#at least this job will be yet another chapter that's closing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cashmoneyyysstuff · 5 months ago

Text

coming home

synopsis : you sleep over at katsuki’s place after a night out with your friends. it’s more convenient that way.

an. wrote something rq after seeing the epilogue chapter and pheeewieeeee,,my boyfriend..sigh my boyfriend oh my boyfriend ouggh

cw. nothin really, just a lil casual domesticity w katsu :3, katsuki is fine ASL, reader n katsuki shower together so nakedness they nakey, lmk if there's anything else !!

you’ve noticed katsuki looks very good when he’s the designated driver.

he looks so natural behind the wheel, arms slightly flexed and gripping the steering wheel. his face serene but slightly tensed in concentration, occasionally scoffing to himself whenever someone in front of him drives too slow or cuts him off.

the lamp posts outside reflect nicely on his jaw, his nose and sharp eyes. his whole face really, you can’t stop sneaking glances at him.

he takes the opportunity to place his hand on your thigh once you get to a stop light, giving it a light squeeze. it feels heavy, relaxed, like your thigh just conveniently happens to be there for him to use as an armrest.

another squeeze and katsuki speaks, eyes never leaving the road, the stop light shines the same color as them.

“what’re ya peekin’ at me for, huh ?”

you’ve clearly not been sneaky enough, but you hum anyway. “whaddya mean ?” you ask innocently, your boyfriend scoffs.

a pinch to your thigh and he laughs when you whine. “know you’re not dumb, so quiet actin’ like you are. you got somethin’ on your mind, say it.”

you pout at him, he catches it when he glances at you briefly and smirks, katsuki pats your thigh.

“i was jus’ lookin at you, you look nice.”

he hums at that, smirk growing wider, he nods lightly “nice, huh ?”

“mhm,” you nod “really nice..” you clarify, making a point to look him up and down. he snorts, but his grip on your thigh does a bad job at making him look unbothered.

“know you’re obsessed with me, but you could at least try to act like you’re not.” he teases, hands going back to the steering wheel when the lights on his face shine green. the slight furrow in his brows immediately returns when the car in front of him doesn’t immediately pick up the pace. his fingers drum against the wheel impatiently.

“you got somewhere you need to be or something ?” you giggle.

“yeah, home. in bed.” he quips, always as easily irritable when he was sleepy and not to mention just a bit tipsy. kaminari had managed to get him to drink a little bit more than he usually would but the electric blond got too drunk to notice you’re boyfriend babysitting his drink the entire night. he always insisted on being the driver when it came to his precious baby.

you know he’s never liked to drink much, but you also think katsuki doesn’t so as to not demolish his so called 'reputation'. you and a handful of friends know how needy and emotional he gets when he gets drunk. he acts like everyone is after him when he’s reminded of the fact.

when things had started to die down and everyone slowly but surely started heading home, katsuki leant in near you to ask if you were ready to head out. he was the one that insisted on picking you up from your place since you were on the way to the restaurant, it was more convenient that way he'd said.

but suddenly, he’d suggested you just sleep over at his house for the night. his was closer if he took a shortcut, and it was already getting late. besides, you had left plenty of your stuff at his house. it was just “less of a pain” that way, he’d claimed, and you agreed.

katsuki places his arms behinds your chair to carefully back up into a parking spot. a lucky find, since it was so late at night. but that was hardly something you could focus on when he leant in so close, jaw tight in concentration. he smells just a bit like alcohol mixed with his usual scent.

you’d been together for years now, and yet this still makes your heart hammer, you’d blame it on the slight buzz of alcohol in your system if it wasn’t for the fact that this has always been how you’d reacted before—from the day he’d gotten his license and took you for a test drive to show off.

as the car slows to stop and the engine dies down with a low growl, katsuki turns on the lights and sighs, plopping down onto his seat with a groan, you have to laugh at how he acts like he’d just driven through a desert. he runs a hand through his hair and you notice katsuki looks extremely good when he’s the designated driver.

conveniently, you still have some sleepwear laying around at his house, neatly folded would be a better way to say it, katsuki was always a clean freak, not that it mattered much though since you knew you could just grab one of his shirts and call it a day and he wouldn’t mind at all. you think it shouldn't feel so natural to fish out a pair of your clothes from the drawer, like you'd been living here your entire life.

conveniently, katsuki has a spare toothbrush. he denies that he’d gotten it for you and tries to convince you that his specific toothbrush was sold in a pack of two and he was planning on keeping it for himself.

right, of course.

katsuki’s apartment has always had a cozy feel to you. probably because it was his and not just any old apartment. he just had this warmth to him that made it a home, one you could see yourself sharing with him. it’d be simple, natural. like breathing just to be with him.

you don’t particularly enjoy smelling like alcohol and outside, so you’re happy to sneak off to get to the bathroom first while your boyfriend gets himself a glass of water. until he catches you, of course. he almost chokes with how fast he zooms towards you, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“the fuck you think yer doin’ ?”

“katsuki, m’stinky and gross.”

“m’not gonna let you hog the bathroom in my house, get your own.” he stalks closer to you. he’s grown a lot since high school—in height, muscle, confidence and the list could go on, you stand your ground.

“you’re the one who brought me here, mister.” you shove an accusatory finger into his firm chest. he doesn’t budge, but he scowls down at your finger like you’d shot him and digs his finger into your side before you can stop him. you’re ready to cuss him out and fight if you have to, but to your surprise he sighs. looking off to the side.

“fine, we’ll just both go then.” he huffs, ears slightly tinted pink in the light of his living room.

oh.

“w—oh.” you breathe, immediately his eyes zip to you. his eyebrows furrow harder and his lip pulls up to hide the embarrassment growing on his face. “what ? s’that a problem or something ?”

“no, no !” you try to tone down the surprise in your voice, leaning against the wall to try and act casual. “i mean, no it’s not but—like, are you sure ?” and you feel like you’re sixteen again asking him if it was okay to kiss him.

“it’s more convenient that way. uses up less hot water so, it works out for me.”

“ah, right. bills.” you try to jest, managing to only huff awkwardly. your eyes flit to him and the floor and he scoffs after a minute. slowly, gently, he grabs your wrist. slowly, gently going towards your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“stop being dumb and weird.” he scolds, before pulling you inside the bathroom with him.

you realise, really realise, with your back against his chest, how warm your boyfriend is.

he's always run hot and it came in especially handy during the harsher winter months. but now it's not cold, it can't possibly be when it feels like he's damn near running a fever behind you.

hot water be damned, he'd be able to heat up an ice cold bath all by himself you think. perhaps he'd always been this scorching, but it's the extra proximity that's making you realise it.

despite scolding you earlier for making it weird, katsuki is incredibly stiff. he'd been stiff when he swiftly turned around the moment he decide the water was an alright temperature, mumbling something about telling him when you got in. he'd kept his eyes aimed diligently at the ceiling of his bathroom and almost slipped when he tried to reach for the corner of his bathtub. you tried to spare him the embarrassment of giggling at his mumbled, butt naked cursing.

he'd scooched in behind you and it took him about a minute to let himself relax enough to let your skin touch. despite it being more convenient for him like he'd claimed, his hands stayed glued to the edge of the bathtub. the grip he has seems a little much, you can see his knuckles almost turning white, but his arms strain and bulge that way and you won't say that's not nice to look at.

you decide to make the move. you sigh, feigning relaxation despite your heart pounding, only intensifying when katsuki holds his breath for a second behind you. you make yourself more comfortable, leaning against him more and woah, he's scalding. you almost want to pull back, but you feel yourself leaning a bit further as you realise he's moved back too. his back now touching the edge of the tub. he hisses when the undoubtebly cold edge hits his skin.

slowly, slowly, the grip on the tub relaxes, and he lets himself dip around. fingertips slowly floating around in the water until they came to run up your arms. your shoulders, and he sighs then, really sighs like he's comfortable. and then all is good in the world again.

he's somewhat used to it now, and it's normal, almost second nature how he leans his head forward to land in the crook of your shoulder. he nuzzles into it more when you lean to the side to give him more space. he shoves his head in deeper, nudging his head to yours harder because he knows the tips of his hair tickle. and of course, ever the nuiscance, does it again and again until it has you giggling softly in the quiet of his bathroom.

and you think you could honestly get used to it.

