The part where you ignored orders and jeopardized the team,” he countered, standing toe-to-toe with her now.

You stepped closer instinctively, but for now, you stayed silent, your fists clenching at your sides.

“I didn’t jeopardize anyone,” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “I prioritized the bigger picture. Fury and Maria needed that intel, and I got it.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Fury and Hill aren’t the ones in the field. We are. And when you decide their priorities are more important than this team, you’re not just making a bad call—you’re making a selfish one.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look away. “I made a call that benefited everyone in the long run. You might not like it, but it worked.”

“Did it?” Steve snapped, gesturing toward you. “Because they almost didn’t make it out thanks to you.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit. “That’s not fair, Steve,” you said, stepping in now.

He turned on you, his voice rising. “It is fair. You wouldn’t have been in that position if she hadn’t dragged you into her little side mission.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice low.

But Steve ignored you, his focus still on Natasha. “You know, it’s always the same with you. You play both sides, keep everyone guessing. It worked for you in the Red Room, maybe even with S.H.I.E.L.D., but here? That doesn’t fly. We’re supposed to be a team, but you’re still looking out for yourself first.”

The mention of the Red Room made your blood run cold. You saw the flicker of something in Natasha’s expression—a crack in her armor.

“Watch your mouth,” you said, stepping in front of her now, your voice dangerously calm, as you met Captain America eye level.

Steve’s gaze snapped to you, his frustration redirected. “Stay out of this.”

“No,” you said firmly. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Or what?” Steve challenged, jaw tightened, his temper bubbling over as took a step closer, eyes blazing with anger.

The moment he moved, you acted. Your hand shot out, gripping his wrist and twisting with precision. With a sharp pivot of your hips, you flipped him over your shoulder. The impact reverberated through the hangar as Steve crashed into a nearby crate, shattering it into splinters.

The hangar went silent, the sound of the crash echoing in the vast space.

Steve was already scrambling to his feet, his eyes blazing with disbelief and fury. Bucky intercepted him, gripping his shoulder and holding him back

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky said, his voice firm but calm.

Natasha was in front of you before you could react, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushed you back. “Enough,” she said, her voice low but forceful.

You froze, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you like a freight train.

You glanced around the hangar, catching the wide-eyed stares of your teammates. The expressions on their faces weren’t just shocked—they were scared. Of you.

Your gaze landed on Natasha last. Her green eyes were glassy, her brows furrowed with confusion and something that looked too much like hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely audible. Then you turned and walked away, your boots echoing in the silence of the hangar as you disappeared into the compound.

--------------------------------------------------------

The rooftop felt like the only place you could breathe. The cool night air bit at your skin as you sat on the ledge, your hands gripping the metal railing.

What the hell had you done? You’d spent so long trying to prove you weren’t the weapon Hydra made you, but one moment of anger had torn that facade apart.

“Hell of a move back there.”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Natasha. Her voice was light, but there was an edge of something else—concern, maybe.

“Didn’t mean to wreck the crate,” you muttered, still staring out at the city lights.

She walked over, her steps soft, and leaned against the railing beside you. “The crate’s fine. Steve, on the other hand…”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, bet he’s thrilled.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just studied you with that piercing gaze of hers. “Why’d you do it? he was right, I left you out there."

You sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "I would've been fine Tasha, and I know you know that," you looked down to your lap, "besides I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to you. Like you haven’t done more for this team than anyone.”Her expression softened, and for a moment, the world felt a little less heavy. “I don’t care about your past, Nat,” you said quietly. “And I’ll be damned if I let anyone throw it in your face.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile as she reached out, her hand brushing yours. “You’re not who they made you either, you know.”

You looked at her, and for the first time all day, you felt like maybe you hadn’t completely lost yourself.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t have to fight for me," her gaze dropping to your lips as you both began to lean in, " but thank you for doing it anyway," her breath fanned across you. Before you could reply, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was well over do. Her lips were soft against yours, warm and grouding in a way that made everything fade away.

When she pulled back, she smiled—a real, genuine smile. “Now let’s go figure out how to apologize to Steve.”

You groaned, but for the first time that night, you felt like everything might just be okay.

[tetzoro]

☽◯☾ - THE LOVE COOK

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : Sanji has always had an affinity for cooking but nothing could ever compare to cooking for you. But his plan backfires and he realizes he’s in for more than he bargained for.

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. perv!sanji x dom!reader ; minor food play, handjob, minor cum play, lots of praise, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, usage of good boy (once), — WC : 4.6k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ Waxing Crescent ! ꒱  — kinktober masterlist

Sanji's always had an affinity for cooking. Since he was young, his love for it wove into the depths of his very being, one of the things he greatly identified with. 

Under Zeff's vigorous training, the young cook fought to chase his passion, learning everything he could in what it meant to be a chef that was fit enough for the seas. And as time went on, it only strengthened. Year after year of trying new recipes, of feeding people who were hungry and above all, never wasting a drop — the bond grew along with him.

But as he got older, there was a new bonus for cooking. One that was filthy and always left him feeling like a perv, and yet — he couldn’t stop indulging himself.

Sanji really, really loved cooking for women.

It's honestly sinful how much he enjoys serving them food. How he makes sure his fingers grace their lap with a napkin — the fleeting touch of their thigh sending a thrill throughout his body, always ensuring to push in their chair a little too tightly so their chest presses against the table, and of course, feeding them a heartfelt compliment here and there while eating up their flustered state.

Every cook loves to see the reaction their food can evoke in people but Sanji takes it to a new level. 

Women ooh and aww over his cooking, after that first bite he can clearly see it written all over their beautiful face’s. The direct line of pleasure he supplied them effortlessly coating their features, eyes rolling to the back of their head at the divine taste of their favorite foods.

But the real treat is when he hears their moans of approval. Quiet, loud, breathless, guttural, he’s heard it all. It's only natural that he savors the sound in the deepest banks of his memory to touch himself to those keepsakes later, pairing it with their heavenly expressions as his fist closes around his cock.

So when he finally has you as his little taste tester, sitting across from him as he serves you, the game changes. Suddenly, all of the other women he’s served pale in comparison to your reaction.

The moment the dessert coated fork touches your mouth he can see the explosion of gratification before him and he counts every blessing he has front row seats.

The small smile that graces your face, licking the extra cream off your lips as if you couldn’t get enough, an elongated yet quiet hum followed by his name and whatever praise you had for him immediately had his cock swelling in his trousers, pushing against the tightness of the fabric.

For a breath, he was just as dazed as you, watching your signs of contentment, your taste buds positively satisfied with all the flavors he lovingly poured into the dish. 

But he needed more. 

He needed to hear your praise once again.

“You like it?” Sanji barely managed to ask, straightening up as he tried to hide his lower half behind the counter.

“Like it?” You swallow down the food, your pretty eyes meeting his and he feels as if he was brutally shot by cupid's arrow, headshotted and left without any hope of being saved. “I love it.”

Something electric buzzed in the room that felt far too foreign to Sanji. Compliments would always effortlessly spill from his lips as easy as breathing but the way you were looking at him whisked every last drop of air from his lungs, suffocating them with the addicting allure of your praise.

The roles were suddenly reversed and now you were the one who was eyeing him.

Stalking up like a panther ready to strike, you rise from your chair and make your way over to him with a dark look in your eye he hasn’t been privy to before. Each movement was dragged out, languid yet precise. Like this was the moment you had been patiently waiting for and the thought drove Sanji close to madness.

“Mon-cheri–” Sanji started as he backed up against the counter under the intense aura you were emitting. It wasn’t a well thought out plan as you begin to corner him, effectively catching him in your little trap. He can’t lie and say the energy didn’t excite him, but it was certainly unexpected. Far too long he had been pining over you, dreaming of a moment like this but now that it’s here, he’s not so sure what to do.

“You know what would make this taste even better?” A redundant question as you don’t give him a chance to answer. 

Taking your pointer finger, you gently scoop up some of the whipped cream off of the delicious pastry that Sanji had ever so graciously made for you. With a measured stroke, you glide his cherished creation down his neck, along his pulse point so you can feel how vigorously it races for you, his heart throbbing viciously against the chamber of his ribcage.

“W-what are you doing?” The question falls flat, dithery nerves striking up a cord within him that had him wanting to reach for his nearest cigarette to cope with the heart palpitations you were giving him with each move you make. “Wait, don’t waste it!”

“Waste it?” You tilt your head as you stand before him. His hands clutch onto the edge of the counter behind him in an attempt to steel himself. A soft puff of air caresses Sanji's skin moments before you lean in with your tongue peeking out of the confines of your mouth. dragging the pink muscle along his neck, you hum in approval at the sweet taste. “Just what I thought, even sweeter.”

His face burns red, the flames desperately licking at his cheeks under the sear of your compliments. Normally, he would be the one gifting them out, carried with a sweet melody of adoration. The energy he so readily gives out is now crashing back at him in full force and the poor cook can only tremble in anticipation. 

Sanji's eye pinches shut in hopes of taking a moment to gather himself. But you were equipped with another dose of admiration, ready to pour it over him until he felt drowned in affection.

“You have such a pretty face, Sanji.” You push his hair back, revealing both of his closed eyes. “And beautiful eyes, I wish you’d show them more.”

Your wish is his command after all.

Slowly, Sanji's eyes begin to open — showcasing the birth of a new day as he reveals the beautiful blue that pools in his irises. The kind that reminds you of the All Blue book he’s shown you countless times when the two of you would curl up together while keeping watch for the ship. But once they lock onto yours, they abruptly morph into the stormy seas of the new world, holding the utter excitement of uncharted territory that’s waiting to be claimed.

“What are you doing?” Sanji asks the question again.

“Nothing.”Your voice carries a silken lilt that smoothes over him like a balm.  “Nothing you don’t want me to do, at least.”

“Like what?” He breathes out. If it wasn’t for the close proximity due to you crowding him in the small corner of the kitchen, he doubts that you would’ve picked up on his shaky words.

“Oh Sanji,” The giggle that spills from your lips has his knees buckling, hands twitching to touch you and he swears he might fall over for a moment from the mountain of sheer desire he’s trying to hike through. “Don’t be so coy. You’re the one that’s always flirting with me ever since I joined the crew, did you not mean all the wonderful things you said?”

“O-of course I meant them!” Sanji's face becomes coated in a dark pink once again, the blush spreading throughout his cheeks as blood starts to drip from his nose. He quickly catches it with his hand, all too acutely aware of his traitorous body. “I'd never lie to you, my sweet.”

“Then don’t act so surprised.” Your hands slide up his arms, eyes intently watching him as he shudders under your touch. “And let me kiss you.”

Without another breath, lips softly collide. An explosion of shooting stars burst between the two of you as sparks caress your body. It's tender, unpracticed, and entirely wonderful. Utilizing small movements as you slowly figure out the rhythm of each other's mouths. How do his lips move? How do yours? How could they mold together so you can share the same breath?

After a few moments, you begin to gel against his – growing needier, craving more. Suddenly, the little pecks aren’t enough and your senses long to be invaded by everything that makes him up. 

So, you boldly take the first step, your tongue pokes out to trace along his lip, feeling him out while your taste buds engrave the flavor to memory. His tongue follows suit, the soft muscle touches yours and after that, you blur into each other.

Like waves that grace the shoreline, you find a steady tide of give and take — back and forth as you learn what he likes, what will draw him back in, what will pull him under your current. 

Following a steady motion that you two create together, your own song dedicated to your souls courting each other, dancing around feelings the other had been too scared to speak of.

Reluctantly, your lungs scream for reprieve so you pull apart, a thread of saliva connecting you as you pant heavily, breaths fanning each other's face.

Sanji’s blown out eyes are stuck on your lips and you realize that air be damned, nothing would nourish you more than the way he kisses every emotion he’s ever held for you against your lips, grabbing at you like you’re the very thing that’s keeping him tethered to this world.

Another collision and you’re back to it — more desperate than before. The few moments you went without him felt like eons and you had to make up for lost time. A reunion that proceeds past this lifetime, one that was premeditated as the connection only strengthens with each glide of your lips.

His tongue swirls around your own, hungered grunts breaking out from deep within his chest as he grows addicted to the way you taste. Hands grasping and pulling along your body as if he needed more, needing to fully melt into you.

And you’re more than ready to let him.

Leading him to the couch, he lands with a soft thud before you begin to straddle him. The anticipation drums in his ears, blood pumping at an abnormal rate as it figures out where to flow. So much has already pooled all the way to the tip of his cock, painfully pressing against the confines of his trousers. The rest threatens to gush from his nose at an alarming velocity and it’s taking everything in him to hold it back.

All of Sanji's muscles grow taut in an attempt to reign himself in, locked in place as he waits for you to make your move to do something that would hopefully help relieve him of this agonizing pressure. He was simply pretty putty that laid in your tender yet tantalizing hands, leaving you to pick him apart and shape him into whatever you wished for as long as you just kept playing with him.

“How pretty.” You coo as you get rid of his suit trousers, freeing his needy cock by sliding the fabric down his thighs a little. Through a practiced motion, you spit into your hand, wrapping it around his length to spread some more slick.

Sanji gasped, jaw hanging open once your fist closed around his leaking tip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

His face said it all — he was looking up at you with such awe and desire. The kind that made him think you strung up all the stars and moon just so the beams would cascade along your skin so beautifully — just as it is now.

Pockets of light illuminate you so he can see everything you’re doing through an ethereal filter that the heavens themselves must’ve constructed.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, jerking into your divine hand. The honey coated compliment was so sincere, genuine, uttered in a complete state of reverence. It melted your heart to see him still wanting to give so much even though your intention was to focus on him.

Sanji deserves to be worshiped. It’s something you’ve thought to yourself for quite some time. sure, he could be a bit much sometimes, going over the top with compliments and relentlessly chasing after women.

But after spending so much time at sea with him, you’ve started to peel back the layers behind the woman chasing persona he loves to wear so much. To the man who had unshakeable morals, who protected those who needed protecting, to feed every hungry person — friend or foe. 

Sanji has so much to give, so generous with all the love he holds in his body. The love he so desperately wants to receive back but hides it behind cheesy pick up lines that can be dismissed with a laugh. 

But enough was enough. It was Sanji's turn to be adored, to be told all the beautiful things about himself while you stroke his cock and coo at him until he spills all over your hand.

Which is exactly where you had him now.

“You’re so sweet, Sanji.” You pepper a kiss along his jaw and to his scruffy chin, wrist leisurely flicking as you hold his cock in your hands. It was pretty, which was fitting. Long with a tip so red you thought he might burst. Luckily, most of the blood stayed pumping between his thighs rather than from his nose. For now, at least.

“You’re the aah-“ His blonde locks toss as his head hangs back, heavenly bliss whirling around him as he curls his toes — trying not to cum so quickly. He was so sensitive but he wanted more, greedy for everything you were more than ready to give him. “Sweet one.”

“No, no, Sanji.” You lightly nibble on his ear and his hips stutter up with a loud groan. “You’re going to listen to me, okay? If you want me to keep going, you just have to sit there and be good for me. No complimenting me, no trying to please me, we’re focused on you right now, okay?”

Sanji didn’t know what to say. Primal instinct told him to sit there and be quiet but how could he when you were an angel sent down from heaven, just for him? The pleasure you were feeding a starving soul like him was too good to pass up.

“Okay.” He manages to choke out as his release pools deep into his gut, threatening to spill out everywhere. All he needed was that extra push.

“Good boy.”  The phrase falls out of your mouth like a purr and he immediately cums into your hand with a whine, biting his lip trying to stay quiet. You don’t stop your movements as you press your lips against his, swallowing his whimpers as you start to overstimulate him.

But you’re merciful, and you don’t want to punish him. The only thing on your mind is making him feel loved, feel wanted, feel adored. 

“Let me —” Sanji starts to move, adjusting himself to tuck his half-hard cock away.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The smirk that takes up your face was killer as you brought your messy hand toward your mouth. You make a small show of playing with it, feeling how sticky it was, how it ran down your finger before plopping it into your mouth. “Don’t want to waste any of it, right?”

Sanji couldn’t even speak, the words stolen right from the tip of his tongue as yours danced between your fingers, removing every trace of him. You move down to kneel in front of him, the gasp he lets out sending a shiver down your spine. Anticipation bubbling up inside of you as lust pools in your gut, starting to burn with need.

Holding his half-hard cock in the palm of your hand, you swirl your tongue around, cleaning up the residual mess he made with a few precise movements. You lick along the length, feeling him hardening under your ministrations.

It only encourages you to engulf him in your mouth, showing him how far you could take him down your throat. Sanji groaned in response, fingers digging into your hair as his thighs tensed.

Once you’re finished, you remove your own panties from under your skirt and climb into his lap to straddle him once again. 

“Sanji, you really are just so sweet.” You repeat your words from earlier, gliding your now bare, drooling cunt against his stiff cock, “Makes me want to eat you up.” You pause, sucking a mark along his neck before whispering in his ear. “…devour you.”

Sanji was truly at a loss for words. Always the one so readily equipped with a line to show his undying admiration was now struggling to string together a coherent thought as your slick started to cover him.

“Like look at these wondrous hands.” To make a point, you hold them up as you continue to grind against him. “Always providing for us, making the world's most delicious food and spoiling us to your heart's content.”

Tugging his hands, you make sure they cover your chest so he can get a proper squeeze in that causes his nose to drip yet again, his cock undoubtable leaking with more pre-cum.

“I'd do anything for you.” He whispers, thumbs gently brushing over your nipple. Sanji was eerily quiet for a moment as he caressed the plush of your flesh, transfixed on the sight before him. 

“Anything?” The question hangs in the air as you brush his bangs to the side. His slightly sweaty forehead helped keep some of the pieces tucked from his eyes, both of his eyebrows now on full display – just like you wanted.

“Anything.” He breathes the word out like a prayer, a promise that he’d never deny you of what you’d ask of him. 

“Are you ready for me?” Your thumb trails along his parted lower lip, his darkened eyes hazy with an overwhelming lust but entirely set on you.

“Please.” He moans as you line up your soppy entrance with his cock, slick with your saliva and twitching with need. 

“Anything for you, monsieur.” Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock, letting him feel every inch of himself bury into you at an agonizing rate. Your wet, welcoming walls greedily sucked him in, wrapping snuggly around him so tightly that his head grows blank. 

Sanji's moans fill the room, his hands gravitating toward your waist as if it was pulled by another force, thumbing circles against your skin. It's taking everything in him not to bury his fingers into you and slam you down onto his cock, letting the most primal part of him mount you and take you in a way that directly challenges his morals.

The pace catches him off guard, fingers quickly moving to dig into the scratchy fabric of the couch. It wasn’t enough to steady him, the precipice of his release hastily rising at a rate he could barely keep up with.

The way your warm walls constrict around him, enveloping him in a way that makes him think you never want to let go. He barely has enough strength to pound up into you, opting instead to capture your nipple in his mouth, latching on while his hand caresses your other breast.

Sanji has always had a silver tongue, able to sing the sweetest praise and compliments toward any woman within a 20 foot radius. But you never thought about how well his mouth would be used in other ways. His soft tongue caresses your pert nipple, hardened by the contact and the slightly chilly air in the kitchen.

Lithe fingers gently pinch your other one, before trailing down along your sides and slipping between your thighs to roll your neglected nub between his digits. The sudden pressure gives your body an electric jolt, lurching forward and pressing your chest into Sanji's face more. 

Each roll of your hips earned another tender groan from the man below you, lost in a haze as you continuously fed him the sin that he had been craving for as long as he can remember. He pulls back from between the valley of your breasts, looking up at you with hearts flitting around in his eyes, his cock twitching in tune with its beat.

“Want you to come for me, mon-cheri.” He releases his mouth from your breast, looking up at you, limbs still twisted around you as he drives into you harder.

“Yeah? Want me to come all over your pretty cock?” You mewl, pressing your body flush against his as your own thighs start to tremble.

“Yes, please! I need it, need to come with you.” Sanji’s voice almost cracks under the intensity, gripping onto your shaky thighs as he begins to meet you thrusts, fucking himself harder into you. Your body jiggled under the intensity, spiraling you to your high and threatening to unravel you to your very core if you let go. 

So you did – letting the blinding white wash over your vision, course and tremble through your body as he fills you up with ropes of cum. Sanji all but whined, biting his lip in pure ecstasy as he teeters over the edge of oblivion.

The two of you try to catch your breath, a pair of lovers leaning against each other more out of necessity than comfort – but it was welcomed nonetheless. Sanji drew little circles along your back, the glide of his fingers soothing you back down from your high. 

He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, moving you so you’re sitting on the couch, your head lolling to the back of it as you stare up at the ceiling.

Sanji shakily rises to his feet, swiftly moving toward the kitchen to get a fresh cloth to clean up the mess between your legs. But his keen eye spies something else that might serve more of a purpose right now.

“May I ?” Sanji asks, kneeling down from where you are sitting on the couch, gently wedding himself between your knees. Taking the whip cream he had swiped on his finger, he drags it along your inner thigh and throbs at the way you gasp in surprise.  “After all, I still haven’t gotten my own taste yet.”

“But I told you –”

“Oh sweetheart, I know what you told me,.” Sanji pries your legs open a little more, licking his lips as he takes in the way his cum is oozing out of your pulsing cunt. “Would you really deprive me of this?”

The sheer eagerness fills his eyes like wide saucers. The over enthusiastic man before you was more than ready to please you now, holding back this entire time as you had your way with him. He had been so patient that maybe he did deserve a reward.

“No.” Your voice is a little quieter yet filled with unbridled curiosity. The ghost of his tongue gliding over your nipples earlier resurfaces and you shudder in delight.

“Good, so good for me.” Sanji praises, licking up the stripe of frosting that laid defensively on your inner thigh, dragging it all the way to your cunt. The soft breathes from Sanji tickled at the sensitive flesh and had you trying to squirm away. But he had quick reflexes, gently digging in fingers into your hips and pulling them closer to his face. “Wouldn’t want to waste a drop.”

Sanji lapped at the cum dripping out from your entrance, ensuring to clean up all of the mess he left behind. The taste of your shared essence hit his taste buds and he swears he’s never tasted anything better. Groaning into your cunt, he clutches onto your plushy thighs and begins to eat you out like a starved man.

The vibrations from his guttural grunts directly attack your clit. The hot flash of pleasure coursed through your veins, spreading along to every nerve that was attached to your body, singing out in ecstasy as your thighs began to tremble and lock around his head.

For added leverage, you weave your fingers through the soft, pretty strands of his blonde hair, tugging on them like reins that will steer you right to the climax you were steadily building towards.

“‘m close.” You gasp, not giving him a chance to move his head as he’s locked in. But you don’t hear one noise of complaint – instead, it was just another groan of approval that ripped through your body and pushed you towards the edge. 

Stars burst behind your eyes, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream as Sanji worked you through your orgasm, squeezing out all the pleasure before overstimulation started to bite at you. Using his hair, you pull him apart from your sensitive cunt. The blissed out smile on his face no doubt mirrored your own. 

“magnifique.” Sanji breathed out, watching as your chest heaves under the fight to catch your breath, your lungs desperately gulping down air as it took everything in you to float back down from your high. He leaves a  wake of gentle kisses along your inner thigh paired with the soft praises he coos at you. “The heavens orchestrated this moment for us, my own little angel coming down to save me.”

Sanji places one last kiss on your knee, tempted to go all the way down your leg and worship every inch of your skin. He rises back up, grabbing the cloth he had originally set out for and returns back before humming a tune that you hadn’t heard before.

“What’s that song?” you ask softly, body twitching in anticipation as Sanji runs the cool cloth between your legs and being very careful not to overstimulate you. Too much. His eyes flash up towards yours once you speak, his attention always set on you no matter what task he’s working on. This was no exception.

“There used to be a beautiful singer that would visit the Baratie when I was younger. She’d come in every few weeks and sing for everyone there.” He goes on to tell the story while still cleaning you up, kissing every freckle and mole he can spot as the cloth tenderly glides along your skin. “She sang many songs but this one was my favorite. It was a love song that told the story of a couple who longed to find adventure together, going as far as transcending time and space to meet each other in every life.”

“That's lovely.” You give a small smile as he finishes. Sanji reaches for your panties, sliding them back up your legs before it’s back where it belongs. His palms caress down your thighs as he rises back up, pressing a warm kiss against your forehead that made your head all fuzzy.  “I've never heard you sing before.”

“Then you should come into the kitchen more often while I’m cooking, Mon-Cheri. I'm always humming a tune.” His thumb trails along your bottom lip – mesmerized at how swollen and kiss-bitten it was. You push forward, giving it the slightest amount of pressure as you return the favor. 

“Maybe I will.” Sanji gives you a little wink, stepping back for a moment as he fishes through his pockets to find what he’s looking for.

“It would be my greatest honor to have the most beautiful person in all of the seas accompany me during my tedious tasks.” Sanji flashes his most charming smile before he places a cigarette in his mouth and sets it aflame with his trusty gold lighter. “Now, let’s have you finish your sweet treat so I can indulge in mine again after.”

tags : @ambiguouslady42 ᡣ𐭩

[lady-ashfade]

Yeah, she’s my mom.

Sally Jackson x wife reader x son!percy.

-£ Is this apart of the lore? No. Do I care? Not at all. So forget Gade and have Sally have a good partner. Let Percy have a good step parent. And, because I want her to be my wife.

-£ Warnings: Show and book spoilers, short, “Death”, Demigod luck, everything that happens in the show and the first book but with the reader, my idea of comfort, kinda angst but I’m trying to make this fluffy. Saying this again. Spoilers for the events that will hopefully be in the next two episodes

there was no doubt in his mind that you were meant to be his mom.

when his mother found you he remembered the glow she started to had. you made her so happy and even he could see that at a young age. but the way you cared for him to without a question, letting him cook with you at times and always poke his face with flour. or the time you sat with him when his mom was sick and played with him for hours and you didn’t even bat a eye.

there was always a lovely smell in the air that even he could smell sometimes when he was at school. it was sweet and smelled like every baked good in the world in one place. it brought him comfort. your scent was strong enough to lead monsters away, he didn’t smell like a demigod. the way his mother looked at you, the way you held her and helped out, made him realize that true love existed. and you were meant to be in their lives. to be his mother.

he could remember the first time he actually met you.

“hello there,” you bend down so low to his height, or close to it. the warm smile made him feel welcome, “your mommy says you are special? That’s great, I seem to need a helper in the back. you think you can help?”

he looked up at his mom as he clings to her hand, asking for permission. she gave him a slight nod. he let go and gave you the same look and took your hand. “thanks for letting me borrow your little hero.”

that was the first time and for the rest of the day he didn’t realize his mom was away. the time with you was so special but he quickly needed a nap and he fell asleep on your lap while watching a movie. you were the best babysitter. so every time his mother had somewhere to go he would find himself at your house.

soon after, you moved in with them! It was great since he got to see you all the time now. Then he got enrolled into school and he saw less of you but couldn’t help but count down the second he could see his mom and you.

sally, she was the best lover in the whole world. she was so loving to you. making your heart swell with warmth when you were near her. she had some fire in her and you loved that about her, unless you were on the end of that. there was no life without her.

so you two got married.

years after being sent to school after school, Sally could see how worried you became. and it pained her to never tell you the truth of who Percy was, who his father was, and much more. you constantly looked for schools to fit him and offered to get a extra job just to send him there. but each time she refused because they would be to far away.

but when percy came home. after she got a call from grover. “Dear, I think me and percy need some time to..” she glanced at him as he looked at her confused, “have some time alone.” That’s not how it ever went done. you all did things together.

“Of course.” you just smiled as you always did. understanding. you reached for him and ruffled his hair. “Be good for your mother, got it?” He huffed to fake being annoyed and agreed. he was sad you couldn’t come

if only he knew that would be the last time he saw you for a long time.

the trip to the beach cabin was smooth. him and his mom being normal as always and reconnecting their memories. until the night went south when he started to share his doubts with his mom. that he was broken. he was convinced that everything about him wasn’t normal. it didn’t help when his mom told him the truth of who his father was, and what that made him.

everything was so confusing, Grover turning out to be a goat. Them being chased by a minotaur with underpants, going to a “camp” for half-bloods like him? Yeah, he was probably going crazy.

“Mom!” Percy yelled as he watched his mom reach out to him one last time until she turned to dust in the monster hands. every part of his body boiling with anger that she was taken away. he saw you. how you had just lost your wife too but you had no clue, sitting at home all alone while everything went down.

you didn’t know. that sally was dead, that percy was safe, where he was or his mom. how scared you must be feeling right now. and it took all his willpower to stop himself from buying tickets back home and see you while he was supposed to be looking for the lighting bolt.

when he saw the video of you crying on tv he started to tear up. you defended him from all the accusations that he was involved. saying there was no way your sweet boy would ever hurt his mother.

“If you’re seeing this, come home.”

he almost died so many times. but he had to save his mom, he had to get himself and her back to you.

hades was touched by percy’s actions and  released his mother after everything went down. his mom returned. The manhunt for him resolved. But there was a new war coming, and he was betrayed. And even if he needed to stay at camp for the whole year and train. There was only option he could take.

To go back home.

[fandomlit]

academic affair, prologue (remus lupin x reader)

series summary being a professor at hogwarts always brought you an interesting day, but your past starts to reappear in odd ways: in the son of one of your former best friends, a dog you can't stop seeing, and an old crush getting the cursed job the school. it all looks to mean one thing--it's time to stop running from the things you tried hard not to think about.

warning none

a/n if you all are interested in seeing this continue as a series please please let me know!! im loving this concept :)

gif cred belongs to @rxmuz

harry, hermione, and ron were gathered in the empty classroom you were to begin a lesson in after your snack break--a habit they had grown into shortly after meeting you their first year. your feet were propped up on your desk as you ate your salad, watching harry pace and complain about his third-year classes already, despite only being a few days into the term.

"i think they're all riveting so far," hermione spoke bossily, shaking her head at the complaining boys.

"how would you know? you weren't even in potions today!" ron accused. you winked at hermione as her face flushed slightly. you knew her little time turner secret--it was a fate few students endured, but you had been one of the professors to recommend her for the honor when dumbledore inquired.

"i was there! we learned about the benefits of frog liver in healing potions!"

ron and harry looked to each other. "I actually don't know if that's true or not."

you let out a laugh before speaking, "it's just the second week, harry. it'll get better! patience is key."

harry huffed as he flopped into one of the chairs in the front row. "why can't i just take your class already?"

you shrugged. "i'll let you in." his head piped up. "if you can read my leaves from my old cup of tea for me." he sunk back down into the chair as you tutted, "have to know divination to take theory, harry. sad, but true."

he sulked for another moment before admitting, "i do like the new defense against the dark arts professor. lupin seems good."

the other two agreed and began to chat about it as you froze mid-chew.

when you heard remus lupin was taking the dark arts position, a rush of old, buried emotions came flooding back to you. your stupid schoolgirl crush seemed to take up space in your heart once again before you had even seen him again, and you cursed yourself for letting it happen. but remus was one of your best friends in your hogwarts days, and you had always wondered what could have been if you had ever had the guts to pursue something with him..

" .. professor? y/n!"

you snapped back into the moment, swallowing your bite as you gave your attention back to the trio. "sorry. got lost in thought. what's up?"

"did you know lupin when you went to hogwarts?"

your heart jumped unwillingly. "oh--yeah, of course. i don't want to air out his business for him if he hasn't said.. but he was very close to your parents, as well, harry." harry blinked in surprise. "but again, not my place to say without knowing if he wants all that to be said." the trio nodded.

"has he always had those scars?" ron asked, waving to his face. 

you smiled a little. "yes. not those, specifically, but he always had a knack for getting new wounds back in our hogwarts days. never without a scratch."

"sounds like-"

"professor l/n?" all four of you looked to the open door of the classroom to see professor lupin himself standing with one hand on the frame, as if he had been summoned when you began to talk about him. your heart skipped while he swept his gaze to the students, lifting a hand in greeting, "hello harry, miss granger, mister weasley." they greeted him in return before he looked back to you as you swung your feet to the ground a little clumsily. you prayed your face wasn't as hot as it felt. "have you all seen a toad hopping about? had a student say he lost sight of him after charms this morning."