"'ve been thinkin'.." you hear him mumble against your skin. you let out a hum when he doesn't continue. "'bout what ?" you ask sleepily.

"..bout you moving in, with me." he pauses, you pause. and it's quiet. again.

"o-oh yeah ? where did that come from ?" you try to keep your voice as steady as possible. your heart races and you feel it so hard you think it ripples in the water. you feel katsuki lift his head up lightly in confusion, but his eyes still won't move towards you.

"ya had something else planned 'r somethin' ?"

"no, no ! i'd wanna, i'm super down !" you're a bit louder than you mean to be, voice a bit breathier and higher in pitch and it echoes against the walls of the bathroom. katsuki's fingers twitch where they rest on the edge of the bathtub again and he sighs.

"i just didn't expect you to um-pop the question.." you trail off, you immediately mentally smack yourself for the wordage you used, because now you can't stop thinking about marrying him. you wished you could sink further into the water but now you're a little too aware of the hot skin pressed behind you.

katsuki doesn't look at you, he leans back until he's staring at the ceiling. you can tell he's trying to make himself more comfortable with the way he stiffens in an effort not to move like he usually would when he'd pretend to be unbothered. it tells you that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about the same thing as you.

he sighs, and he finally looks at you then. voice poised and calm, but his eyebrows furrow and there's a slight pink on his cheeks.

"just..more convenient that way. you're already here all the time anyway." his rough voice cracks just slightly, the hints of doubt peeking through him. after letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you hum again.

"y-yeah--yeah.." you manage. katsuki clicks his tongue behind you.

"look, if you don't wanna-" your boyfriend gulps back his next words when you lean back against him once more. stiffening, before finally calming down again.

"i do, i wanna move in with you. truly." you lean your head back enough to comfortably look at him so he can see how serious you are. it seems to stun him a bit, eyes widened. his lips tremble like he wants to speak but can't. and since he can't, he composes himself (tries to at least) and nods, mostly to himself rather than you.

"good..good.." he mutters. you nod as well, turning back and closing your eyes to try and calm your beating heart, to fully relax.

"mhm, good."

and it's quiet again. only the sound of soft breaths and beating hearts remain. you can almost feel his heartbeat pressed against your back.

"how long have you been thinking about it--me moving in and all ?"

he hums from behind you, now that he's calmed down, his shoulders relax and he gets just a bit bolder, rubbing a thumb against the skin of your upper arm.

"does it matter ?"

"yes."

he grumbles, obviously embarrassed. " a while." is what he settles with "figured it was about time."

about time, huh ? you nod, the room overtaken by silence yet again. a comfortable, warm one you could get used to.

"'sides, i know how much you miss me when you leave."

you scoff, rolling your eyes. he's ruined the moment like his big mouth usually does.

"oh please, you're the one that keeps calling me back the moment i do leave." you shoot back, it's katsuki's turn to scoff now.

" yeah, sure. just admit you're obsessed with me, babe." he sasses.

"oh, babe you forgot your sweater at my place so come back and get it. what? no, i can't bring it back you forgot it so you come get iiit !" you put on a nasally deep voice, waving your arms around in the water dramatically.

"s-shut up, moron !" katsuki stutters, his abrupt movements of disbelief causing the water to ripple and spill over from the tub. "i don't sound like that--"

"oh babe, now that you're here i actually just remembered you forgot to gimme my 5th goodbye kiss on the way out--"

"yn.." he warns lowly.

"oh yn, if i could, i'd spent my entire life makin' out with you cus i wuv you sooo much, bleh bleh muah muah-- !" your crude little kissy noises are interrupted by your boyfriend furiously flicking water into your face. you squeal loudly, shrieking trying to block the jet stream with your arms. you laugh loudly as he continues attacking you from all sides and you're sure by now half of the water he's used was most definitely on the floor, but you really couldn't care less.

and frankly, you could get used to this.

taglist.

@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

3K notes · View notes

novemberheart · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 -> Chapter 2

{overview} Task force 141 has gone without an omega, despite needing one. Is their decision catching up to them?

{full story warning} a/b/o dynamics, poly 141 x reader, fem reader, omega reader, cursing, violence, blood, angst, future smut and suggestive language, chapter story, medical and military inaccuracies, age of reader not specified (adult tho)

{chapter warning} Nothing really, Simon needs medical attention

“Have you thought any more about my offer?”

“Have you thought any more about my answer?” John shot back, his arms folded across his chest. Kate sighed, digging her heels deeper into the dirt.

“They’re going to pair you up with one anyways, John. Wouldn't you rather they be chosen by me?” Kate pressed, turning to face the stubborn Captain. John pressed his lips together, his gaze distant.

“This a fact?” He hummed.

“They’re doing it all over the world. I'm sure your task force isn't out of the woods with this one.” Kate reminded. “Plus don't you think there could be some benefits?” Kate pressed.

“You think we need one?” John asked, his eyes finally landing on Kate.

“Honestly, yeah. I can smell it on you- all of you.” She spoke truthfully, her head glancing behind her at the three men lounging around in the dirt.

“We can talk about it later.” John shut down. “We’ve still got a job to do.”

“Business as usual, Captain.”

“What’s his blood type?”

“B positive,” Johnny replied following the rolling gurney. The nurse rolled the gurney into another maze of hallways.

“Alpha, yeah?” She questioned. Johnny quickly replied with a yes, his hands digging into the fabric of his jeans. “What happened?”

“Shrapnel to the leg, maybe up higher?” Johnny explained, his eyes flickering behind him to John.

“He fell from quite a height too,” John added. The nurse nodded her head, pushing open two large doors with the gurney.

“You’ll have to wait here. Someone will come and see you when we’re done.” She explained the doors swinging shut behind her. For a few seconds, the doors opened, and the sound of utter chaos filled the hall. Johnny and Kyle winced the urge to follow- the urge to keep watch weighing on them.

“Steady now,” John spoke up, his hands resting on their heavy shoulders, guiding them towards some chairs a little further down the hall. “He’ll be fine, much to his annoyance.” They dry chuckled, sitting in the hard plastic chairs.

They sat for what felt like hours- maybe it was. Johnny had a hard time sitting in his seat, the blood in his veins still hot and swarming.

“You're making me dizzy, mate.” Kyle huffed, leaning down further in his seat. John hummed in agreement from next to him.

Finally, the two doors swung open, all of them standing at attention.