"oh, neville?" you laughed softly and the other three chuckled. lupin nodded. "no, we haven't seen trevor. we'll be sure to inform the owner if he's spotted, however."

lupin gave you a nod. "thanks." he paused for a moment in the doorway, looking like he was going to say something more, before patting the doorframe and moving away. after a moment you cleared your throat, swinging your feet back onto your desk and shuffling your fork through your salad.

"so, what were we saying before all that? something about divination?"

"you totally fancy professor lupin!" hermione scoffed. it was the first time you had seen her gaze properly off of her homework all afternoon. and she looked delighted about it, too.

now you knew your face was bright red. "you're loony, hermione. i'm thirty-five years old--i don't 'fancy' people."

"oh, what do you call it then?" harry grinned. "a crush? taking a liking too? or do we skip straight to pining at your age?" he dodged when your shoe came flying at him, but he was laughing the whole way. ron was chortling just as loudly.

"you three have lost it!" you declared, standing unevenly from your desk. "remus and i were good friends back in the day--nothing more, nothing less."

"remus, is it?" harry gawked, making the other two laugh and tease again while you stripped off your other shoe. the warning bell rang just then.

"you've been saved, you have!" you called as they scrambled to get their things together. "teasing a professor like a student--rotten children!"

"and yet, you keep inviting us around!"

[lukolathoughts]

Dearest gentle readers,

As a GCSE English teacher in the UK, I have taught Of Mice and Men until I am blue in the face. I know the text like the back of my hand. There is a scene/extract where Carlson takes Candy’s dog outside to be shot (spoiler) and the men in the bunkhouse listen and wait anxiously for the eventual gunshot. The tension builds and builds and builds and the characters become more uncomfortable as they wait. To demonstrate how this tension might feel, I would often show my students a video of a balloon getting bigger and bigger and bigger. You get the idea. Until it becomes so uncomfortable you can’t stand to watch it. You know the explosion is coming but there is nothing you can do to stop it. The eventual BANG brings both fear and relief. This my friends, is how I perceive the Lukola fandom at this current moment. Like a kettle whistling away on a stove that no one knows how to turn off. All waiting for the eventual BOOM of the gunshot that feels inevitable. It is in tarot, the Tower.

Of Mice and Men is also a great one for division. White against black. Men against women. Social class. Feels familiar doesn’t it in this day and age? Ironically, next year it is being taken off UK GCSE English exam papers for being too ‘controversial’.  A damn shame in my opinion, as it’s just as relevant now as it was in the 1930’s. Probably even more so. Anyway, in this fandom we have mainly the Lukola’s against the Jakola’s or the Jakeholes as I call them. This narrative was perpetuated by a certain creator after the festival photos of Jake and Nic emerged in August. Until this point it was widely accepted that Nic had been socialising with her ‘gay’ friend Jake and no one batted an eyelid about it. Until those pap photos dropped of a seemingly ‘tipsy’ Nicola staring adoringly up at her ‘friend’ Jake and scratching his arm. Hmm, weird I thought. Didn’t we just have chaos week? Wasn’t the fandom floating on air at this point examining Nic’s ‘drink your milk’ t -shirt and obsessing over Nicola’s insta posts? We knew damn well Luke was home from Italy and we knew he had left two days early alone without his homeboys and most importantly Antonia. What is the meaning of these paparazzi shots taken from the VIP area of the festival. Didn’t Nic just sign with CAA talent agency a few weeks ago? The gears in my over stimulated brain dismissed the photos as Nic simply being over friendly with Jake, as she is prone to be, despite him looking bored and uninterested in her, and I simply went about my day.

Well, we know the rest of the story. The New York stalking incident where a fan practically chased Nicola and Jake down the street. Again, sent to find them reportedly by the ‘creator’. The photos and videos emerged and showed that Nic and Jake were holding hands. It’s okay, he was just leading her away as she has little Irish legs. Now the narrative was well under way and the gleeful Jakeholes had started to creep out from their swamp. The Jakehole ship was rising like an infested remnant of an 18th century passenger ship, spluttering its way across the Atlantic. This is no splendid brand new Titanic, my friends. This is a leaky, wooden, rickety old boat that I’m amazed gained it’s sea legs in the first place.

This was then followed up by the real kicker. The Lukola fandom had been floating on air in joined union and rejoicing over ‘October chaos week 2.0’ as I like to call it. It started with Luke’s cheeky October 3rd post of Polin and ended with the sheer euphoria of BOTH Luke and Nic seemingly on route somewhere. Perhaps, together, perhaps not. But he posts his luggage at an airport! When has Luke Newton ever done this? Nicola then posts herself smiling on a plane and I swear everyone just about fainted in excitement. Oh, the euphoria. Only then spoiled by the stalking incident, which I am convinced spooked Nic and Luke back into the shadows. Then the second lot of Jake and Nic pap pics hit, and this is the one that really hurt. I remember my discord going wild and then me and my bestie wife (she knows who she is) trying to justify the weather for about three weeks in the UK. Not that it really mattered. Distraction or no, the stage was set for the most bizarre few months of my life and undoubtedly Nicola, Luke and Jake as well. What a mess. The Jakehole ship gains some traction and starts chugging away like Popeye the sailor man after too much spinach.

But we’re a stubborn bunch the Lukola fandom. Things behind the scenes were not adding up and anyone with a set of eyes and a smart phone could deduce the real story from Jake’s Instagram. And then like some magic glitter bomb in comes Antonia. Can you hear the song Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus screeching in your ear? Because I can. I had done a tarot read that morning and got repeated Antonia cards and most specifically the girl with the snake. My breath caught in my lungs, and I knew she was coming like some willowy Darth Vader with an axe to grind, eating a lettuce sandwich. I quickly jumped on You Tube and gave my warnings. I know it was inevitable. I know a lot of other readers got the same message that day too and I give some of them credit for that. Prepare the ship! incoming attack port side. Boom. I’ve really started to fear seeing bowls of pasta which is ridiculous. I think I have PTSD from pasta gate 1 and 2.

And here my friends is where another division happens. I can pinpoint it exactly for you. Antonia’s pasta video from a Rome restaurant that Luke had been tagged at an hour before. All hell breaks loose, and I mean it. I got a sick feeling in my stomach, not because I believe a word that girl says, but because I KNEW others would. People started jumping off the USS Lukola quicker than I could say, wait a minute, please just wait! There were me and others running around the deck shoving the band out of the way as the death throes of Nearer my God to Thee sound in a haunting melody. I could see the captain of the ship, followed by his foolish crew, letting the water suck them down whole. It was no use, they had jumped all the way down to Davey Jones locker while I still stood on deck, with many others, watching their faces disappear into the murky depths of the black sea.

I do not wish to give Antonia anymore power, but girl I would have been impressed if it wasn’t such a mean thing to do. There is speculation, Luke may have given her the video to distract from some things, that might even be a bit too delulu for even me to comprehend. She also had friends in Italy at the time who could have given her the video, including a dancer friend of hers. She could have simply saw Luke’s location and downloaded a video off the internet. Or she simply was there. I must come to terms with that critically in my own mind as a possible option. However, I do think if she really was there, she would have posted more than some woman making pasta. Admittedly, I am one of those people who like to take pictures of my food, and I bet my arse, Antonia is too. Where is your plate of pasta Antonia? Where are the pictures of Luke’s studio, his hotel room, his shoes? Any bit of evidence you are with him like she used to post incessantly during the world tour to prove her proximity.

We found out later that Luke was not at the restaurant that day. The man pictured was not the owner and just a fan who had a picture with Luke some days or weeks before. The next day after pasta gate 1.0, Luke pushes a bunch of PR explaining he is in Rome to film his first movie White Mars. I felt a lot of energy behind this from him, even if he didn’t organise the Deadline article directly. Antonia was punished accordingly and was in my imagination told by Luke, I will not like your pathetic grid posts on Insta for the whole month of November, so don’t bother. She didn’t post to her grid.

The damage had been done, almost like a tornado hitting and spinning USS Lukola on it’s head. But we were still standing with a new faction of die hard Lukola’s forming. Nothing short of a kissing photo or a word coming from either Nic or Luke was moving us off this ship and that is where we are today. The Lukola’s who jumped, what happened to them? Well, like ghosts of their former selves they spend their time walking along the seabed aimlessly between still wanting to be on the ship but having a new perspective of ‘realism’. We must be realistic, me hearties!! Luke is still most likely with Antonia (eye roll) and Nicola is with Jake (major eye roll, they have left my sockets). I talked a lot about critical thinking in my last blog and I don’t want to rehash it all here, but there is no evidence that Luke has been within the same breathing space as Antonia since last July. I do not count the dodgy Facebook post by Luke’s mother as any kind of believable evidence. No, I also do not believe that Luke’s mother has a beef with Nicola either. Anyone who ever meets Nicola seems to be sucked into her light like a moth to a Dyson hoover. I do not believe Michelle would to it to either Luke or Nic, as I have explained previously.

So, the last week has been a bit exciting for the Lukola diehard’s. Again, here comes another split. Crack, like lightening hitting a road. Nicola appears looking fabulous at the Big Boys premiere in London last Wednesday 22nd January. She was again dressed in black. I should have put bets on it, but I’d win pennies at this point in my predictions that Nicola would be wearing black. Now why is she wearing black again you ask, well dearest gentle reader that is the question, isn’t it? Why does she have a bottle of non-acholic beer at her feet? Why is her dress at the event raising eyebrows? I will tell you why: the Empress, the High Priestess and the Moon repeatedly. It’s as simple as that for me. That is all I will say, because the hate is real guys. I woke up Thursday morning to a barrage of insults. I had not said anything publicly on Twitter about Nicola.

Here now comes the death knell of my one remaining Lukola discord. I woke up to the announcement the server was being shut down. I took my Twitter private to stop the trolls and I thought it was a bright idea to make my own discord server, to hell with the haters. Welcome everyone else. Anyone who disparages Nicola in any way, shape or form in discussions of personal body issues I find disgusting. Talking about a person’s weight is vile to me, it is not acceptable and calling someone ‘just fat’ to explain away other things is abhorrent. We should not be saying things publicly. So now there the Lukola’s who believe one thing and the ones who still support Luke and Nic, but do not believe what they are seeing. That’s okay and we will not force those opinions on others. We will listen and we will wait. We will not comment on Nicola’s body.

There is one last split I want to touch on briefly. The division of the tarot readers. It is unfortunately the case now, much to my inner anguish. I started in this fandom listening to them and loving the readings. I had previously been reading privately on Harry and Meghan Markle (don’t even ask) and I was scared to read on Nicola and Luke because I didn’t want to know that weren’t together, because June 13th broke my heart just like everyone else’s. But these tarot readers were amazing, they gave me hope, and I truly admired and learned a lot from the OG’s. I listen and believe my spirit team implicitly and I will not turn on my intuition. I will not turn my back on Nicola and Luke. There is too much evidence to support they are together. Christmas and NYE confirmed this for me significantly and the fact that Jake got a job in Sheffield yesterday. Good for you Jakey boy, off you go and let the grown-ups carry on now. There are tarot readers who sadly stopped believing, they jumped off with the rest of the frantic Lukola’s and they keep trying to swim back to the surface, before being dragged back down by yet another social media post of the adjacents or paparazzi picture, despite evidence to the contrary.

You know who doesn’t have social media and her readings never change, and she stays true to her heart? The lovely Meghan on YouTube. She doesn’t know about adjacent drama, so they are simply not in her remit and her spirit guides do not address them either. My advice is to follow her lead and listen to what Nicola and Luke tell us, no one else.

It is okay as well for other tarot readers to have different opinions and I respect that, but as public facing roles with large platforms, it is our responsibility to be excellent role models to our followers. We should be supporting each other as women and not disparaging those we read on with our biases. Foul mouthed rants and calling Nicola names is not helpful.

In conclusion, the fandom is a powder keg. We are all sitting in the bunkhouse divided but ultimately waiting for the same gunshot that will snap us back. This might put us all back on the same page, all back to shipping Lukola where we started last year, or this gunshot could divide us further as all factions refuse to see or believe the truth. I truly believe we are coming to the end of this now and one way or another, the truth is on it’s way. We the fandom are the Tower, not Nic and Luke. One way or another, the tower will fall. One gunshot and bam.

[dreaming-medium]

White Nail Polish

Pairing: I.N x reader

Genre: pure fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: Every Sunday when Yang Jeongin comes home to your shared apartment, there you’ll be, in your corner seat on the couch, painting your nails the same white color. But today, when he steps inside, you’re not there.

——————————————————————-

You always painted your nails yourself.

“It’s easier!” You would tell Jeongin with a bubbly smile. “Plus, it’s so nice to take some time to pamper myself. And I get to save money.”

It was a simple tradition he’s come to look forward to.

Every Sunday, when Jeongin walked in the door to your shared apartment and the smell of acetone smacked him in the face, he would always smile.

There you would be, on your designated corner seat on the couch, in your coziest, oversized hoodie, a fresh clay face mask on your face with your hair held back by a fuzzy headband.

The same fuzzy headband he stuck in your Christmas stocking last year.

You’d only just be finishing taking the last coat off your nails by the time he got home.

Without fail, Jeongin would walk in and immediately open the window to air out the chemical smell. He would then lecture you about fumes and how dangerous it was to be inhaling them.

Then, you would giggle and ask him to sit with you. He would do so without any fuss and a happy tingle in his chest.

Both of you would talk and watch TV until it was time for bed.

Sundays were his new favorite days.

The roommate line of your relationship was quickly crossed with how you were as a person, your overly friendly nature couldn’t keep you apart for long. After living together for two years now, Jeongin would easily proclaim you as one of his best friends.

His life was always changing, nothing was ever the same; nothing except for you and your white nail polish.

So, when he opened the door and was met with only the smell of a burning candle, Jeongin frowned.

The living room was dark. The TV wasn’t on. The entire apartment was standing still.

Not even a fresh pot of coffee was sitting on the counter.

You were home, though. Your shoes were by the door and your keys were hanging on the hook.

Never once have you missed a ‘Self Care Sunday’ as you coined them.

Even when you had the flu, you made sure to paint your pretty nails.

The door shut behind him, the click of the lock was as hollow as the apartment felt.

Jeongin kicked his shoes off and made his way down the hall, tossing his bag in his room before walking across the hall to stand in front of your closed door. The soft glow of your fairy lights shined from the crack underneath the wood.

There’s soft sounds coming from inside, it sounds like you’re watching videos on your phone.

He knocks a few times, you hum for him to come in.

Jeongin pushes the door open gently, his head peeking in first before his body.

You’re a lump of blankets on top of the bed. If he looked quickly, he might not have realized that it was you underneath all the blankets and pillows.

“Y/N?” he asks quietly, stepping inside slowly.

Your eyes look at him, they seem… dull. When you see his face, you lock your phone and place it down on your bed.

Again, you only hum.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asks. Jeongin walks towards the bed and sits on the edge. “You’ve never missed a Sunday before.”

You shrug— or at least, he thinks it’s a shrug, all Jeongin’s able to see is the lump of blankets move around.

His eyebrows pull together and he purses his lip. “What’s going on?”

You look away from him. “Just… life weighing down extra today. Exams, job, finding an internship, life, everything.”

Every day you were bubbly. Not a moment went by where you didn’t have a varying degree of a smile on your face. Some people had a resting bitch face, you had a resting happy face.

The corners of your lips were perpetually upturned.

Seeing you now, like this, a sad lump of fleece, pulled at Jeongin’s heartstrings.

You reach one hand out from under the blankets and place it gently on top of his. “Sorry for being all meh,” you huff a humorless laugh through your nose. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I think I need to be a bedbug today.”

Jeongin thinks for a moment, he looks around your room to your desk. Everything that you usually use on Sundays is there on top.

He flips his hand around and picks yours up, bringing it closer to his face. Cocking his head to the side, he peers down at your nails, making sure to exaggerate how much he’s judging the chipped polish.

“No, no,” he says, clicking his tongue. “This won’t do at all.”

“Jeongin—“

“Nope, look at this.” He holds your hand up for you to see. “How unprofessional. We have to take care of this.”

You roll your eyes. And it doesn’t slip past Jeongin’s watchful eye that your lips twitch in a smile.

“I just don’t feel like it right now,” you whine.

“That’s fine, I’ll do it.”

Jeongin pulls on your arm to yank you out of the blanket pile.

You blink a few times and allow him to sit you up on the bed. A large, stretched out t-shirt hung off your shoulder, your hair sticks up in different directions.

“What?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I’ll paint your nails, come on. Free of charge.”

Jeongin stands up from the bed and holds his hand out for you. You just blink at him over and over.

“You’re going to paint my nails?” The question ends with an incredulous laugh.

Rolling his eyes, Jeongin thrusts his hand out for you to take again. “Yes, I’m going to paint your nails, what’s so odd about that?”

“Have you ever painted your nails before?”

“No, but I watch you do it every week. How hard could it be?”

Your face scrunches up but a small twinkle returns to your eyes. It doesn’t slip past Jeongin.

Deciding that you’re taking too long, Jeongin leans down and picks you up over his shoulder.

A loud squeal comes from your throat that dissolves into giggles. His heart lights up at the sound— it always has.

Even on his worst days, hearing your laughter was like sitting in front of a fireplace during a snowstorm. When he’s sick, he swears he doesn’t need medicine, he just needs to sit near you.

He can still remember one night where he was at his wit’s end, everything that could go wrong, did. He was so overstimulated and angry at everything that he could scream and cry at the same time.

But then, your laughter pierced through the gray clouds of his mind. Your fit of giggles traveled through your door and into his room, they were so muffled but uncontrolled.

Slowly, they dissolved into cackles. Breathless wheezes and snorts that made him smile without knowing what you’re looking at.

You had one of those laughs that was so contagious, especially to him.

There was a bit of shuffling, a door opened, and then you came through his with one of the happiest smiles he’s ever seen. Tears coming down your red face from laughing so hard.

“You have to see this!” you wheezed out.

What was it? A video of a duck sitting on top of a water park geyser, when the water jet activated, the duck went flying.

It wasn’t even that funny. But hearing your angelic laughter made it hilarious.

Suddenly, his day wasn’t so bad anymore. He couldn’t even remember what he was mad about.

That’s the friendship you both have always carried on with.

A shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, an arm to grab when you’re laughing too hard, an extra coffee to bring home, a constant reminder to refill the Brita. It gets deeper and deeper every day.

Jeongin unceremoniously plops you into your corner seat and you let out an ‘ooof!’

He points down at your face. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog!” You laugh nonetheless while Jeongin’s lithe form disappears down the hallway again.

You look down at your nails. They desperately needed to be done. After studying for hours on end while chewing on your nails, typing on your laptop, and picking nervously at them, there’s barely any polish left.

Truly, you were just going to wait until tomorrow— but if Jeongin was offering, who were you to turn it down?

He comes back out into the living room with everything you typically used. You honestly never noticed how much he paid attention to your pampering.

Setting everything down on the table, he sits cross legged on the seat next to yours and clicks the TV on. A random Christmas movie plays in the background.

He grabs the remover and a cotton pad and goes to work. All the motions look so natural after he grabs your first hand; like he’s the one that does this every Sunday, not you.

The two of you are facing one another, knees practically touching. He’s so gentle when he works.

The chemical burning smell of acetone makes him scrunch his nose up.

“Aren’t you going to open the windows?” you tease.

He grins. “In a minute. The smell has to permeate the house first.”

“And here I thought you hated the smell.”

“I do,” he wipes off polish and goes to the next finger. “But it’s just … something that’s grown on me.”

“Acetone?”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Strangely enough. I hate it, but I love it.”

He switches to the next hand.

The Christmas movie continues to play, it’s a classic one with Korean translated subtitles at the bottom of the screen. It’s weird hearing English come out of the TV.

Jeongin’s been trying extra hard with English since you moved in. With you being from America, it was like having a live-in tutor.

“I … need remote, please.” He asked in a slow, calculated tone.

“You need the remote,” you corrected him, holding it out of his reach.

“I need the remote.”

“Why?”

“Change channel.”

“Change the channel.”

“Oh my god.”

Your attention goes back to Jeongin. He’s wiping the last of the nail polish off your fingers.

He’s been your rock these last two years. And you’ve been his.

Neither of you really enjoy having emotional conversations or talking about your feelings, you both prefer to stay quiet about it. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need some form of support.

That’s how you two work out so well. When one needs help, the other is there with jokes or food or a movie ready to watch.

Or in this case, nail polish ready to be applied.

With a huff, he stands up from the couch and pushes open one of the windows. He fans his hand in front of his face just to be extra dramatic.

Rolling your eyes, you poke him in the side when he sits back down on the couch.

You were expecting him to put the paint on right away afterwards, so imagine your surprise when he picks up the small pair of clippers.

With a raised eyebrow, you take your hand away a little. His grip tightens and his head snaps up to look at you with a mock-offended expression.

“Nuh-uh!” you tease. “You’re gunna give me man nails!”

“I will not!” he jests back. “I will clip your nails exactly how you usually do it!”

Your eyes narrow, he mirrors it.

You jut out your bottom lip, he mirrors it.

You slowly turn your head to the side to side-eye him, he mirrors it.

“I'm trusting you, Yang Jeongin. Christmas is next week. I don’t want man hands.”

He scoffs and looks back down at your hand. “I have rough news, Y/N.”

You balk and rip your hand away from him and then usher a swift smack to his bicep.

The two of you giggle the more you smack him around playfully.

“I do not have man hands!” you yell.

He laughs with you, holding his arms up to shield himself. “Okay, okay! Fine! You have beautiful womanly hands! Enough!”

You stop smacking him. “That’s more like it.”

With that adorable smile, Jeongin reaches forward and grabs your hand once again.

“One set of ridiculously short nails coming up.”

“I’ll poison your coffee tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Yang.”

He snickers once more and then starts cutting your nails in small, little snips.

Jeongin just trims them a bit— he does a perfect job if you’re being completely honest. You preferred them a little longer anyway.

When he picks the nail file up, you’re less wary.

He files your nails down a little more, rounding off the edges just how you like.

“How was rehearsal?” you ask quietly.

“Are we gossiping now? Is this what it’s like getting your nails done at a salon?”

You chuckle. “Yes, now tell me all about it.”

“It was good, I had vocal training after, so it was a long day.”

“What does your day look like tomorrow?”

“Nothing tomorrow. But Tuesday we leave for Japan until Thursday.”

You hum, watching him file your nails. “Nervous?”

“Always. It’s never gone away.”

You giggle. “I think if you weren’t nervous, you would have too big of a head.”

“Or I would be Minho.”

Then, simultaneously, you both go: “Same thing.” And then break into a fit of laughter.

He files your one pinky finger and looks down at both of your hands at once.

“How’s that shape look?”

You bring them up closer for you to look at. They all look even and perfect.

How is he doing this?

“I think you should open a salon,” you tell him, still inspecting your nails.

“Ah, yes, let me abandon my idol lifestyle to be a nail tech.”

Jeongin grabs your one hand and files a little notch off that you didn’t see.

Again, you giggle.

He puts the nail file down and picks up the bottle of white polish you use every week. He shakes it around just like you do, hitting it against the heel of his palm.

Holding his hand out, you put yours in his.

“If you couldn’t be an idol, what would you do?” you ask suddenly.

Jeongin doesn’t even pause, but you can see he’s thinking about your question as he unscrews the bottle. The excess on the brush is swiped on the neck.

“Hmm,” he weighs your question. “I don’t know, really. I love singing so much.”

Jeongin grabs your one finger and swipes the polish over your nail.

“You could be a lounge singer,” you tease. “Singing in those fancy, swanky nightclubs at the piano.”

“Would I have a tip jar on top?”

“Oh, of course. It would be overflowing from all the women who fall in love with you every night.”

His cheeks heat up from the compliment, moving from nail to nail with the first coat.

“Don’t say things like that,” he mumbles.

You snicker. “Sorry, but all the old ladies would be head over heels for you. They’d empty their wallets into your tip jar and you would smile and wink at them with those dimples.”

With your free hand, you poke at his face. Jeongin swats at your hand with a whine.

“I’ll mess up your nails on purpose!” he threatens.

Still laughing, you take your hand away from his face. He switches to the second hand. You blow on the first one.

“Okay, your turn: why white?” He asks, paying attention to his careful brush strokes.

“The color?”

He hums an ‘mhmm’.

You smile down at the color on your first hand he did, admiring the way the white looks.

“I think it’s pretty,” you tell him.

“That’s all?”

You snort. “Does there need to be another reason?”

“No, I guess not.” He moves from finger to finger.

“It makes me feel a little extra beautiful. I can’t explain it, but having my nails painted white feels so pretty.”

His own smile is warm and happy. His cheeks scrunch up and the small blush of pink that sits on them make your stomach dance.

You’ve never really needed anything else like you’ve needed his presence— nor have you craved anything similar.

Jeongin is Jeongin. He’s simple and everything you could ever ask for.

“My turn again; if you could change one decision you’ve made in the last five years, what would it be?”

Jeongin whistles and finishes the first coat on your hands. “That’s a heavy question, Y/N.”

You continue to blow on your nails. “Well, I figured we were getting deeper and deeper.”

“I asked you why you liked white nail polish!”

“And I asked you to take a deep dive into your regrets, I think these are pretty similar.”

“Is it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Jeongin grabs the first hand he was working on and takes a look at the polish. “How long does it take to dry?”

“It’s a special gel polish, so ten minutes between coats.”

“How long do you think it’s been?”

“Maybe five?”

He nods and turns to look at the TV. His eyes scan over the subtitles at the bottom to understand what’s happening.

But you don’t look at the TV, you continue to stare at him.

Jeongin’s boyish charm never seems to go away no matter what. Even after all the soft lines of his face turned into hard ones, that teasing happiness is still there.

When you became roommates two years ago it was because you desperately needed a place to stay and he just as direly needed someone to pay the other half of the rent.

A match made in Heaven.

He continued to be an idol and you continued college.

When you first moved in, Jeongin told you that if you wanted more privacy, to let him know, that he was more than content to leave communal spaces to you.

You looked him in the eye and asked, “What if I wanted to hang out with you?”

Neither of you have looked back.

You needed a friend and he needed someone who wasn’t in his group. The boys can only do so much for his sanity.

Sometimes he just needs to come home to acetone and fresh coffee.

Scrunching your nose, you look down at your first hand and poke at the first coat. When your fingerprint doesn’t show up, you hold it out to Jeongin.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He looks back at you, then down at your hand and takes it. God, his hands are so soft.

“It’s too heavy of a question,” he whines.

“I wanna know the answer, though.”

He applies the second coat to a nail.

“I mean, I regret having to wear some of the outfits they had us in before and right after debuting.”

You laugh, it’s a cackle. Jeongin cracks a smile— it feels like a victory in his head.

“Okay, but I mean a real regret. Something you had control over.”

He stops painting your nails and thinks. His lip pulls between his teeth and his eyebrows pull together. Jeongin’s eyes flit around while his brain reels.

After a few seconds, he shakes his head and looks up at you. “I really can’t think of anything, Y/N.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Not even me moving in?”

His eyes glisten and soften considerably when he hears you say that. The corners of his lips twitch and his heart stutters in his chest a bit.

It feels like cotton is shoved into his mouth while he looks at you. Your hair is still frizzy and everywhere, bare faced with sleepy bags under your eyes, pajamas from this morning still on.

If there was one decision that he was sure he made the best choice of in the past five years, it was you.

“No,” he says with a twinkly smile. “Not even that.”

His demeanor catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show too much.

Jeongin looks at you for a few more seconds before looking down to switch hands.

“My turn again. If you could do anything for a living, what would you do?” he questions while carefully painting.

“Oh, easy. Actress.”

Surprised, he looks back up at your face. “Really?”

“Yeah! I was doing a lot of acting back in America, just local stuff. But when it came time for college, I gave it up.” Your eyes shine sadly. “I was pretty good too, but it’s just one of those careers that have too much uncertainty.”

“Like being an idol.”

“Exactly.” You swallow thickly. “So I went for the secure route.”

Jeongin focuses down on your nails again.

You keep talking. “Besides, I get to live through you.”

His painting stutters, but he continues nonetheless. “What do you mean?”

“You come home with these fun stories of being famous, all the people you get to meet, the countries you get to see. You get to wear Alexander McQueen for God’s sake.”

He blushes, and paints the second coat on your pinky finger.

“Jeongin, your life is so cool. You get to fly to Japan on Tuesday, and you said it like it was just a regular commute. That’s … that’s amazing, you know?”

“It’s not all like that.” He inspects each nail, making sure nothing got messed up.

“I know. There’s crazy fans and all the blood, sweat, and tears.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes. “‘Crazy’ isn’t even a good enough word to describe some of them.”

You laugh.

The TV continues to play.

“But you get to do what you love,” you whisper to him through a thick voice.

Jeongin looks at you closely. There’s unshed tears welling up in your eyes. His heart sinks.

Swallowing, your eyes drop to the couch.

“I gave up on that dream a while ago.” You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. “So I decided to live vicariously through you and your fun stories.”

You shrug and roll your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Your lip quivers.

With your hands still in his, Jeongin threads your fingers together and holds your hands up between you two.

He says nothing.

He doesn’t know what to say.

What can he say in this situation?

You don’t need him to say anything, though. You never have. The fact that he’s there is enough.

“Maybe that’s why we workout so well as roommates,” you say, “no one would suspect a normal girl, with a boring 9-5 would be living with idol superstar I.N from Stray Kids.” Humor was always your coping mechanism.

Letting out a deep breath towards the ceiling, you look back down at him, hands still intertwined.

“Thanks for letting me mooch off your life stories.”

Jeongin chuckles. “Anytime.” He pauses. “For the record, I don’t think your life is boring.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

He nods enthusiastically. “You did that research study about traffic safety last month, I thought it was really interesting.”

An unbelieving laugh leaves your chest. “You don’t need to lie.”

He squeezes your hands. “No, really! You’re studying so hard to be an analyst. You sat outside in the freezing cold for days and days and days watching the crosswalk of a busy road just to collect data.”

It’s true, you did do that. Jeongin also stopped by about once every other hour to give you a hot beverage or food.

If he noticed you were getting cold, the next trip consisted of extra jackets and blankets.

The things you do for research.

“After your findings were submitted, the city started the process to add more crosswalks to busy streets. You’re like a superhero.”

You stare at him for a second before bursting out in laughter. “What a lame superhero!”

Your cackles, like always, are contagious. He can’t fight his own giggles bubbling to the surface in his heart.

Before he knows it, Jeongin is laughing with you.

“I’m Captain Statistics! I beat the odds no matter what!”

He laughs even harder at your pun.

The two of you are giggling so much, your bodies falling forward on the couch, hunched over in a fit of laughter.

But, your hands stay intertwined.

Eventually, the laughter dies down.

Jeongin squeezes your hands once more and flips them around to look at your nails.

“I think it’s time for the top coat, Captain Statistics.”

You look at your hands and test the polish. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He switches the white bottle out for the clear coat. Repeating the shaking process and grabbing your hand.

The top coat goes on much quicker than the white polish does.

“Thank you for this, Jeongin,” you say quietly.

The smile that grows on his face reminds you of those timelapse videos of flowers growing in the Spring. It takes up the entirety of his face— and your heart.

“Of course, Y/N. Happy to do it.”

He moves to the other hand. You blow on the first one.

It’s the truth, he was happy to do it. He’d do it again if you asked him to. Jeongin would happily paint your nails every Sunday for the rest of your lives if you wanted.

Words sit in his mouth, words that he’s wanted to say for months now, words that would change the entirety of your relationship.

They’re so heavy on his tongue.

Jeongin can practically feel them tumbling out. He has to clench his jaw from keeping his confession to himself.

How much longer until he explodes? You can only shake a soda bottle too much before everything comes out the top.

God, he loves you so much.

You say it to him all the time, you say it to everyone so often.

“I love you” is said all the time by you. It’s as easy as breathing for you.

He asked you about it once, why do you say it so much? Your answer?

“People need to know when they’re loved. I will happily be that person that reminds them.”

As if he couldn’t love you more already. You’re just a light, a star, a sun.

Yes.

You’re his sun. The center of his galaxy. Everything revolves around you, he gravitates to you. He can’t help but bask in your warmth every single day.

The last of the top coat is painted delicately. They’re done.

“Finished,” he says quietly.

Your smile lights up the room.

“God, you’re the best, Jeongin,” you say, admiring his handiwork. “Thank you so much!”