“Gentlemen? Simon Riley, yes?” The doctor asked, and they quickly nodded. She smiled causing relief to flood them. “He’ll be fine. He’ll need some recovery time though. Pulled some hot metal pieces out of his left leg, and treated it for some second-degree burns. He's going to have some intense brushing on his back and side- but no signs of internal bleeding. We also had to pop his shoulder back into place. Two weeks rest at the very least.” She explained. “He's already been wheeled to his holding place, but he’s not quite ready for visitors yet.”

“Instincts?” Kyle questioned.

“Correct. It seems like he's been passed out for a while, don't want him waking up still thinking he's on the field.” She responded. “Now would be a good time for the pack omega to join him. Or if they can't come, maybe something holding their scent. It'll calm him and make his adjustment easier.”

They paused, looking at each other before John spoke up.

“We don't have an omega,” John said, with a clear of his throat. The doctor's eye widened, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Oh.” She smiled slightly. “That changes things slightly. Without an omega, his healing time will be at least four to six weeks.”

It was their turn for their eyes to widen.

“We might have some extra clothes with omega scent on them. Now because he's not bonded it might not help by much, but it could make his waking up easier.” The doctor offered.

“I think a new scent’ll throw him off,” Kyle interjected. The others nodded their heads in agreement.

“Of course.” She smiled politely. “He’s on the fourth floor, room B12. I suggest waiting till tomorrow morning for visitation.”

“Thank you, doctor.” They said in unison. They watched as she spun on her heels, steering herself back into the double doors. John pulled out his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Johnny asked.

“Calling Kate.”

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The next chapter will be posted in three days! See you next time! 🤎🧡

1K notes · View notes

empressdede · 3 months ago

Text

The Secretary

Chapter One

Serena never imagined she’d be working for the Roman Reigns. When she applied for the position as his personal secretary, she thought it was just another corporate gig within WWE. But being responsible for the schedule, travel plans, and endless media requests of the Undisputed Universal Champion? That was a whole new level of chaos.

At first, Roman barely acknowledged her beyond short nods and clipped sentences. He was intimidating, always focused, and rarely showed anything but professionalism. But over time, something changed.

It started small - Serena learning how he liked his coffee without him ever telling her. Then came the way she organized his calendar so he could spend more time with his family, something he clearly noticed. Eventually, he started talking to her beyond just business - about his cousin’s jokes, his kids’ antics, even the exhaustion of always being The Tribal Chief.

One night, long after most of the office had cleared out, they were still there. Roman sat behind his desk, rubbing his temples, while Serena sorted through the latest batch of emails.

"You don’t have to stay this late," he murmured, watching her from under furrowed brows.

She smirked, not looking up. "If I don’t, you’ll forget half your appointments and double-book yourself again."

He exhaled a low chuckle. "You got me there."

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The office lights cast a soft glow, making everything feel quieter, more intimate. Serena suddenly felt the weight of his gaze, and when she finally met his eyes, there was something there - something neither of them had acknowledged before.

She knew this was dangerous. He was her boss. The most powerful man in WWE.

Yet, for a brief second, she didn’t care.

Roman stood, slowly walking around the desk, his imposing presence making her heart pound. He stopped just inches away, his fingers grazing the papers in her hands, the warmth of his body radiating toward her.

"Serena…" His voice was lower now, almost hesitant.

She swallowed hard, knowing where this was going. Or at least, where it could go. Her breath caught as his hand reached up; whether to touch her face or just brush away a stray strand of hair, she didn’t know.

It would be so easy to lean in. To close the gap.

But reality crashed down on her like a steel chair.

If she let this happen, everything would change. And she couldn’t afford to lose this job - lose him- over one reckless moment.

So she stepped back, forcing a small smile. "I should go," she whispered.

Romans jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop her. He just nodded once, his expression unreadable.

Serena turned, walking toward the door with steady steps, even as her heart raced. Just before she left, she glanced over her shoulder.

He was still standing there, watching her.

And for the first time, she wondered if she was making the right choice - or the biggest mistake of her life.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Yall Ready for something New? 🤣 Might Post chapter two later today, JUST BECAUSE! Lmk if yall like it or if I should just… keep it in the draftss😭

Tagging the lovelies: @wrestlingprincess80 @whatdoeseverybodywant @pr0tost4r @paigereeder @alyyaanna @raya-hunter01 @mzv11 @trippinsorrows @partypoison00

If you want to be added to my taglist in all stories please say so HERE

#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #roman reigns #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black reader #The Secretary

193 notes · View notes

lumiolivier · 7 months ago

Text

Another Man's Treasure

Series: One Piece

Chapter: One Shot

Word Count: 2339

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Cross Guild x Reader (YN)

It's Mihawk's week to have you all to himself. You have your traditions. However, that doesn't mean they can't be so rudely interrupted.

A/N: So, yeah...You guys seem to keep liking these things. As long as you do, I'm just going to have to keep cranking them out. At least until you tell me you're sick of them.

Tags: @tavsianus @canyouhearthecoyotes @cheese-it-jr

“YN…” Mihawk liked his alone time. But he liked it with you much more. And there was one thing he loved with you more than anything else in the world. However, he couldn’t seem to find you. It was his week. It was his turn. And yet…Where could you possibly be?

You weren’t intentionally hiding. You were just dragged out against your will. An average Tuesday around the castle. But it also meant Perona having her claws in you. Granted, you loved Perona. She was a sweetheart. But of all times for her to drag you away, now was not the time. It was the start of Mihawk’s week. You two had a tradition. And Perona knew it all too well. But you also knew that dear, sweet Perona was an agent of chaos, no matter whose week it was. It didn’t matter whose week it was. It was always Perona’s week.

“You do know he’s going to kill you, right?” You sat still while Perona had your hands practically pinned down. Because if you weren’t Buggy’s doll, you were hers. And she wanted to try her hand at acrylics. And your hands happened to be available.

“Who, Mihawk?” Perona scoffed, “Please. Look at my cute little face. Like he could hate me for any reason. He can’t be mad at me, YN. I’m me.”

“Someone thinks awfully highly of herself,” you teased her.

“It’s not me being conceded,” Perona assured you, “It’s just fact. Mihawk can’t be mad at me. And if he is, it’s not for long.”

“Damn,” you let her have that one, “Good for you, Perona.”

“And I know he’s going to thank me,” Perona grinned, “I know it’s his week and you better be putting those nails to good use.”

“Perona!”

“You act like I don’t know what goes on behind those closed doors,” she rolled her eyes, “You and Mihawk are the worst. I hear that headboard slamming into the wall.”

“Perona!” Immediately, your cheeks got hot.

“What?” she squeaked, “I’m just saying. I’m proud of you! No need to be such a prude.”

“I’m not…!” You wanted to strangle her. But by some act of the divine, you keep your freshly manicured hands to yourself. Miraculously. You had to admit, though. Perona did a great job for it being her first time, “Thank you, Perona…”

“You’re very welcome, YN,” Perona gave you a little smirk, “Now, those better have Mihawk’s blood on them by the end of the night.”

“Perona!”

“YN!”

“There you are, Darling,” Mihawk walked into Perona’s room, his face scrunching up, “Perona, what the hell were you doing in here?”

“Ask your lady friend,” Perona threw you to the sharks, “She’s the one who got what I did.”

“Perona gave me a mani,” You showed off your new black and silver nails…that Perona wanted blood on, “I think they worked out nicely.”

“Of course, they did,” Mihawk put your hands up to his lips, “They’re on your beautiful hands, treasure. I’d expect nothing less. Now, come with me. You and I have important business to attend to.”

“Lambskin or latex, protection’s the best!” Perona called after you.

“Perona…” Mihawk scolded her. But only for a brief moment. She was right. Mihawk couldn’t be mad at Perona for long. You were impressed.

“You two have fun…” Perona shot you a wink.

“Don’t you listen to a word she says,” Mihawk took you away down the hall. You smelled something sweet, yet a touch earthy, “Perona doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Besides, you know vbetter, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you stood on your toes and kissed Mihawk’s cheek, “We don’t fuck on the first night. You’re much more of a gentleman than that.”

“Obviously.” Mihawk led you through his bedroom and into his bathroom covered in beautiful black marble and mother of pearl. The steam filled the air and you knew what you needed to do. But Mihawk got a little closer, already sliding your shirt off your shoulder. He purred in your ear, “Shall I unwrap my perfect little present?”

“Yes, sir.” You happily insisted. Bathtime with Mihawk was one of your favorite things in the world. You’d get to soak your achy muscles with Mihawk’s chest on your back (and let’s be honest, his lips all over your neck and schoulders). He ate up skin to skin contact with you more than anything. And…well…look at him. Mihawk was a chiseled god. You weren’t going to say no to that.

As he helped you into his giant bathtub, he soon followed you in and made you comfortable. Everything was already there. A bottle of wine (As Mihawk told you, it was up to you whether or not you took it.), pillowy bubbles, and water at the perfect temperature. Not that he didn’t love having you with him in the bathtub, but he also had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t going to let you get into his satin sheets without making sure you were clean first. Even if he had to do it himself. Not that you’d ever tell him no. You both loved the quiet time. You loved the closeness, the warmth. You loved how he loved you. How he showed you just how much he loved you. The soft, gentle touches. You were the only girl in the world in Mihawk’s eyes. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. You loved Crocodile. You loved Buggy. But for this week, you loved Mihawk. And Mihawk alone. Unless someone asked nicely. Nothing could ruin this for either of you.

“OH, HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWKKKKKEYYYYYYYYYYYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” a man’s voice sang through the halls. One that made Mihawk immediately tense up. It wasn’t Crocodile. It wasn’t Buggy.

“Mihawk?” You looked up at him, a little concerned, “What’s going on?”

“It’s alright, darling,” Mihawk assured you, idly running his fingers down your skin, “If we just stay quiet, he’ll go away.”

“Who is it?” you whispered.

“He’s…” Mihawk sighed out, “Complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that,” Mihawk held you a little tighter, “One of my ghosts coming back to haunt me.”

“But that’s Perona.”

“No, no,” Mihawk shook his head, “Before Perona. Well before Perona. He was…I’ll admit. He was fun for a night or two. But…”

“FOUND YOOOOOOOOOUUU!” That same man from the hall stumbled into the bathroom. Into the sanctuary you shared with Mihawk. Where you were both still very much naked.

“One of us sobered up,” Mihawk rolled his eyes and threw back the rest of his glass of wine, “What the hell do you want? And who even let you in?”

“Buggy did,” that man rolled into the bathtub with the two of you. And it took him a minute to realize you were even there. Once he did, though…That’s when you realized what Mihawk saw in him. Because a man with that level of charm was deadly, “Oh…Hello…A woman? Really, Hawkeyes?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” Mihawk did his best to keep his cool, but it grew more and more difficult by the second, “Get. The fuck. Out of my bathroom.”

“Look at you…” the man cradled your cheek in his palm, no doubt sending Mihawk into an internal rage, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“YN,” You tried not to swoon, but…Between the eyes, the face, the scars over his eye…You couldn’t help yourself.

“YN…” And then…That smile hit you. And you were done. Granted, you knew whose bed you’d be sleeping in for the week, but…This one made a case for himself, “What is that…South Blue?”

“Mmhm…”

“A pretty little southern girl…” he smirked, “Good for you, Mihawk.”

“Yes, yes, I’m very lucky,” Mihawk growled, “Now, get the fuck out of here, Shanks!”

“Alright, alright,” he rolled out of the bathtub, his clothes soaking wet, “So, should I wait in the bedroom, then?”

“If it’s a guest room,” Mihawk scoffed, “I am not sleeping with you, Shanks.”

“Aww, come on…” he slurred, “You know you want to…”

“No,” Mihawk grabbed a towel for you, handing it off with an apologetic look in his eyes, “Why don’t you go to our room? I’ll handle this.”

“Ok.” You wrapped yourself up in your towel and started walking off to the bedroom. Never did you expect to meet any of the Cross Guild’s exes, let alone under these circumstances. Let alone Mihawk’s. At least you knew Mihawk had taste. But there was something more. You didn’t like that look in his eyes. Just because he didn’t say something didn’t mean something didn’t happen with them. You’d never see him so scary. And yet, he seemed so defeated.

After you were dried off, you put on a black silky robe and made yourself comfortable on the bed. Although, the angry and colorful language you heard down the hall wasn’t exactly the comfort you were looking for. But then, it got quiet. Scarily quiet. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because it was over or Mihawk needed to hide a body. But before too long, one word echoed through the castle. It could be heard for miles. You had never heard Mihawk so angry. Then again, you were also involved.

“BUGGY!”

You weren’t sure what was going to happen next. But things went back to their scary quiet again. Before you knew it, Buggy’s head zoomed past your door. Just his head. Nothing else. It just blurred by. Along with Buggy’s yelling accompanying his head’s flight. You being the curious type couldn’t help but peek out at the carnage. No blood, so you took that as a win. That meant Mihawk kept the swords in their sheaths. However, the new black eye coming through Buggy’s makeup was not nearly as victorious.

“You ok, Buggy?” You picked his head up from the floor. What could you say? You took pity on the guy.

“No, I’m not ok!” he squeaked, “My body’s missing.! Your boyfriend just fucking decked me!”

“What happened?” Because you had a feeling that, even though it still broke your heart to see Buggy get hurt, he likely had it coming.

“Apparently, when we have company,” Buggy rolled his eyes, “I’m not supposed to answer the door. I’m not supposed to let them in. Oh, no. We can’t have that. Mr. Broody Pants barely wants us in his castle. God forbid we have anyone else come over. And before SOMEONE was boinking Shanks, that same SOMEONE seems to forget we have history, too.”

“Goddammit, Buggy…” you had been around the Cross Guild long enough. You knew how they ticked. You also appreciated Crocodile staying out of the mess. This was purely a hissy fit between Mihawk and Buggy. And unfortunately, you had to be the referee between them. You had to be the one to call the fight. And on tonight of all special nights. Which sucked even more, “Did you know Mihawk and Shanks had any history before you let him in?”

“Of course, I did,” Buggy scoffed, “I know enough about everyone in this castle to keep myself safe.”

And if that didn’t make your heart ache just a little more, “Even me…?”

“Sorry, doll,” Buggy nestled his head in your shoulder, “An unfortunate nature of the beast.”

“You really think I’d do something so stupid, Buggy?” you started to understand where Mihawk was coming from, “You really think I would betray you? You think I would be the one holding the bloody knife that came out of your back? You think I’m like that to where you’d feel the need to have something over my head?”

“Well…” It was then, Buggy knew just how much he gutted you. How much he hurt you. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to backtrack his way out of it.