He mirrors your smile and starts putting everything away. “Anytime, Y/N.”

Jeongin screws the lids tighter on the polish and acetone. A car honks outside. The TV plays on. The heat kicks on. You blow on your nails.

“I’ll miss you this week,” you tell him casually.

He looks over at you, folding his long legs up on the couch again.

“Really?”

“I always miss you, Jeongin. The apartment feels colder when you’re gone.”

He studies your face for a long stretch of time.

You’re too busy smiling at your nails to notice.

He can’t take it anymore.

“I lied to you,” he says suddenly. You look at him, slightly alarmed.

“What?” you ask.

“I lied— when I said I had no regrets, I lied.”

Your face scrunches up. “Why?”

He swallows nervously. “Close your eyes and I’ll tell you.”

You eye him curiously for a few more seconds before your eyes slide shut.

Jeongin’s heart rate picks up exponentially. It’s going to explode at this rate.

He leans forward towards your face, you’re so perfect. How are you so perfect?

He hesitates.

But, he swallows his nerves and swoops in the rest of the way, pressing his lips to yours delicately. Your body jolts, but you don’t move away from him.

It’s no more than a long peck. Electricity shoots through his body anyway.

A shock goes from his heart to his toes. He can barely feel his fingers.

You’re so magical. How do you do this?

Jeongin pulls away slowly, brushing your noses together and letting your shaky exhales mingle with one another.

He can’t open his eyes. He’s so worried that if he does, he’ll see rejection and disdain in your beautiful eyes.

You’re the first one to speak through the thick silence.

“I fail to see how that is a regret,” you whisper.

He laughs. Like always, you get him to laugh. He rests his forehead on yours.

“I regret not doing it sooner.” His long fingers come up to cup your one cheek.

You hum and lean into his touch.

Validation courses through his veins. It’s taking everything in his body not to jump for joy.

All he wants to do is stand up and scream, pump his fist in the air and claim victory.

Before he could do any of that, you lean forward and kiss him again.

Your top lip slots between his, his bottom in between both of yours.

A sigh of relief leaves his nose, his other arm wraps around your shoulders to bring you even closer. He can’t get you close enough to his body.

Closer, closer, closer.

Please, he needs you to be as close as possible.

He pulls back from the first kiss just to press another one to your lips.

Again, and again, and again— he pulls away just to swoop back in.

It’s never enough.

It’s like drinking water after you’ve been parched all day. He never knew he was crawling through a desert until now.

“Jeongin,” you giggle through his frantic kisses.

He grunts in response and continues to kiss you more. Why can’t he get enough?

He’s resigned himself to his fate. He’ll need to kiss you forever until the world ends.

“Jeongin,” you say again, still laughing.

How has he gone this long without your kisses? It’s madness.

Finally, you pull back. He dives in for another kiss, you turn your head with a brilliant smile, his lips meet your cheek.

Eh, that’ll do.

Over and over again he pecks your cheek. Laugh after laugh comes from you.

“My nails!” you finally call out. “You’re going to ruin them!”

His hand turns your face to look at him. “I’ll do them again. I’ll do them again and again, just please let me kiss you.”

Unable to take it any longer, you throw your arms around his neck and smash your lips together.

You pull him down onto the sofa with you, kiss after kiss being shared between the two of you.

How was he supposed to go to Japan now?

————————————————————————

(A/N: yes, the duck video exists. You can see it here. The first time I saw it I laughed so hard my housemate came in to check on me.)

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 4 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9

The Dutch and American couldn't keep each other out of their thoughts for the next few days.

Max found himself wanting to be around you more often. He found something other than racing, that he felt joy to be around.

You found herself drawn to the dark and mysterious aura that the Dutchman unmistakably had. Something about him made you feel something you never felt before.

In the days since they last saw each other, Max made good use of your number. Within an hour of leaving the coffee shop, he texted you.

Since then, they've been communicating nonstop. If they weren't busy with work, they were either texting or calling each other.

It wasn't until the upcoming Thursday that you felt like Max was becoming distant with you.

You were saddened by the thought. You rarely put Yourself out there, especially towards men, but something about Max made you want to try it.

By Sunday afternoon, Max had called you, extremely excited after winning the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. It was a close race between Ferrari and Redbull, but Max ultimately won in the end.

You had spent your Sunday painting, trying to keep your thoughts clear of a certain Dutchman. You wouldn't allow herself to think about it more than you should.

You had put yourself out there and was ghosted. You wouldn't wallow in self-pity for a man You had only met once. At least that's what you told herself.

In front of you lay a painting of piercing blue eyes that stared right back at you. You stared back, getting lost in the familiar gaze before the sound of your phone ringing broke your thoughts.

Quickly grabbing the phone without looking at who was calling, you answered, "Hello?"

"Hey," you heard the rough voice of the man who has been haunting your thoughts recently.

"Max?"

"Why do you sound surprised to get my call?"

"I didn't think you would call me," You said lightly, your heart racing just from his voice. "You seemed to not want to talk to me recently."

"I'm sorry, little lamb," You heard him sigh through the phone. "I was away for work and things got busy."

"Oh," You blushed at the pet name he said, "So you weren't done with me?"

"Little lamb, you can't get rid of me that easy," you giggled at his answer before responding.

"How was the work trip then?"

"It went well, but I can't wait to come back and see you again."

"When do you come back?"

"Tonight. I'd love to see you again sometime this week."

"I would love to see you too," you bit your lip nervously. "You have to tell me all about your trip."

"I will little lamb," he chuckled.

The Redbull driver couldn't keep the smile off his face. His little lamb wanted to be around him when he came back.

He was upset that you believed him to be ignoring you when that wasn't his intention at all. Max didn't tell you that he had gone away for work. He's used to people knowing who he is.

The name Max Verstappen has become a household name overnight it seemed. After winning his World Championship title last year, especially under the circumstances, he had built a name for himself. Good and bad.

So for him, you were a breath of fresh air. Being around someone that did know him, or what he does for a living, made him feel normal. As an F1 driver, normal is hard to come by.

Daniel Ricardo, the McLaren driver, and Max's closest friend, watched him on the phone from a distance. He had never seen his friend's face light up as much as it did when speaking to whoever was on the other end.

Daniel was there for the Dutchman since the beginning of his career at Redbull. Max was his younger brother in his head and he wouldn't have it any other way.

The McLaren driver knew that the Dutchman past, knowing he hadn't had the easiest life and his life revolved around racing. After watching the Redbull driver win his first title, the Aussie watched him slowly start to become a recluse.

Riccardo knew the young driver had been struggling since his world championship title came with a lot of controversy. Max wanted to prove to everyone, including himself, that he was a great driver.

Seeing the Aussie walking towards him, the Dutchman quickly told his little lamb goodbye and that he'd call back when he got the chance.

He didn't want anyone to know about you just yet. You were his escape from reality and he refused to share that escape with anyone else in fear of losing it.

"You all good mate?" The Australian driver asked once he got closer to the other driver, noticing the small smile on his face.

"Yeah," he responded shortly, letting the smile drop from his face.

"Who were you just on the phone with?" The driver smirks at his old teammate. He couldn't help but be nosey.

Especially after noticing how quickly he got off the phone when he approached. He wouldn't be Daniel Riccardo if he didn't know any drama.

"No one," Max shook his head quickly, refusing to fall for the other man's antics.

"Did our little Dutchman find a girl?"

"No," Max deadpanned. If he told the Aussie, it wouldn't be long before Lando, the other McLaren driver knew. And the younger driver couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

"You don't smile, especially on the phone, for just anyone."

"Daniel," the younger driver sighed, knowing the smile on his friend's face meant he wasn't going to stop pushing him. "If I tell you something you will drop the subject?"

The Aussie nodded his head vigorously, his classic grin plastered on his face. He just wanted to know what was going on with his friend.

If a girl is making him this happy, he'd like to know about you.

"You can't tell anyone about her okay? I don't need this getting out especially since it just started."

"I promise I won't say anything."

"She's amazing. She's gorgeous and absolutely the most innocent human being out there," he smiles thinking about you he hopes to see tomorrow. "The best part is, she doesn't know who I am."

"She doesn't?" That surprised Daniel, seeming how almost everyone knew who he was. "I don't want to say this, but is she faking this personality to get close to you?"

"No," the Dutchman shakes his head, not even entertaining the thought, "this girl can't lie to save her life. You can see it in her eyes that she has nothing but good intentions."

"Alright," the Aussie nods, choosing to believe his friend. "Where'd you meet her?"

"Coffee shop in Monaco."

"She's from Monaco and doesn't know who you are?"

"She's American, she only moved to Monaco for work."

"An American? Should have just started with that," the McLaren driver grins, "you know how much I love Americans."

Max shakes his head at his friend's comment. Thinking to himself how right his friend is.

The McLaren driver does love Americans, everyone on the grid is pretty positive that the man is a secret American pretending to be Australian.

"Look man," Daniel says while grabbing the Redbull driver's shoulder, "if she's making you this happy, who am I to say shit."

The Dutchman gives the Aussie a slight smile, thinking about you. He can't see you fitting into his lifestyle, yet at the same time, he can't seem to want anyone but you here.

"I want to be the first one to meet her," Daniel slowly gets a mischievous look in his eyes, "I can't promise that she won't choose me instead of you once she sees this beautiful face."

Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector, @vip-access

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

It's a little addition to the three part fic! A little closure for people who needed it!

Warnings: swearing, fluff, comfort

A/N: that's it guys, they're gonna be happy I promise

~~

If someone asked, Y/N wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment when she started feeling like home in the Arrow house. The realisation at first made her… fearful almost, as she knew how comfortable the boys became with the house. With Tommy. They’ve spent nearly a year here since the ongoing threats from the Changrettas. Could she take these young boys away from what they’ve known? Before, Y/N was doing her very best to focus on day to day life, back when her relationship with Thomas was very difficult and… barely there. Now, on the other hand, things looked different and day by day he kept proving to her that he deserved to be a father to Nick and Tommy.

Functioning around and with Thomas grew on her more than she'd like to admit. Subconsciously, she memorised his work schedule to make sure he had something warm to eat after coming home. Whenever she wouldn't know how to handle an issue, she would come to him instinctually. No matter whether it was a serious matter, or a stubborn lid on a jar she couldn't open.

Basically, they lived like a family. Neither of them expected the shift in the air that would happen after realising that… they weren't forced to live together anymore. The threat was gone, and so was the excuse for living together despite their uncertain situation. It was easier to brush it away, having an excuse other than… the want to stay. Thomas didn't dare to touch this topic, maybe fearing he'd give her an idea to leave.

So they both pretended like the matter didn't exist.

Y/N thought about it while she scrambled around the room, looking for Nick's pants in the midst of chaos as Tommy ran around fully dressed.

”Bloody hell” She mumbled, moving around in her nightgown, not prepared at all. Guests would start arriving in about forty minutes so she had to be quick.

“There!” She exclaimed happily, pulling out the small piece of clothing from their wardrobe as she grabbed the boy to put it on. A satisfied smile appeared on her lips as she took in their appearance. Their white shirts contrasted with the dark blue suit pants and suspenders which ensured that, well… their pants would stay where they're supposed to.

As she moved towards her vanity, Y/N looked at her face to check whether her makeup that she put on while her boys were taking a nap still looked neat, letting out a sigh of relief as it was all fine. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Tommy wearing only his right shoe, running towards the door while holding the other in his hand.

”Thomas!” She yelled after him, using his full name for a better effect, which… clearly didn't work, as the boy ran out of the room.

Without a second thought, Y/N rushed after him, immediately fearing that he'd fall down the stairs.

She repeated his name, falling out of the room at high speed, and before she could react, she stumbled upon the one person she didn't expect to stand there, Thomas. He stood there, cocking an eyebrow at the way she looked with her hair up, body covered by the thin fabric.

“Got places to be?” He asked with a head tilt and grin on his lips, causing Y/N’s cheeks to turn bright pink at the way he looked at her.

“No, I–I was dressing up and he.. bolted out of the room.” Y/N couldn't hold in the giggle, seeing Tommy clutching his father's hand and still holding the other shoe, looking proud of himself as ever.

Thomas watched her carefully, secretly loving the way she scrunched up her nose while laughing.

“Don't look at me like that, Shelby. It's your fault.” She pointed out, raising her eyebrows as she put her hand on her hips, causing him to eye her once again before indulging in the banter.

“How so?” He chuckled, still standing really close, and without any intention of moving.

“First off, you went to get ready first and left me with BOTH of them,” she pointed out, counting on her fingers for a dramatic effect. “...and he's a troublemaker because of you. Like father like son,” She added with mischief, causing him to shake his head with a smile.

“Well,” He started before glancing down, “I am in fact wearing both of my shoes, he probably got it from you.” Thomas pointed towards her bare feet, making her blush more fiercely. “And haven’t you always bragged to me about how well you’ve learned to multitask?” he added.

Y/N rolled her eyes at his words, secretly enjoying the exchange.

“I have,” She responded confidently, taking a step forward to reach for the shoe little Tommy was holding, unconsciously closing up some proximity between them. As she straightened her back, she was mere inches from the man's face, gasping as he leaned closer.

“Is that right?” He said with a cocked eyebrow, seeing the way she reacted to being so close to him..

“Mhm” She nodded, trying to hide away how flustered she suddenly felt. Thomas looked at her lips for a second, before smiling and clearing his throat.

He reached a hand out to her face to lightly brush her hair back into place, causing Y/N to involuntarily let out a quiet sigh.

“I’ll have to test it at some point,” He responded in a voice a little too husky to take it as completely innocent, yet nothing bold. It delicately danced on the line she firmly set between them after moving in.

Y/N’s pupils dilated, playfully scoffing at his words, yet unable to find anything smart as an answer. It wasn't often for her to run out of things to say, but it was one of these rare moments, which clearly amused him.

A peal of laughter interrupted the moment, bursting the bubble of tension which seemed to be surrounding them throughout the whole encounter.

Thomas glanced at the small carbon copy of himself, suddenly remembering they weren't alone.

“What's so funny, little man, eh?” He asked in a softer voice, the one he was using purely with their boys.

Without an audible answer, little Tommy's hand shot up, his chubby little finger pointing towards the room.

Looking back, Y/N suddenly froze at the sight in front of them.

The briefly unsupervised Nick had climbed onto the vanity chair and applied a nice thick layer of “crimson passion” lipstick to his nose and forehead.

“As of right now, that's your son” Y/N sighed with a glimmer of humour in her eyes.

Even though it was a joke in this instance, hearing her calling the boys theirs or his always melted his heart. Back when he first discovered their existence, he wasn’t sure Y/N would ever acknowledge his role in front of them.

With a shake of his head, Thomas took a step forward, to her surprise leaning down as he kissed her temple before moving past them.

“I'll take care of them, you go get dressed. Polly and Ada will arrive in less than half an hour.”

***

The small amount of powder on Y/N’s face was the only reason why her cheeks weren't pink as she walked downstairs, catching everyone's eye. She looked radiant wearing her blue evening dress combined with the pearls adorning her neck.

Thomas stood back, watching and he couldn't help but feel almost giddy at how pretty she looked. As everyone greeted her, they moved to the dining room, still chatting, as maids slowly brought out the food and drinks. The atmosphere around the house was much lighter since the threat wasn't hanging above them like a dark cloud anymore. Ada took the opportunity to talk to Y/N about the kids, gushing over their resemblance to her brother.

Arthur and Linda arrived a little later, explaining the delay as their kids had been more fussy than usual.

Y/N listened closely as Polly talked away, trying not to get distracted by Tommy's hand on her lower back whenever she was within his reach, which was quite difficult.

Soon enough he asked the maids to look over the children, giving Y/N a wink before he and his brothers moved to the office, having to look over one of the contracts.

The women were sitting in the living room drinking and gossiping when the conversation turned toward the whole Changretta affair.

“Y/N, you must give me your new address once you and the boys move out,” Linda said with a knowing smile. “Because you're planning on moving out, right?” The straightforwardness of her allusions made the chatter die down, stirring up an awkward atmosphere.

Polly and Ada exchanged awkward glances as the entire mood of the room shifted.

“I'm sure Y/N will let you know about any changes should they occur” Polly replied with a warning tone.

“Should they occur? I don't understand. I thought she only lived here for protection, not to live in sin,” said Linda, glancing around their faces as she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Linda was always bold with her words, but

“I think you've said enough, Linda” Ada coldly said as she glared daggers at her sister-in-law. Y/N rubbed her hands against her lap, looking around nervously. Finishing up her tea, she got up from the couch, thanking them for coming.

“It's about time for my boys to get ready for bed. I think I should go check on them and Frances. Please excuse me” Y/N said with a growing blush of embarrassment and fury on her face. Polly saw how nervous this exchange made her, so didn't dare to try and stop her, instead glaring eloquently at the blonde woman.

Being just around the corner, Y/N overheard the last few sentences.

“What?” Linda asked with a huff, “These were her words at the beginning, don't you remember? Plus they're not even Shelby's technically.” She offered with annoyance, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke as the older woman got up angrily, pointing towards her face.

Y/N walked away before Polly's heated response came to her ears, scooping up Tommy and grabbing little Nick by the hand, as he rubbed his eyes with his fist.

“Let's get you two to bed, hmm?” She said in her softer voice, feeling Tommy nodding against the crook of her neck.

“Noooo” Nick replied in a sleepy voice, watching his steps intently with half lidded eyes, as to not trip over any stairs. Y/N just smiled under her breath, his stubbornness reminding her so much of his father.

After changing them into pyjamas, she managed to put them both to bed despite some fussing from Nick, as expected. She couldn't help but spend a few minutes watching them sleep so peacefully, feeling relief that they were both happy and content.

Standing up from the bed, Y/N froze for a second, only then noticing Thomas standing in the doorway, watching over them calmly.

“What happened?” He asked begrudgingly as soon as the door behind them closed, his eyes scanning her face in search of truth. Y/N didn't meet his gaze, looking ahead as she hugged herself lightly.

“Nothing happened, it was a nice evening” she replied in a tone that didn't even sound convincing to herself.

“It's still early, they're all downstairs.” He pointed out, raising his brows, fully knowing she wasn't being truthful.

“Boys were sleepy,” She pointed out, finally looking at him. He blinked a couple times, before narrowing his eyes.

“Alright,” he eventually said, “They're asleep, so let's join everyone downstairs then” his voice suggested a challenge in his tone, as he tried to get her to… start talking. Y/N sighed with annoyance at his digging, knowing damn well how stubborn he was.

“No, I just–” she stopped, pulling back ”I don't feel good–” Y/N offered but Tommy cut her off,

“It's what she said, isn't it?” His voice was rougher, eyes carefully studying her expression, which was enough to know the answer. “Polly told me,” Immediately added to the question she had written all over her face.

Letting out a sigh, Y/N looked towards the stairs, hearing fairly loud voices from downstairs, making it all the difficult to process her feelings. His eyes followed hers, sensing the anxiety she was feeling. He knew her too well.

“Let's not talk about it here, come on” Thomas said finally, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards his bedroom. Y/N let him lead her, quietly shutting the door behind as he walked further into the room. She crossed her arms, looking in his direction.

“She's not wrong,” Hardened expression and weak voice were giving away her mixed feelings on the matter, but Tommy let her speak. “I should–should find an apartment somewhere, and go back to work… We're not in danger anymore. We should go.”

Her words created some serious chaos in his head, as he watched her face for a longer minute. Eyes frantically grazing over her expression, unsure whether she was serious. Turning around, Thomas let his gaze drop to the floor as he came up to the window, searching for answers to the questions that weren't even asked.

Not directly. Again this fucking uncertainty, he thought, tired of dancing around the situation they didn't address for so long. The realisation dawned on him, as he felt the real threat of losing them. Of losing her again.

Facing her again, Thomas looked her in the eyes boldly, taking a step forward.

“Did I cause that? Have I don't something wrong that makes you want to leave?” His voice steady, demanding a direct answer. “Tell me what's missing and I'll fix it.”

Y/N groaned with frustration, stepping closer to the wardrobe, creating some distance between them that she do desperately needed to think clearly.

“No, Tommy, it's not that— fuck” she cut herself off with a sigh, looking for the right words. “You didn't do anything wrong, it's just… just not—”

“I don't want you to go.” He said suddenly, cutting her off as she fell silent, looking at him with wide eyes. “I can't stand the thought of losing you again, and.. and this” He pointed towards the door, referring to the situation that took place downstairs. “Should have never happened in the first place. I can't stand this fucking distance. Knowing I can't touch you, that i–i can't kiss you despite having you right here.” His voice grew rougher with simmering anger, directed to nobody but himself. “Having you sleep in another room even though your fucking place is by my side.” He took a step forward, looking in her eyes with emotions swirling in his mind. “Knowing that I have no right to keep you here, and.. and after what i did, I will never deserve you.” He said quieter, reaching for her cheek “But I'm selfish, and I can't let you go when you're standing right here, Y/N. I'm tired of hiding how crazy I am about you.” Tommy's eyes were fixed on her lips, as he licked his own, feeling the sudden dryness in his throat. “But uncertainty is the worst, so… so tell me. I need to know—”

This time, Y/N pressed her lips against his, closing her eyes. Her hand gripping onto his vest, feeling his heart thumping beneath her hand. Kissing him slowly, without any rush, as his words rang in her ears.

“Please” He said weakly as she finally pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. Y/N’s hand combed through his hair, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body.

“Please, don't break my heart, Tommy.” She whispered, feeling the weight easing off of her chest. “Because I won't survive being punished for loving you again.”

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine @dornishannie

[i-starcreamed]

Beggingggg for a Megatron (Transformers One) x kind male reader who looked up to him not as a friend but as a small crush. Megatron saw jt at first when he was D-16 and didn’t think much until when he declared to kill their leader (did not like him that I forgot his name) and tries to take advantage of the readers fondness towards him to make him join his side. The reader knows it’s wrong and declines which turns into a small argument about why the reader should join them..

THINKS OF SOME TOXIC TANGO OF LOVE AND LOYALTY WHERE ONE ISNT SURE—

MEGATRON X READER

Basically megop but with Y/N. You two are divorced YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE!! Also I don’t mention pronouns that often in my work but I’m tagging this as male reader :3

[cybertronian! male reader Angst AGAIN 😭 not that much though, you guys just argue a lil]

As D-16, he hadn’t thought much of your crush. He knew you as the mech who treated everyone with kindness, a trait he silently admired. You were almost an even softer version of Orion, gentle to a fault sometimes.

You were with them when you went to find the Primes, there, you uncovered the truth as they did. You watched as D-16's expression fell with every detail revealed about Sentinel and..everything he did.

Gesturing for him to follow you, you pulled him aside. He did so without hesitation—he knew you had no ill intent. Maybe his entire life had been a lie, but at least you were still there. As genuine as ever.

"I can’t believe…” he muttered, his voice strained. His optics moved across the ground, he had to blink rapidly to snap himself out of whatever thoughts he was having. You quickly placed a comforting servo on his shoulder, grounding him before he could spiral.

“D, look at me. I can’t believe it either,” you whispered, locking optics with him.

“We’re going to stop him…okay? I’m here with you.” You murmured. Was it a confession? Maybe so.

Your words hung in the air, heavy with hesitation. “I’ll follow you anywhere. We’ll get through this..together.”

D eyed you, his own voice faltering for a second.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” He exvented, his optics again panning towards the ground as he let you comfort him. Despite the small flutter in his spark, the sudden goal to make Sentinel pay overrode any other emotion. He will pay.

When D-16 spiraled into Megatron, you were the first he sought out. His eyes were not the vibrant golden they used to be. You questioned him, to which he eagerly—almost desperately, held onto your shoulders in response.

“Y/N…listen to me. Do you trust me?”

“..I do trust you.”

“Then join me, come with me. I know how I’m going to make Sentinel pay for his lies. Unlike Orion's plan, I will make sure it gets done.”

You slightly shook your helm, “But D.. you two should be working together. Not split apart. I don’t want you doing anything uh.. extreme.”

His optics turned cold, narrowing in anger. “Extreme? You call my ideas extreme? Sentinel was the one that has been keeping us as slaves,” He hissed, inching towards you. “For years, for years, I thought we were doing the right thing. But no, everything was a lie. You, Y/N—you have to understand”

You watched in horror as Megatron killed Sentinel. He should have been satisfied now, but he wasn't. He called upon an army. Freedom fighters, but now they fought for a cause that no longer needed fighting. From his elevated position on the structure above, you locked optics.

His gaze flickered, just for a moment, as he took in the fear in your expression. Once, you looked up to him as someone you admired. Hell, you thought you loved him. Deep down, a part of you still did.

He’s still D-16, maybe. He must be, right?

You realized maybe you did have different ideals, different goals. To you, it should have ended when Sentinel was exposed. Then you had no option, perhaps after his death? You all would have rebuilt Cybertron together. Maybe even properly confess to D. Things just didn't go as planned in many ways.

But now, you could only watch as he descended the stairs toward you, his steps slow and deliberate.

You flinched, feeling his servo against the side of your helm. He stopped a couple inches away from you, leaning down, his voice a low hiss,

“Do you see it now, Y/N? That…I did that for you. For us.” His fingers traced the ridges of your helm, a caress that made your spark stutter in confusion. He was never, ever, this bold as D-16.

“I want you to join me. We can do this together.”

You hesitated, still trying to process how affectionate he was being with you. As much as you've dreamt of this, there was something off about it. D-16 was always soft, and casual about his demeanor. This Megatron was intense, his red optics burning into yours.

“Megs…I can’t.” You murmured. This was wrong. Very very wrong.

Megatron raised a brow, “You cannot?”

His servo shifted, cupping your chin and tilting your helm upward to meet his gaze. “Tell me something, Y/N. Are you a liar too?”

You furrowed your brow, “What? No, no, I haven’t lied to yo—“

“You said you’d follow me anywhere," He interrupted, "I need you to do that now.” He said in a softer tone, but you heard the hint of menace in his voice. It was an order, not a plead.

You took a deep intake, slowly stepping back from his grasp—his servo hung in the air for a moment before falling to his side.

“I don’t want to kill anyone, Megatron. I’m sorry, I can’t do this with you.” You said firmly, your voice steady. You had made up your mind.

His teeth clenched, frustration flaring in his optics as he stepped closer again, closing the distance between you two.

“Where is loyalty when you need it the most!? Where is it?! Tell me!” He exclaimed, his outburst making you take another step back.

Your optics flickered back to where Orion and your friends should be, then back at Megatron. “I want to be with you, Megs, I do. But this fight.. it’s over. Sentinel is dead.”

You stepped forward despite your frantic sparkbeat, your servos grasped onto his which were balled into fists.

“Come with me. We can help build Cybertron together, all of us. I need you to trust me.” You urged softly.

For a moment, you thought you had reached him. His optics softened, and his fists slowly unclenched, his gaze drifting to where your servos held his.

“I don’t want to rebuild Cybertron,”

He slowly scowled, his servos tightened around yours.

“I want to fix it.”

He turned away, leaving you standing in the dust and debris. You coughed, the air thick with smoke, watching him disappear into the distance with Primus knows how many High Guard fliers behind him.

You begin to wonder if you made the right choice. You wanted your D-16 back, but you couldn't bear the death and destruction that came along with Megatron.

As doubt crept in, you realized one terrible truth.

He had already won you over.

[thevoidstaredback]

Adventures In Gotham

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant Side Story

The first time Danny had ever been to Gotham, he swore it would be his last. He was twenty-two at the time.

In an effort to relax after finals had ended, he, Tucker, Sam, Val, Wes, and Dani had been playing a round of Truth or Dare after finishing a few movies. Sam had dared Danny to wander around Gotham without attracting attention to himself. The catch was that he wasn't allowed to use his powers except to fly there and back. His time limit was Sunday night.

They'd all been planning to stay the night at Sam's anyway, so no one would even notice he was gone. Though, the dare had seemed easy at the time, Danny should've realized his luck was not that good.

Regardless, he flew to the outskirts of Gotham City, dropped his transformation, and entered.

The first thing he noticed was that there was some kind of bubble around Gotham preventing the Shades and overall feel of death from leaving. It was overwhelming at first, but he got used to it pretty quickly. The next thing he noticed was that he had walked into somebody's haunt.

Shit.

He made himself presentable and spoke to the night, "I apologise for trespassing," His voice echoed through the open area as though he was shouting in an empty room. Ghost Speak tended to do that. "I mean no hostile intentions. I simply wish to play a game with your protectors." With any luck, whoever this was would be playful or friendly, at the very least. He didn't hold his breath, though.

A lie. He was holding his breath, but that's only because he was nervous!

The night air stilled as though considering his words. Then, a breeze from behind pushed him further into the city. Flapping wings of bats and owls seemed to hide the whispers of "You may come in." and "Be careful." and "You will lose." and "Good luck.".

A vote of confidence from the City Spirit. "Thank you." He was going to be as quick as he could, but he couldn't draw attention to himself. Easier said than done. Batman seemed to know whenever anyone ever stepped foot into his city, especially if they've never been there before. So, he had to play hide and seek with Batman and Robin.

Again, easier said than done.

Danny knows very little about about Gotham and her heroes and villains. What he does know is that Robin is fairly knew to the scene, but also very serious in what he does. He's still a child, though, and he likes to play around a bit. Batman, on the other hand, has already become something of a cryptid, despite only showing himself a year or so ago. Either way, the two balance each other nicely and work well as a team.

Batman and Robin obviously know the entire city inside out, so Danny has to somehow keep an eye on where they are at all times while not drawing attention to himself. Which would be easy, except for the fact that Danny can only sense where non-living beings are. Batman and Robin are very much alive. He's pretty sure. Unless either of them have a shit ton of Shades attached to them, which is unlikely but not impossible, then he'll have to rely on finding them first and keeping them within his sight as he tours around their city.

Why the hell did he agree to this? He so deserves a reward if he succeeds.

'When', not 'if'. 'If' is pessimistic and implies that Batman might just drop him off a building and watch him fall. 'When' at least lets him continue with the illusion that he may get out of this no deader than when he arrived in Gotham.

All he had to do was basically tour the city, then he'll be done. It went well for the first hour, but then he spotted the shadows moving around him. It wouldn't normally be a problem, but one of those shadows was made out of bright colours. Seeing as his Ghost Sense didn't go off, Danny figured the he'd just run straight into Batman and Robin.

Shit. Fuck. Okay, play it cool, Danny.

He ran. He ran as fast as he could without using his powers. When he was sure he'd lost the two vigilanties, he allowed himself to stop in an alley somewhere in the Narrows. (The map he looked at was coming in very handy all of a sudden)

"Could be worse," he said to himself, backing into a corner.

The sound of shattering glass and the scurrying of mice and rats gave the impression of laughter and taunting. Which, rude, but fair.

"Your Knights, my lady," he spoke into the darkness, "are terrifying."

"Who you talking to?"

Danny did not jump. He didn't! Liar.

The kid, about twelve years old, was in bright green, red, and yellow. His hair windswept and he didn't seem even the slightest bit out of breath, let alone tired. Shouldn't he be in bed? Did he have a bedtime? He should have a bedtime, in Danny's expert opinion.

"Did you know that humans are endurance hunters?" Robin had been smiling since he dropped down in front of Danny. And if that wasn't a scary ass line to hear from a twelve year old up way past his bedtime-

No, he's not intimidated. "It's, um, a good thing I'm not completely human then, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid! Shut up, Danny! Stop talking! Right now!

This made Robin frown and the shadows started to move again, Batman taking his place just behind the boy. "What do you mean?"

Damn, he's scary! Danny's a sucker for a deep voice with a growl, damn.

"I, um," Intelligent response, Danny. King of the Realm Between Realms of Infinity. Keeper of Balance, Timeless Protector of the Dead and Living, and he can't even form a proper sentence.

Batman and Robin's stares were uncomfortably similar, even as Robin tilted his head ever so slightly to the right.

For all his wisdom, Danny couldn't see how he could manage to get out of this without using his powers. So, "Gottagobye!" he let intangibility and invisibility wash over him and he slipped through the wall behind him. From there, he let the rings of light cover him and he flew away.

He'll take the L. That was scary as hell!

The night wind brushed against him, the sound of breaking bones and cackling telling him to come by to play again some time. Had Gotham's City Spirit lead her Knight and his child to Danny? Probably. She seemed like the type. At least she seems to like him? Silver linings.