“No,” you put your foot down, “You said what you said. You meant what you said. You don’t realize it, Buggy, but you and Mihawk and Crocodile have-”

“Ahem…”

“And Perona…” you didn’t see her floating around, but you knew she was there. You knew she was listening, “You’ve all been like a family to me. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t fuck family over. I can’t believe you’d do something like that…To Mihawk and Crocodile? Yes. Of course, I can see that. All day. I didn’t think you’d bring me into that, too. I thought we were special.”

“And we are,” Buggy insisted, his eyes pleading, “YN…Baby girl…”

“Don’t you fucking baby girl me,” you were not happy. And you had every right to be not happy. It was then, you decided to take a page out of Mihawk’s playbook. And you dropkicked Buggy’s head from one end of the hall to the other.

Although, as Mihawk stuck his head out of the guest room he had tucked Shanks into for the evening (because he wasn’t heartless. Shanks was wasted and needed a place to crash.), he was shocked to see Buggy fly by again, “YN…?”

“What?” You snarled, already fired up from what Buggy had said.

“YN…” Mihawk’s voice took on a much more authoritative tone, “You know better.”

“I’m not in the mood, Mihawk,” you stood your ground, not letting anyone belittle your feelings right now. You knew you had every single right to be as hurt as you were.

“Hey…” Mihawk wrapped his arms around you and let you shake in his embrace, “What happened?”

“Buggy just pissed me off…” You admitted.

“Me, too,” Mihawk scooped you up into his arms and gently kissed your forehead, “How about I bring you back to my room and we can make it ours for the evening? Sound good to you?”

You just nodded, your head rested in Mihawk’s shoulder.

“Good girl,” Mihawk carried you back to bed and put you down as delicate as a newborn baby, “By the way, darling…”

“What?” You started to come down from your fit of rage. Mihawk had that effect on you.

And he simply smiled, “Wonderful kick.”

“Thank you…” And you knew the night could only get better from there.

281 notes · View notes

atzloverr · 3 months ago

Text

Our unsaid truths - chapter 5

previous chapter - next chapter

series masterlist

pairings: poly atz x reader, Yunho x reader focused

cw: (MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS) smut (it’s tiiimeeee), reader is a waitress, some would consider it dubcon, fingering, groping, neck kissing, tongue kissing, exhibitionism (maybe), Yunho is a tease lol

It was a Thursday night, and while you had expected to be at home packing for the trip right now, you instead found yourself at work. It was one of those stressful nights where the guests kept rolling in, never giving you a break.

Working as a waitress wasn’t something you had anything against, but it wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed either. You knew you didn’t have to take these extra hours, but when your boss asked you - and he made sure to really emphasize how well payed you’d get - you couldn’t say no.

So here you were, at nine p.m, running around in the restaurant. This job wasn’t the greatest, salary wise and enjoyment wise, but it did pay the rent. The thought had crossed your mind: was it really worth it when you were practically living at Seonghwa’s place? But you didn’t want to settle and move in with him just yet, now that you had fought so hard to get your apartment.

And, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were intruding. That you came into their perfect life and gave them another mouth to feed. You shook your head, continuing to wipe the table before moving on to the next one.

Finally, after all of these stressful hours, the guests were starting to leave for the night.

”Good going Y/n!” you heard one of your coworkers cheer silently as he walked past you. You smiled at him, even though your cheeks almost hurt from having done so all night.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, and to your surprise, you only had twenty minutes left of your shift. You hummed a tune as you continued cleaning the tables, imagining the bliss of getting to finally lie down and rest for a bit when you eventually got home.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You closed the door to Seonghwa’s house with a sigh. You hadn’t really realized how tired you really were until you felt like you were about to fall asleep on the short drive to their place.

The sound of some movie playing on the TV filled your ears, and as you took off your shoes, you realized how silent it was.

It was usually buzzing with sounds at this time. At least three of them always seemed to be in the living room, chatting or eating dinner because of working a late shift. That’s why you were so shocked when you entered the living room.

You almost melted when you saw Yunho, cuddled up in the couch, watching a movie by himself. ”Hey,” you smiled, throwing your bag at a chair. He raised his eyebrows with a smile. ”Y/n? I didn’t know you were coming!” he said as he opened his arms, inviting you to join him.

“I’m not planning on staying very long, just gonna get some of my stuff for the trip,” you explained, slowly dragging yourself to the couch.

It wasn’t odd for the two of you to watch movies with one another, cuddle or just simply spend time together. That’s why you didn’t hesitate to throw yourself into his arms on the couch. He was on his back, and you faced him on your side, one of your legs thrown over his.

You sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of the soft couch under your tired body paired with the warm blanket being thrown over you and Yunho’s bodies. Yunho let out a laugh as you buried your head in his neck.

“Tired?” he asked. You groaned at the question, cuddling closer to him, perhaps closer than you usually would. But it was as if an invisible line had been crossed that night when you kissed him.

Although you felt as if you could be more intimate with him, you still couldn’t help but gasp when one of his hands snaked up the back of your shirt, his slender fingers running up and down your back.

Yunho smirked as you suddenly seemed full of energy, your breath quickening. “Hm? Did I catch you off guard?” he whispered into your ear, too sensually for you to not feel a tingle in your stomach. “I’m a man of my words.”

You suddenly felt bold, and decided to treat his action as a challenge. You let your face bury itself deeper into his neck, until your lips almost touched his soft skin. You breathed on his neck, making him shiver, before you finally started kissing it.

You didn’t miss the way his hand stopped tracing your bare back as he felt your lips on him. You smiled victoriously, but forgot that he was just as competitive as you.

You sucked in a breath when his hand instead moved to your front, still touching under your shirt. You almost stopped breathing when his hand almost reached your bra, but stopped right there.

“Oh~” you sang, understanding that he was too, willing to take things further. That’s when you decided to move your knee ever so slightly, dangerously close to where you knew he wanted it to touch. And right when he thought that you were using his tactics of teasing, you made him almost whimper in shock when your thigh brushed up against his erection.

“Hmm,” you smiled, feeling his hardness through his sweatpants. You raised your head from the crook of his neck to see his face, and he was also wearing a grin, slightly parted lips and eyes that told you everything you needed to know.

Distracted by his beautiful face, you missed when his hand slowly started traveling further down, until you felt his fingers against the hem of your panties. Your eyes widened, but soon, you let his action motivate your next one.

You looked into his eyes as your hand traced the outline of his cock outside of his pants, making his hips involuntarily thrust upward slightly.

“Ahhh, Yunho?” you heard a voice whine, entering the kitchen. You immediately retracted your hand, laying on your back next to him as the person kept talking. “Have you finished packing?” you heard, and you realized that it was Yeosang.

“Hmm, yeah I’m about done,” Yunho answered, keeping his eyes on your wide and slightly panicked ones. Why were they panicked? Well, Yunho’s hand hadn’t stopped moving just because you got company.

You closed your legs around his hand, attempting to make his hand stop moving, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh, Y/n, you’re here too?” Yeosang said as he entered your field of view. You smiled, and just as you were about to answer him, Yunho’s hand reached the place your body had begged him to.

You cleared your throat, trying to cover up the sound that escaped you as you felt his hand on your heat, exploring you.

“Uh— I, yeah! I’m here!” you said, making Yeosang tilt his head in confusion. “Um, yeah,” he smiled. You begged he didn’t notice when your hand moved under the blanket, laying itself on Yunho’s as a weak attempt to get him to stop moving his fingers.

But you didn’t really want him to stop, because the feeling of his slick fingers circling your clit in an almost hypnotic motion, it was irresistible.

“Are you sleeping over?” Yeosang asked, starting to go back to the kitchen, opening the fridge. You thanked god that he left. “No, I’m just getting some stuff for the trip!”

You tried to keep your words few, because holding back from making a sound was harder than you’d like to admit.

“Is ‘stuff’ Yunho?” Yeosang laughed, and you faked one. Honestly, you just begged him to go already, and save you from this humiliation. “I guess I couldn’t resist his cuddles,” you said through gritted teeth, looking at Yunho’s fake innocent face.

“Alright, have a good night! I’m going to bed now!” Yeosang said. You mentally sighed in relief. “Okay, see you later!” Yunho said, smiling at you.

“What on earth do you think you’re—“ You were about to start cussing him out when one of his fingers entered your hole, making you gasp. “Better keep quiet,” Yunho said, curling his finger deep inside of you. “Never know when someone’s gonna show up.”

You tried to look angry, but you couldn’t even manage that. The pleasure of his skilled fingers pumping into you while rubbing your clit made your face contort in pleasure. “There you go,” Yunho whispered, face coming closer to yours.

You couldn’t hold back, and honestly, you didn’t care too much, so you grabbed his face, kissing him desperately as he added another finger inside of you. The size of his fingers made you fantasize. How big was he? Sure, you felt that he was big when you touched him outside of his pants, but how would he feel inside of you? How much would he stretch your insides? Would he go fast? Rough? Slow? Passionate?

You hungrily let your tongue enter his mouth, feeling yourself coming closer to orgasm as his pace quickened.

Yunho broke the kiss, his half-lidded eyes dripping with lust. “That’s it,” he said, watching as you - as silently as possible - got closer to the edge. “Give in.”

You wanted to wipe that smug smirk off of his face when you finally came, clenching around his fingers and covering your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds that left you.

You watched as he withdrew his hand, his digits entering his own mouth. He sucked them seductively, making you imagine what his mouth was capable of. He did this on purpose, you were sure of it.

“Let me,” you impatiently wanted to repay the favor, but he stopped your hands. “You had some “stuff” to get, didn’t you?” he smiled, getting off of the couch. “I’m sure you’ll want to come home at a reasonable time, considering you probably haven’t even started packing,” he smirked.

You watched with your jaw dropped slightly as he walked up the stairs, waving you with a grin.

“Good night, Y/n.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You tiredly threw the clothes into your bag, still feeling flushed, even though it happened an hour ago. When you had entered Seonghwa’s room, he’d asked you why you were so red, and why you looked so disheveled, and you simply shook your head. Luckily for you, he bought the ”tired” excuse, and you could retrieve your things and go home without having to discuss the night’s events.

That night when you went to sleep in your small bed in your apartment, two thoughts dominated your brain.

One: how excited you were for the trip tomorrow, and two: how you were going to get back on Jeong Yunho.

taglist: @ateezswonderland @sxdisteez @heiswan @hwxbibi @rainfrogsimp @emilysecresy @suns1sweetheart @symmieangela @pocket-hwa @gghzzc @wooyoungsbrat @dawn-iscozy @fairy-jojo @soso59love-blog @gigglensnort @mimikittysblog @maplelilly05 @pixie0627 @cotton-candycloudz @gugggu6gvai @cpg2020 @therealcuppicake @whyismingi @yizhou-time @vtyb23 @the-belching-toe @mrsminseochoi @m00njinnie @lucyspage

sidenote: this is so unrelated but regular by nct 127 is literally unironically one of the best songs I’ve ever heard

masterlist

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #yunho #yunho smut #series #our unsaid truths #poly ateez x reader #poly ateez #yunho x y/n #yunho x you #yunho x reader #kpop smut #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez ff

299 notes · View notes

bettystonewell · 2 months ago

Text

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, language, masterbation, references to physical abuse & references to sexual assault/non-con, injuries to reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support and interest when I posted the Masterlist for this series.

Please double check the warnings there and at the top of each chapter before you read - I can’t stress this enough!

I hope you enjoy the ride! - Beth ❤️

Next Chapter

The thing about mates was, Dean didn’t want one. His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his laptop that warmed his hand, and he, well…he simply didn’t deserve one.

All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt - he’d learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn’t need that risk. Hell, he didn’t need the responsibility.

So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised.

You were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he’d allow himself the pleasure. But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn’t know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn’t, because you belonged to somebody else.

The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.

His eagle eyes couldn’t miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he’d touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.

He could still see them, and you, in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.

It was wonderful until it wasn’t. The constant reminder of what he was allowing to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood. Yet he didn’t want you. Nope. Nuh-uh.

“You good?” Sam asked from the passenger seat, still stealing his own glances like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat. It was getting weird, and Dean chose to focus on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” he said, though his hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. He was good, and the sooner they left this shithole of a town, the better.

He cranked up the stereo, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. His car, his music, his rules. It was everything he needed right now at that moment. It was all he could do to drown out the tingles and pangs that continued to churn in his gut and make his knot twitch.

The second he’d put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the lot, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.

Sam’s heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.

The force of the frayed timber hitting the frame unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.

“Dammit.” He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam’s voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name. He just wouldn’t drop it.

“I’m fine,” Dean spat. Of course he wasn’t. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations. Deal with the strain in his pants, fast becoming painful, and…fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy.

He fumbled with his buckle and popped the button. Moisture already pooled at his tip and when he pushed the denim down and reached in to fist himself, his fingers ran straight through the warm sticky mess with a satisfying tug.

He moaned. Cursed inwardly because of it. Sam’s funk still lingered on the other side and he was bound to notice the pleasurable sound and give him shit for it. So Dean held his breath.

"You know I saw it too," Sam said.

“So?” ‘Course he knew. It was right fucking there. The vamps had torn your clothes, leaving little to his imagination. Your neck. Your claim. The edge of your rack.

"So. She's your soulmate. It's normal to…have these feelings."

Feelings? He didn’t have feelings. “She’s nothin’ to me.” His alpha just wanted its knot wet. Just because you were his soulmate didn’t change a thing. He couldn’t have you. Any piece of wanting he had for you was superficial. Pure lust at best.

"Okay. Go have fun with your hand, then. See if I care," Sam said, right on cue.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean whispered.

And, "Jerk," came the usual retort.

He rolled his eyes.

With his palm still holding the weight of himself, he stepped over to the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. The taps gurgled and air spat from the spouts in the metal head before the hot stream of water burst through.

His brow quirked. He wasn’t the only thing pent up around here.

His boots were the first to go, kicking them off to thud against the tiles. Followed by his socks, pants, boxers and top layers. A heavy jacket, his current favourite flannel and black undershirt to match. All discarded to reveal the thing he’d been dreading to see.

A soul mark. Your initials there, as expected, above his anti-possession tattoo.

He stepped up to the basin and the small rectangular mirror covered in rot and took a closer look. His fingers traced the surrounding skin, still holding a reddish hue.

It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t unnoticeable either, which meant yours was, too.

Had you felt them yet? Seen them? Touched them? Had your mate?

His heart thumped deep in his chest. If he had a mate and she came home with another alpha’s initials on her body, how would he react, ‘cause he doubted he’d be happy. Angry? Maybe. Calm? Definitely not.

But he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. In his mind, you were loved and well taken care of by whoever he was, just as you deserved and he didn’t.

Whatever his name, he wasn’t angry. Whatever his name, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to find out thirty minutes ago, and he never would. Allowing himself to keep only your image and your scent that lingered on his clothes.