"I'm never going there again," he muttered halfway to Illinois.

Storyboard

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff @blueliac @i-love-mangoes @nymanders @highimpactemotions @anarinette @sleepingdead96 @orbr @tkiesai @atomicsheepscientist @8000fangirl @shower-phantom-ideas @blep-23

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.4 | MV1

an: GROVELLLINGGG i need me a bull rider max verstappen i swear to god his little smile and UGH i would commit crimes for him, anyway enjoy!

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 5.5k

part one | part two | part three |

Max had no idea why he thought this was a good idea, but at 5:45 a.m., he was standing on her doorstep, holding her favourite coffee and breakfast sandwich in hand. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath clouded in the cool early morning air. The bag of food rustled in his grip as he shifted on his feet, hoping that this wouldn’t completely backfire.

He was well aware that one breakfast wouldn’t erase years of hurt, but it was a start. He had to start somewhere.

The sky was still tinged with the last hints of night, the town barely stirring awake. He’d spent too many sleepless nights replaying their kiss, feeling the weight of her hurt and all the things left unsaid. This was his first step toward making things right—showing up and proving that he was here to stay.

Her house was quiet, no sign of movement behind the windows. He glanced at his watch again. She was an early riser, always had been, and he hoped he hadn’t miscalculated the time.

Just as he was considering leaving the coffee on her porch and making a quiet retreat, he heard the creak of the front door behind him. He turned to see her stepping out, her hair still damp from the shower, looking as though she hadn’t quite woken up yet but was ready for the day. She paused when she saw him standing there, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone flat, but he could see the flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

Max swallowed, forcing a small smile as he held out the coffee cup. “I, uh… thought I’d bring you breakfast.”

She stared at him, her eyes moving from the cup to the sandwich bag in his other hand, then back to his face. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but then she shook her head and moved past him toward her truck, saying nothing at all.

Well, that went about as well as he expected.

“Sweetheart,” he called after her, stepping forward quickly. “It’s your favourite. Black coffee, no sugar. And an egg and bacon sandwich, just like you used to get.”

She didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. But when she reached her truck, she paused. For a split second, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze landing on the coffee. Without a word, she extended her hand, and he quickly passed her the cup.

Max watched as she took a sip, her face giving nothing away. She pulled open the truck door, still silent, and tossed the coffee into the cupholder as if it were an afterthought. She slid into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life.

He stood there, watching her pull out, unsure if he had made any progress at all. But just before she turned onto the main road, he saw it—the faintest glimmer of something.

Her fingers curled around the coffee cup as she took another sip.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she drove away. She hadn’t slammed the door in his face or told him to go to hell, and she hadn’t thrown the coffee out the window. For now, that was a win. Maybe a small one, but a win all the same.

As Max watched her truck disappear down the road, he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The quiet rumble of the engine faded, leaving only the early morning sounds of birds beginning to stir and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

He turned to head back to his own truck, feeling that faint flicker of hope from the coffee exchange still lingering in his chest. But as he passed the barn, something caught his eye—the door to her stable was hanging at an awkward angle, one of the hinges loose and the wood splintered. He paused, frowning.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to inspect it closer. The damage wasn’t new; the wood around the hinge looked worn and cracked. The entire stall looked neglected—the bedding inside hadn’t been mucked out in a while, the hay was scattered and half-moulded. The familiar smell of manure and damp straw clung to the air, stronger than it should’ve been for a stall that was regularly cared for.

Max thought back to the other day where he’d seen Luna in Leslie’s barn. It made sense now. She must’ve been using Leslie’s stable because her own had fallen into disrepair. A wave of something unfamiliar hit him—guilt, maybe, or regret. This wasn’t like her. She used to take pride in everything being just right when it came to her horses.

He chewed his lip, standing in front of the broken stall door for a moment longer, then made a decision.

Maybe she didn’t want his help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give it.

Without another thought, Max turned back toward his truck, digging through the back where he kept his toolbox. Years of being on the rodeo circuit had taught him a thing or two about fixing up stables, trailers, and anything else that came with working with horses. He pulled out what he needed—tools, nails, and looked around her barn to find some spare wood boards—then headed back to her stable.

The first thing he did was unscrew the damaged hinge, pulling it free and tossing it aside. The wood creaked as he worked, but his hands were steady, focused. His mind, on the other hand, was a mess. He thought about her, about the years he’d been gone, and how much he had missed seeing her in this very barn, laughing, mucking out stables, grooming her horse with such care.

He had abandoned that world—their world. And looking at this neglected stable now felt like a reminder of how he’d left things with her: broken and unattended.

As he worked, time passed quickly. He replaced the hinge, secured the door, and patched up the splintered wood with the boards he’d brought. Once the door was fixed, he moved inside, mucking out the old straw and replacing it with fresh bedding. The smell of clean straw filled the stall, and by the time he finished, the stable looked almost new again—like the way she used to keep it.

Standing back to admire his work, Max wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun had fully risen by now, casting warm light across the barn. The job wasn’t perfect, but it was something. It was a start.

He wasn’t sure how she would react when she found out, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do. Fixing her stable was one small way to show her that he wanted to help, that he wasn’t going to run away this time.

Sliding his toolbox back into his truck, he stood by the driver’s side door for a moment, staring at the barn in the soft morning light. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction, mixed with nerves. He hadn’t planned to stick around after dropping off the coffee, but now that he’d done this, he felt like he’d left a small piece of himself behind.

Maybe that was what he needed to do—piece by piece, action by action, until he could finally prove to her that he was here to stay.

Max was just about to leave when he noticed something else—a porch step leading up to her house was cracked. One of the wooden boards was split right down the middle, dipping slightly under pressure. He walked up to it and stepped on it, the wood groaning, threatening to give way.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. How long had she been stepping over this, risking a fall every time? He knew her leg wasn’t perfect again, it was dangerous for her to have that there like that.

It didn’t take much convincing for him to grab his toolbox again. He couldn’t just leave it like this. First the stable, now the porch… How much more had she been shouldering on her own all these years?

With a quick glance at the time, he decided he had enough daylight left to fix the step before she got home for lunch. But he’d need more wood. He hopped into his truck and headed down to the local hardware store, grabbing a few planks of wood and some extra supplies for good measure. By the time he returned, the sun was sitting higher in the sky, marking the late morning, and he got to work.

He started by removing the old board, carefully prying it loose without damaging the other steps. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked, and each crack of the wood sent memories rushing back—of him helping her dad fix things around the ranch when they were kids, of them sitting on this very porch, laughing, planning their futures. A future that had been so easy to leave behind, yet so impossible to forget.

Halfway through installing the new step, the sound of an engine approaching caught his attention. Max looked up just as her truck pulled into the driveway. His stomach twisted with nerves, but he forced himself to keep working, pretending not to notice.

The truck door slammed shut, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stepping out, wearing the same expression she’d had that morning—guarded, unsure, but somehow less cold than before. She paused by the porch, noticing the tools, the new plank of wood in his hands.

“You fixing my porch now too?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Max straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Figured it was about time someone did.”

She glanced at the half-repaired step, then back at him. For a second, she just stood there, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Then, without a word, she smiled—a real smile, small but genuine—and with a light hop, she stepped over the broken porch board and headed for the door.

That smile hit him harder than any of her glares or icy words ever had.

Max grinned, watching her as she disappeared inside. That tiny, almost imperceptible smile was more than he’d hoped for when he started all this. He stood there, hammer in hand, his heart thudding with satisfaction.

Progress. Small, sure. But progress nonetheless.

He bent back down to finish the job, feeling lighter than he had in days. If this was what it took to win her back, he’d fix every damn thing in her life until there was nothing left to fix. And even then, he wasn’t going anywhere.

As he hammered the last nail into the new step, the front door creaked open again. She stepped out, a water bottle in hand. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.

"Didn't think you'd be so handy after all these years," she said casually, taking a sip of water.

Max looked up, wiping his brow. "Guess I never forgot how to fix things, even if I broke a lot more than I fixed."

She looked at him for a long moment, the playful glint in her eyes softening. She didn’t respond, but that silence between them felt...different. Less tense. More open.

She gave him a quick nod before hopping back over the repaired step and heading to her truck. As she climbed in, she took one long look at him and smiled again. Max couldn’t help but smile as she drove away, the fresh scent of wood still hanging in the air.

It was just a smile. Just a sip of coffee. But to him, it felt like the first real win he’d had in years.

The following morning arrived with the kind of early light that made the world feel fresh and new. Max pulled into her driveway just after sunrise, the quiet hum of his truck the only sound in the peaceful stillness of the ranch. He parked, glancing over at the house, making sure there were no signs she was up yet.

He slid out of the truck, balancing two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag filled with her favourite breakfast. He placed them carefully on the porch, positioning the bag next to the coffee with a little note tucked under it that simply read: "Enjoy. - M."

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the note,taking a sip of his own coffee as he hoped this small gesture would get him another one of those smiles. Maybe even a thank you this time. But he wasn’t expecting anything. Not yet.

Turning away from the porch, he eyed her truck parked beside the barn. It was filthy, covered in dust, and dried mud clung to the tires from her trips across the ranch. Without thinking twice, Max grabbed some cleaning supplies he knew she kept in the shed behind her house—bucket, sponge, soap—and got to work.

The cool water sloshed in the bucket as he soaked the sponge and started scrubbing away the grime. His muscles ached from the last few days of manual labour, but it felt good. Every swipe of the sponge felt like another step toward redemption. Maybe this was how he could prove himself—not through words but by doing the things she didn’t ask for but needed.

He was halfway through washing the windows when he heard the creak of the screen door. He glanced up, and there she was.

She stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, hair messy from sleep. His heart thudded once, hard, as his eyes travelled downward. She was wearing one of his old flannels—oversized on her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows—paired with short sleep shorts that left her long legs bare in the morning sunlight. For a split second, his brain stalled, eyes glued to the familiar sight of her in his shirt, like some vivid memory had sprung to life in front of him.

Shit.

He snapped his gaze away, focusing on the task at hand, but it was too late. His pulse had already spiked, and his hands fumbled slightly as he wrung out the sponge. He told himself not to let his mind go there—not after everything they’d been through. But damn, it was hard not to think about how good she looked.

She didn’t say anything. She glanced at the coffee and breakfast on the porch, her lips twitching in what might have been the start of a smile, and then she looked back at him. He felt her eyes on him as he worked, and even though she didn’t say a word, the silence between them felt... different. Less guarded.

She disappeared inside for a few moments, and he figured that was that—another day, another quiet gesture, and he’d let it be. But when she came back out, she placed a bottle of water on the porch rail near where he was working, almost like an unspoken acknowledgment.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said finally, her voice soft but clear in the morning stillness.

Max nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His throat was tight, the sight of her in his old flannel still rattling around in his mind, so he just gave her a small smile and kept scrubbing the truck, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his heart was hammering.

She lingered for a second longer before heading back inside, the screen door shutting gently behind her. He exhaled, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

He glanced at the bottle of water she’d left out for him. It wasn’t much—just a simple gesture. But it was more than he’d expected, and the fact that she’d noticed, that she’d even bothered to leave it out for him, felt like a victory.

His grin widened as he finished cleaning the truck, knowing that, slowly but surely, he was getting to her.

Max was just finishing up, wiping the last few streaks off her truck windows, when he heard her voice drift through the open kitchen window. He didn’t mean to listen, but her tone caught his attention, and before he knew it, he was eavesdropping on her conversation.

“No, Mum, I was going to make the banana bread today,” she said, frustration lacing her words. “But I just realised I don’t have enough flour...or eggs. And these bananas are already overripe. If I don’t use them soon, they’ll go to waste.”

There was a pause, and Max could imagine her pacing back and forth, probably chewing her bottom lip the way she always did when she was annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll figure something out,” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll go to the store later... I just don’t feel like leaving the house right now.”

Max couldn’t help the small smile creeping across his face. He remembered how much she loved baking, especially on the weekends when she had some downtime. Banana bread was one of her favourites—something she used to make for him when they were younger, back when things were simpler.

An idea sparked in his mind. It wasn’t much, but if he could help her out in some small way, maybe it would chip away at that wall she’d built around herself.

He tossed the rag into the bucket and glanced toward her house one more time before heading for his truck. He made a quick stop at the local grocery store, grabbing the essentials she’d mentioned—flour, eggs, and a few other things he thought she might need. But as he walked down the produce aisle, something else caught his eye: a small bouquet of sunflowers. Her favourite. Without a second thought, he added them to his cart.

By the time he got back to her place, the house was still quiet. He could hear faint music playing from inside, but there was no sign of her coming outside anytime soon.

Perfect.

Max quietly made his way up to the porch, placing the grocery bag down by the door. He carefully arranged the bouquet of sunflowers next to the bag, making sure they were the first thing she’d see when she opened the door. He didn’t leave a note this time. He didn’t need to. The gesture was enough.

For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to stick around and see her reaction. But no—that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want her to feel pressured or obligated. This was about showing her, bit by bit, that he was serious. That he could be the man she needed him to be.

With one last glance at the flowers, he turned and headed back to his truck, leaving the scene just as quietly as he had arrived.

Inside the house, she hung up the phone and glanced toward the window. She hadn’t heard Max leave, but the sight of her newly cleaned truck parked outside reminded her of his presence. There was something comforting in knowing he’d been there, even if she hadn’t asked him to be.

She stretched and decided to step outside for some fresh air. As she opened the door, her gaze immediately fell on the bag at her feet and the bright splash of yellow sunflowers.

She blinked, surprised, and crouched down to inspect the bag. Flour, eggs, even some sugar—and the sunflowers, of course. Her heart gave a little flutter, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t fight the small smile pulling at her lips.

It didn’t take much to realise who had left them. Only one person would know how much she loved sunflowers.

Max.

She stood in the doorway, staring at the bag of groceries and the sunflowers. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest as she reached down, brushing her fingers over the petals. For a second, she considered leaving everything there, maybe pretending she hadn’t seen it—but she couldn’t. The sight of those bright sunflowers, her favourite, was like a small crack in the carefully constructed wall she’d spent years building.

She sighed, picking up the bag and the bouquet, and headed back inside, the door creaking softly as it shut behind her. As she placed everything on the kitchen counter, her mind wandered back over the last few days. It had been relentless. The coffee, the fixed stable, the repaired porch, and now this.

Each gesture felt so simple, yet so intentional. Max wasn’t just showing up to apologise—he was showing up in all the ways she’d needed him to before, in all the ways she’d tried to move past. And that realisation hit her like a punch to the gut.

She pulled out the flour and eggs, setting them on the counter as she began gathering the rest of the ingredients. Banana bread. Her mom had suggested it, and she hadn’t even realised at the time that she was thinking of him when she’d decided to make it. It had always been his favourite.

Back when they were young, she used to bake for him every weekend. He’d come by after working the bulls or training, hungry and exhausted, and she’d have the kitchen smelling like cinnamon and bananas by the time he arrived. She’d never forget the way his eyes would light up when he saw the loaf cooling on the counter. That easy smile, the one that always made her heart race, even when she tried to pretend it didn’t.

Her hands moved on autopilot as she mashed the bananas, her mind playing through memories she hadn’t let herself revisit in years. She could almost hear his voice in the back of her mind, teasing her for adding too many walnuts one time, or for baking the bread just a little too long on another occasion.

He used to sneak slices before they’d even cooled, and she’d scold him playfully while he grinned like a kid getting away with something.

“Darlin’, you spoil me,” he’d always say, mouth full, and she’d roll her eyes but secretly love every second of it.

That was before. Before the injury. Before the fame. Before the day he’d left without saying goodbye.

She poured the batter into the loaf pan, her movements a little slower now as the memories tangled with the present. She couldn’t shake the image of him standing out in the driveway, washing her truck, fixing her porch, or that damn bouquet of sunflowers sitting on her counter now.

He was relentless, and she hated how much it was affecting her. It was so much easier to stay angry, to cling to the betrayal that had fueled her for years. But his persistence—it was wearing her down.

She wiped her hands on a towel and stared out the window above the sink. The sun was climbing higher now, lighting up the barn with soft golden hues. She glanced toward the porch, half-expecting to see him still there, but the driveway was empty.