What was wrong with him?

Under the warm pressure, he washed the blood, sweat and dirt from the hunt off his broad frame. A generous amount of Sam’s body wash helped.

He closed his eyes and brought his soap covered fingers back to pump his hardened flesh as visions of your mouth wrapped around it urged him on.

He twisted his wrist and grunted. He’d seen your hands. That unscathed skin and pretty manicured nails would look better than what he was working with. Your tongue, licking his head and shaft just the way he liked it in tandem, more so.

He’d grip his hands through your hair and encourage you to take him deeper. His tip would hit the back of your throat and you’d gag, but damn, it’d be sexy. Sweet like velvet.

Fuck.

Dean braced himself against the tiles and pumped harder. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His knot was thickening already, and grunts escaped his mouth in time to his long and precise strokes.

His hand would grip your hips over the wall he was using. The way you’d swayed them, mesmerised him, carrying you well. Those legs they were attached to would lift nicely over his shoulders, or squeeze perfectly ‘round his waist. He’d pump into your tight, slick-lined channel either way.

You’d moan for him. In that silky smooth way you’d spoken to him when you’d thanked him for saving you. Your body would exude a comforting warmth, just as it had in his arms when he’d rescued you.

The hunt had been rough on his body, but you’d be gentle - when you wanted to be.

Your hands would explore every inch of him. They’d pinch his nipples with soft fingers, rolling and twisting, pulling when you dared. Those same manicured nails would dig into his skin and leave perfect crescent moon shapes along his back.

His own fingernails dragged down his chest to mimic his mind. Over the tiny nubs they went, moving down to dance around his navel. They teased the taut flesh of his hips and scoured back over his shoulders where he imagined you’d cling to him.

If he could reach his back, he’d trail them down his spine. He’d grab his ass with both hands if it weren’t for one being occupied with drawing out the toe curling sensations on his dick.

Your scent would take over the floral notes in the soap. Dean had experienced nothing like it. He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by it and you. If he could help it, his favourite flannel would remain as it was, unwashed, but cherished forever.

He’d save it for the next time he allowed his rut. When his balls grew heavy and his skin flamed molten hot.

If only he could sink his knot into you just once. His hand just wasn’t the same. He knew it, and the strokes he made were now shallow and sloppy as he neared his release.

“M’mega,” Dean panted. Ears hopeful to hear you calling him Alpha in return. Just once.

His fingers fumbled over the base he’d push inside you, forcing his knot as deep as it would go. He’d groan, and you’d moan as you clamped down around him, and only when you’d taken your own pleasure would he spill into you. Thick ropes of cum would paint your walls and mix with your slick. Lock you in place. Maybe give him a pup or two.

“Fuck,” he growled, spraying the tiles before him. Pups? No, he didn’t need that, and the remainder of his load thankfully dribbled over his fingers, dripping down to the shower floor below.

It wasn’t how he wanted it to be or how he thought it would be with you, but it was the relief he needed to get him through the thought that he’d be leaving this town, and you, the next day.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even look Sam in the eye to start with.

He dumped his clothes on the bed and headed straight for the fridge in the front corner of the room where the six-pack he’d bought that morning still waited for him to take another load off.

He twisted the cap, flinging it at the trash, and took his first swig before slumping into the closest chair opposite Sam. The stale air in the cushion squeaked under his weight and he smirked at the sound. “Sammy. What’d you eat?”

“Great,” Sam muttered over the top of his computer screen. Though his tone was anything but. “You ready to talk?”

“Nope.” Dean was indignant, and he popped the end of the word in finality. He took another swig and kept the lip close to his. If he was drinking, he couldn’t be talking, and that suited him fine.

Out of sight, out of mind? Out of mouth, out of… no wait. That wasn’t quite right either, and he flicked his head and the thought away.

Sam leaned back in his chair and scratched at his long locks. “You’re wearing the same shirt you gave her.”

“Okay, mom.”

Mary was still a sore spot for both of them, but when Sam insisted on talking about this fresh one, he had it coming. Who was he? The clothes police? “She only borrowed it. It’s still clean.” Dean shrugged.

“Smells like her, too.”

And he’d had enough. He clunked the glass bottle on the table and leapt to his feet. The beer would have to wait. He suddenly needed air, and the cheap brew was shit, anyway.

He walked back to the bed and snatched his jacket, flinging it around his shoulders.

A wave of your scent lifted to his nostrils as it settled on his back, and he closed his eyes.

Dammit. It was only cinnamon. Nothing special. A simple spice. So why the hell was it affecting him? Soulmate or no, he didn’t even know you, and he scowled and turned on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, but Dean was already on his way out the door.

It slammed in response as he stepped out into the night and looked around.

Now what?

Getting away from Sammy was one thing, but there was nothing to do in this town. He’d checked out the local nightlife the first night they’d arrived, and there was none… but you.

Haha. Nope. He saw what he did there.

This was fucked. He was fucked. No. Wait. He’d jerked you out of his system.

His hands tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck, then found their way into its pockets. They fumbled over loose change in one and Baby’s keys in the other.

She was waiting for him on the other side of the lot. Her sleek black paint beckoned him to sit behind the wheel, but he turned the other way. He wasn’t one to wallow in self pity, but he would tonight.

He sunk further into his clothes and stomped across the gravel, moving towards the road.

The air was cool and crisp in his lungs. The light from the broken street lamps dim in his eyes and barely enough to show him a way, but it was perfect. Closed shop fronts meant fewer people and fewer people meant less crap to impede your scent on his clothes.

Your scent.

Yeah, okay. He was fucking stupid. Delusional even. Wallowing like this over someone he’d just met? He didn’t know you besides what he’d read on the police report, and that was a fat load of nothing.

A mate, a job, an apartment. Parents interstate.

He wouldn’t have even met you if he and Sam hadn’t taken this case. Wouldn’t have known his soul mate was mated. Wouldn’t have realised he had one. Him. Dean Winchester? With an omega as respectable and normal as you?

Yeah. This was working well. Why not think about what you were doing right now? Imagine you with him, curled up beside him on a nice comfy couch in your cozy apartment? A bed. Your nest? Warm blankets and all that other fluffy crap omegas insisted on buying themselves. The scowl he’d been wearing since Sam had tried talking to him deepened.

He wasn’t right for you, but he was a mate just the same. Your mate. And you deserved one when Dean didn’t want you. When he couldn’t afford to have you in his life. Yet, his mind kept drawing him back in. Teasing him, taunting him, dangling the golden carrot before him. Tempting him to seek you out.

Stupid brain. He should’ve bailed the second he’d dropped you off. Collected the gear and headed straight home for the bunker, but no, he just had to jack off. He’d caved. And now he was wandering around this god forsaken town because he refused to man up and just talk to Sam about it.

He couldn’t turn back, though. Not now. He couldn’t face his baby brother, just like he couldn’t face the truth that continued to dangle just beyond his conscience’s grasp.

So he continued wandering instead because that was helpful. He’d solve everything by scuffing his boots over the gravel, cement, and the odd patch of grass that covered the ground, dragging his bow legs and pride behind him.

His feet directed him left, then right. Everything he passed looked the same.

Buildings merged. Blurred in the darkness. White paint turned grey along with everything else that wasn’t lit by storefronts and their after hours emergency lights. He had no idea where he was besides having Baby’s scent behind him, and more crappy town in front.