She hadn’t asked for his help, not once. And yet, he kept showing up.

She could feel something shifting inside her, something that scared her more than she wanted to admit. He was getting through, bit by bit, and that made her angry—not at him, but at herself.

As she slid the loaf into the oven, she leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she let out a frustrated breath.

“Why now, Max?” she muttered to herself, her eyes flicking toward the bouquet of sunflowers. “Why couldn’t you have done all this eight years ago?”

But deep down, she knew the answer. Back then, neither of them had been ready. He had been running from everything—his feelings, his fears, his dreams—and she’d been holding onto a fantasy that wasn’t real.

Now, things were different. They were both different. But was it too late?

As the smell of baking bananas and cinnamon filled the kitchen, she found herself lost in thought, wondering whether all of Max’s grovelling was just temporary—whether he’d stick around this time, or whether he’d bolt the second things got hard again.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of him staying terrified her almost as much as the thought of him leaving again.

And the worst part? Despite everything, despite all the pain and resentment, she still cared. She still wanted to believe him.

As the oven timer ticked down, she glanced at the clock and sighed, grabbing her coffee from the counter. She took a sip, tasting the warmth and comfort of it, and for the briefest moment, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Maybe, just maybe, Max was winning her over after all.

She stared at the golden-brown loaf cooling on the counter, the smell of freshly baked banana bread filling her kitchen. She’d sliced off a small piece for herself—just to check that it was done right, of course—and, as soon as the familiar taste hit her tongue, memories rushed in. It tasted exactly like it used to—like weekends spent laughing, teasing, and sharing moments with Max that had once felt like they would last forever.

A thought crossed her mind before she could stop it. Should she take him some?

She frowned, standing in the middle of her kitchen, arms crossed. There was no reason to give him anything. If anything, she should keep it all to herself. But then again, he’d done so much for her in the last few days. The coffee, the repairs, the quiet way he’d just...been there, even when she didn’t want him to be. And now here she was, thinking about doing something for him.

"Fine," she muttered to herself, grabbing some wax paper and wrapping a few slices of banana bread tightly. She placed them in a small container, shaking her head at how ridiculous this all felt. "Just a thank you. That’s all."

Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her truck keys and the small container and headed out the door.

The drive to Max’s place wasn’t long, but with every mile closer, her heart pounded a little harder. When she finally pulled up outside his cabin, she parked at the edge of his driveway and hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

She wasn’t going to knock on the door. No way. This wasn’t some grand gesture or olive branch. It was just...banana bread.

Taking a deep breath, she hopped out of her truck and quietly walked up to his front porch. She placed the container right by the door, gave one last glance at the house, and turned quickly on her heel before she could change her mind.

She was back in her truck and driving away in seconds, leaving the small gesture behind her like a secret she wasn’t ready to face.

Max had spent the morning out in the barn, fixing a broken fence panel that had been bothering him for days. The work had done wonders for his mood, keeping his mind off her and everything swirling between them. He knew he had to be patient, that winning her back wasn’t something that would happen overnight. But damn, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard.

As he finished up, the sun high in the sky, he walked back to the house, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was about to open the front door when something on the porch caught his eye.

A small plastic container, carefully wrapped, sat by the door. For a second, he just stared at it, confused. Then recognition clicked, and his heart did a little flip.

Banana bread.

He crouched down and picked it up, opening the lid to find a few perfectly sliced pieces, just like he remembered from years ago. It was the same banana bread she used to bake for him when they were kids—when they’d spend lazy weekends together, when things were easy and right.

He blinked, the realisation slowly settling in. She had brought this for him. After everything, she had taken the time to make something and leave it for him, even if she hadn’t stayed to say it herself.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Max felt a rush of something that wasn’t guilt or regret. It was happiness, pure and unfiltered. She might not have said the words, but this was a step. A small one, but it was enough for him to hold onto.

He sat down on the porch, leaning back against the wall, and took a bite of the banana bread. The familiar sweetness hit his tongue, and it was like being transported back in time—to when she used to make it for him, to the laughter they’d shared, to the love they’d both felt before everything had gone so wrong.

Max smiled, closing his eyes and savouring the taste.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was still a long way to go before things could ever be right between them again. But this? This was a win. A quiet, small win, wrapped in wax paper and tied with memories of what they used to have.

For the first time in eight years, Max felt like things might just work out.

He finished the last bite of banana bread, letting the taste linger as he sat on the porch, the empty container beside him. His mood felt lighter than it had in days, like maybe things were finally starting to fall into place. With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching his sore muscles before heading back inside.

His place was quiet, the kind of quiet that had always felt like a weight, but today it didn’t bother him as much. He tossed his sweaty shirt into the laundry basket and grabbed a towel, heading toward the shower. The hot water felt good, washing away the grime from the morning’s work. His mind wandered back to her —how she’d left the banana bread, how she was starting to soften, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He smirked to himself, running his hands through his wet hair. He’d take it slow. He had to. But there was hope now, more than he’d had since he first came back.

Just as he stepped out of the shower, still dripping water, a loud pounding came from the front door. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist, and frowned.

“Who the hell...?”

The pounding came again, louder this time, like whoever was on the other side had zero patience.

“I’m coming, hold your horses!” Max called out, running his hand over his face as he crossed the small hallway. He swung the door open to find Leslie standing there, arms crossed, looking as stern as ever.

“Les? Where’s the fire?” he asked, eyebrows raised, still clutching the towel around his waist.

Leslie’s eyes barely flicked down at his bare chest, clearly unimpressed. She held out a shirt—a work shirt.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off, but here.” She shoved the shirt into his chest. “You start tomorrow morning. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened. He stared at her, blinking, his heart thudding in his chest.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Leslie didn’t crack a smile, but there was a glint in her eye. “Looks like someone finally decided to forgive you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Max felt a grin spread across his face, his chest swelling with relief and something close to joy. Forgiven. He’d finally been forgiven.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Les, I—thank you. I mean it.”

She stepped back, eyeing him up and down one last time. “Don’t thank me. You earned it—barely.” She turned to leave but paused before heading back down the steps. “Oh, and Max? Maybe next time, put on some damn pants before you open the door.”

Max laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Noted.”

Leslie waved him off and headed back to her truck, leaving Max standing in the doorway, shirt in hand, the towel barely holding on. He stepped back inside, shutting the door behind him, and let out a long, deep breath.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Not just the job, but her. He knew Leslie wouldn’t have come to offer him work if she hadn’t forgiven him. It wasn’t much—maybe just a sliver of forgiveness—but it was enough.

A smile tugged at his lips as he walked back to his room, pulling on the shirt Leslie had brought, staring at her barn logo in the mirror. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, he’d be working at the barn, just like he’d wanted.

And, maybe even more important than that, she was finally letting him in—just a little, but enough to give him hope that there was still a chance for them. He wasn’t going to waste it.

He glanced at the clock. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

part five

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hate You (Kidding)

Crowley & daughter!reader, Sam and Dean & witch!reader, a little Rowena & granddaughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: your dad abandoned you years ago, but what happens when he finds out you’re still alive?

A/N: just so no one gets confused about this, here’s the background—Crowley found out how powerful demon/human babies can be, so he tried to make one, only it didn’t go the way he planned—the baby (you) were born without powers, and so he abandoned you. (Just because I didn’t want to give this the exact same backstory as Crowley’s son)

The theft was not going well. Your grandmother had made it seem so easy—sneak into the bunker, grab the black spell book, and make it out fast.

She failed to mention the two professional hunters that lived there.

You hadn’t been dumb enough to assume it would be empty—there had to be a reason Rowena wasn’t going herself, after all; she was scared. But you weren’t ready for Sam and Dean Winchester.

They had you in their dungeon basement—which was super creepy—before you’d even managed to find the book, much less grab it.

“What were you looking for, kid? Who sent you here?” The shorter—but no less scary—one had his hands on the sides of your chair, and he was looming over you. You had no doubt that he was willing to hurt you—you did break into his very dangerous house, after all.

You kept quiet, still unsure what the best course of action was. If you told them about the book and Rowena, would they let you go and go after her?

Then again, you didn’t know anything about these guys—maybe once they got their information, they’d just kill you.

You decided to stay quiet.

“Hey!” Dean smacked his hand on the arm of your chair, and you flinched. “I said—“

The man stopped yelling when the lights went out. They flickered back on a moment later, only this time they were red.

“Someone’s here,” the tall one said.

“I’ll go check.” The man in front of you pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to leave, saying to the tall one “watch her.”

Then it was just you and the giant—who, surprisingly, seemed a little less scary. He was definitely intimidating, but he also had a sort of “I don’t hurt children” vibe about him.

“This will all be easier if you tell us what you were after,” he broke the silence.

“Right, because you’ll have a reason to keep me alive after I tell you everything,” you scoffed.

“We won’t have a reason to kill you, either,” Sam countered.

“And you need one?” You questioned.

“What makes you think we’d just kill you for no reason?” He asked.

“I mean I did break into your house, and you are hunters.” You shrugged as best you could with your hands cuffed behind you.

“I’m Sam,” the man said, crouching down so he was more on your level—he was trying to look less intimidating, which surprised you. “That other guy is my brother Dean. We are hunters, but we’re not gonna just kill you for no reason. We’re not like that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the door opening cut you off.

“Look who came for a visit.” Dean stepped into the room with a man trailing behind him. As soon as the man stepped into the light, every bit of air left your lungs.

“Didn’t know you had a visi—“ Crowley’s sentence froze halfway out of his mouth when he laid eyes on you.

Dean’s suspicious gaze picked up on the awkwardness instantly.

“You two know each other?”

Crowley gained his voice back first. “Used to. Not so much anymore.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You found the strength to speak after you heard Crowley’s words. “You still look just as pathetic to me, father.”

“Father?” Dean choked. “Wait, that’s not possible.”

“I thought you were dead.” Crowley was now completely ignoring the Winchesters. “After…after that incident I figured the demons would’ve—“

“Incident?!” You all but screamed. “Incident? Is that what you call you abandoning me? Leaving me for dead? An incident?”

“I had no choice,” Crowley argued. “When the other demons found out you were powerless—“

“The other demons? It wasn’t about the other demons, it was about you! You used my mother to make yourself a half demon, and when I didn’t turn out to have any powers you threw me away. You wanted your demon friends to kill me.”

“No.” Crowley was brushing past Sam and Dean now, coming to stand directly in front of you. You squirmed in your chair, but you couldn’t get further away from him. “No I didn’t. I thought if I got rid of you, they’d have no reason to kill you and—“

“Don’t lie to me!” You cried out. “I’m not stupid! You may not have wanted me dead, but you sure didn’t abandon me to try to save me. You did it because I was useless to you. Pretending otherwise is just…it’s just pathetic.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but he had nothing to say—he knew you were right.

“So you’re half demon with no powers?” Dean cut in. “Because I’ve met a half demon who could do anything he wanted just by thinking it.”

“Why do you think he wanted to make me?” You forced your gaze away from your father to look at Dean. “He wanted an all powerful being that was also fully dependent on him. Too bad for him, not all half demons are the same, and he got stuck with the powerless one.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here now,” Sam cut in.

You bit your lip. You should’ve known it would circle back to this.

“Look, we’re not gonna hurt you if you tell us,” Sam promised.

“Fine.” A sly smirk lifted onto your face as your eyes went back to your father. “I’m here to get a book. For my grandmother.”

Crowley was still choking on air while Sam and Dean shared a meaningful glance before turning back to you.

“Rowena? You’re working for the witch?” Dean’s reaction told you that he both knew Rowena and probably hated her.

“She’s the only reason I’m still alive,” you said. “When he—“ you were inclined your head towards Crowley “—left me behind to get killed by demons, she saved my life.”

“My mother knows you’re still alive and she never told me?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s just like her.”

“She didn’t tell you because I told her how much I hated you.” You glared at Crowley as you spoke. “She understood the feeling, and we had a mutual understanding. Anyway, she told me she would teach me to take out demons the way she can—“

“But let me guess—only if you steal a spell book from us and bring it to her,” Dean interrupted.

“She said it was the only way she’d be able to teach me,” you defended yourself.

“She lied,” Crowley butted in. “She always lies—she was using you to get that book.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so trustworthy,” you shot back. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that the first thing she does with you is send you to a place where you could get hurt, just to get something for her?” Sam argued. “You don’t think that that’s using you?”

You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again it was more subdued.

“I didn’t have any other choice. There are still demons out there who want me dead, and I’m totally and completely helpless.”

“You don’t have to be,” Crowley said. “I can help you.”

“Rowena may not be a saint, but I already know I can’t trust you,” you snapped. “I’m not looking to get abandoned again.”

“She had to know you’d get caught.” Sam seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. “So why…”

The Winchesters seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time, sharing a moment of telepathic connection before they turned and ran out the door.

“Do they do that a lot?” You wondered.

“You have no idea,” Crowley huffed. “I suppose I should find out what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The sudden smirk on your face made Crowley nervous. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you fell for that whole ‘totally and completely helpless” thing.” As you spoke, Crowley saw a faint glow coming from your hands, which were still handcuffed behind you. After a moment, he heard a snapping sound, and suddenly both of your hands were free and you were standing up. “Do you really think Rowena sent me here with no knowledge of magic?”

With a single wave of your hand, you sent Crowley flying against the wall. He landed with a thud, and you stepped over his frame on your way out the door.

“See you soon, father.”

…

Rowena had escaped with the book by the time Sam and Dean got to the library—she had waited until everyone was in the dungeon to make her move—and by the time the boys got back to the dungeon, Crowley was on the floor and you were gone.

“Great,” Dean growled. “She tricked us. I hate witches!”

“For once,” Crowley groaned as he slowly sat up. “I agree with you.”

…

“The Winchesters.” Your nervous gaze met your grandmother’s as you watched her flip through the spell book. “It’s them, they caught up. What now?”

“We need to distract them long enough for me to get through this spell,” Rowena insisted. “I won’t even need the book anymore as long as I can get this spell done.”

“I’ll distract them.” You were halfway to the door when Rowena stopped you.

“No, you’re not strong enough, not like this.” The way your grandmother was staring you down made you nervous.

“Like this?” You asked.

The door blasting open after a swift kick from Dean Winchester seemed to make up Rowena’s mind.

“I’m sorry, dear girl, but it’s the only way,” she said. “Impetus be—“

“Not so fast, mother.” You father appeared out of nowhere just behind Rowena, and he snatched up the spell book she was holding and swung it at her—she went down without another word. “I’m the only one that gets to hurt my brat.”

You didn’t say anything—you were still shaking. “Impetus beastiarum”—that’s what Rowena had been trying to say. Your own grandmother was going to turn you into a rabid monster—and ultimately kill you—just so that she could get away.

“The book.” You flinched out of your daze when Sam Winchester brushed past you and held his hand out to your father.

“Of course, moose,” he answered. “What would I need with a witches book?” He passed it over without argument.

“Why did you save me?” You demanded, sidestepping the taller Winchester to get a good look at your father, who merely shrugged.

“I’m the only one that gets to kill you.”

…

The Winchesters, of course, wanted to grab you after the little incident, but you flung them against the wall with your powers—one of the few tricks your grandmother had managed to teach you, and currently your favorite—and left before they got the chance.

You didn’t see them or your father for several more months. When you saw Crowley again, you were running for your life.

Somehow word had gotten around that a great witch had a granddaughter; or maybe it was that the king of hell had a daughter—you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that an archangel was after you because of it, and you had tried to cut a deal with him.

It hadn’t worked.

Lucifer had wanted you because he thought you’d be useful, and when he found out you weren’t, he of course decided that killing you was proper punishment for wasting his time.

You were in the midst of running for your life when you saw your father.

He was chained to the floor like a dog, watching your exchange with the archangel with peaked interest.

“Conteram hoc cincinno,” you yelled as you ran—it worked, and the chains at Crowley’s wrists snapped; they were warded against demons, not witches.

The freeing of his prisoner was enough of a distraction to get Lucifer off your tail. By the time he remembered you, you were out the door, and when he tried to turn his attention back to Crowley, the demon had already teleported.

…

“What was that?”

You jumped in surprise when your father appeared next to you.

“An escape,” you huffed out.

“You saved me back there.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you demanded. Crowley just grinned at you.

“Maybe witches aren’t so bad.”

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