But then an apartment block came into view that was familiar, even late at night.

Yes. The street. That car. The park on the other side of it. Fuck. How’d he even manage it? Of all the places he could’ve gone, he’d arrived back where he’d last seen you, only he wasn’t looking at a reflection in the rearview.

And he was no longer alone, either.

Forever the hunter, Dean sniffed the air, scenting the figure he’d spotted on the bench under the tree, and straight away, cinnamon collected in his nose. But so did the metallic tang of blood.

No, no. ‘No fucking way.’ You had a couple of scratches earlier, some bruising maybe, but this was different, and Dean’s fists clenched. Nails dug into the callouses lining his palms. This was fresh and teed with the stench of an alphas knot.

‘M’mega,” his inner alpha rumbled, and dammit, he’d worked so hard to keep the son of a bitch at bay. But just as it would if Sam were injured, or anyone else in their accidental pack, the scent of your blood infuriated him, and he found his feet tumbling underneath towards you.

He raced down the sidewalk. Rushed across the road. His boots pounded over the cement and bitumen with thuds that slapped his ears and jolted his legs.

What the hell were you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here after what had just happened to you. Most civilians knew nothing of his world and the job he did in it, but you did, and you should know better. Know the dangers of being out here alone at night and…and…crying?

A lump formed in his throat. Why were you crying? Why hadn’t you showered, for that matter? Your clothes were the same ones you’d worn earlier. He noticed that the second he pulled up in front of you.

No jacket, no sweater. Shirt torn and dirt covered, but this wasn’t you. This wasn’t the omega on the police report. She was radiant and confident, even at the rundown factory. Yet now, besides the scent and the outline of your body, you were no longer there.

Why?

“Where’s your mate, omega?” Dean cursed under his breath the second the words left his mouth. His inner alpha could gnaw away at his resolve as much as it liked, but you’d never be his.

“What’re you doing here?” Your sniffle was quick and quiet. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and looked up.

He didn’t like the tone in your voice, nor the fear that spiked in your scent when he’d mentioned him. “I asked you first,” he said and moved closer to examine your features.

Your eye was bruised and would turn black. Your mouth, barely lit in the shadows, still shimmered with blood from the cut on your bottom lip.

You didn’t have these injuries before, and though he was seething under the skin, he did his best to rein it in. With a shaky hand, he reached for your cheek. Brushed the tear you’d missed away with his thumb, and though he knew the answer, asked, “Who did this to you?”

He clenched his jaw when you shook your head.

“No one. I fell,” you said. Sucked at lying, too, but it wasn’t the time. He needed to get you outta here before your dickbag mate showed his face.

“Do you have pups?” Minus traces of an alphas ball sack, yours was the only scent surrounding you. He hoped its ‘cause you had none.

Your eyes were sullen when you shook your head,l again, and Dean’s heart raced.

For the second time since he’d known you, he lifted you in his arms and brought your tense form to his chest. You were chilled and weary. Not the way his beautiful omega should ever be around him.

His?

Fuck.

Dean was playing a dangerous game, yet his feet moved under him, towards his motel, and further away from the park where somewhere nearby, he knew you lived with the other alpha.

He didn’t want a mate, but he was fine with taking someone else’s.

Consequences be damned.

Next Chapter

We’ll be following Dean’s perspective for some time, but we will get into the readers head eventually, too. It takes two to tango after all 😉 I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. They help turn my retail working frowns upside down.

Chapter 2: Harbouring - 28/02

“The, ah, W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off as your lip curled.

He should’ve known yours would suit you. Everything else about you had him enamoured, so why wouldn’t it? It was perfect, swirling through the spaces in his mind and touching his lips with a pleasurable rumble when he repeated it back to you.

“Will you let me clean you up?” When you nodded, he gave you a single one back. “Then we’re gonna need a few things first.”

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@monthlynamechange @deansimpalababy @justherefortheficandsmut @emma1998sblog @livingdeadblondequeen

@spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

If you'd like to be tagged in this or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

332 notes · View notes

ilium-ilia · 2 months ago

Text

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Seven: another deal. another oath

tw: grief

Marco got you sick.

Building pressure throbs between your eyes, ravaging your sinuses with tightly packed snot. It moves to your throat until you’re constantly hacking up phlegm and the pressure in your ears swells so viciously that you can hardly hear anyone over the idle chatter in the restaurant. Of course, there is no evidence to prove that it was Marco himself who got you sick. There are countless people who flood through the doors of Sapori with empty stomachs and noses running from the bitter, humid cold of London. Anyone could have gotten you sick.

Yet, over the last week, no one has gotten as close to you as he did. Fingers digging into your arm. Legs pinning yours to the bench. Gentle hand—the hand of a killer, his hand, that brutal fucking hand—caressing the side of your face, holding you hostage. Taking, and taking, and taking—tongue shoving past your teeth—

Blurry eyes glance away from the assaulting brightness of your phone screen. Sapori is quiet; it always is this early. Early for late night dining, anyway. Half past ten, you’ve spent most of the morning cleaning every single corner of that building. It’s how you rationalize spending more hours at work even without customers—you have to keep your hands busy and cash flowing. Except, after a while, you got too dizzy to continue, so you’ve taken refuge at a lonely table. The dust and carcinogens you’ve inhaled haven’t done anything to ease your symptoms, but you can’t afford to stay idle. There are numbers to be crunched, cash to be earned, and debts to be paid.

Which brings you back to your phone.

Having only graduated school without any sort of higher education, your options for jobs are limited, but working one job isn’t cutting it anymore. You can either pick up more hours like you have been doing this past work, or attempt to find a job that will pay slightly more to help cover the difference in what you now owe Marco every month. You’ve been staring at hourly wages for so long you feel your eyes begin to cross, and you don’t exactly like what you’re seeing. An early morning librarian job for £10.44, coffee shop barista for £9… nothing salary. Nothing that will save you.

“Job hunting?”

The ache and throbbing in your ears suffocates your senses so viciously that you didn’t hear Bruce’s footsteps approach. Jumping, you stare up at him like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Nothing like looking at other job postings with your boss staring over your shoulder. The embarrassment is enough to open up a black hole in your stomach where it consumes your organs bit by bit until you’re liquified. Your phone screen goes black, and you choke out a sheepish smile through the snot leaking into the back of your throat.

“Just for a second job. Part-time,” you explain. Your voice sounds louder than his—ears too clogged to properly receive soundwaves. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving any time soon.”

Bruce’s mellifluous laugh is the first thing that’s warmed your soul all week. It’s contagious. He’s always been a jovial man—you’ve heard a few of the cooks call him The Italian Santa Claus because of his rosy cheeks and round stomach. The smallest of smiles flitters across your lips as he carefully takes the seat across from you with a large bowl in his hands.

“Ah, I wouldn’t be upset if you left. Sad, yes, but everyone finds their way out of here eventually,” Bruce assures. His accent is odd. Immigrating from Italy at a young age, his vernacular is a mash of proper English, Italian, and what you’re guessing is Italian-American slang. Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been able to gather from the movies, anyway. “You’re a hard worker. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

A wave of tears build up behind your eyes at his words, and they’re held back by a flimsy, half formed dam. Your emotions have been strewn about in your brain all week—cluttered, sticking halfway out of folders and filing cabinets. It’s hard to shove them back when you can hardly shut the drawers.

“Here,” he continues as he pushes the bowl toward you. The hard lines of his face soften as he watches you curiously peer at the contents. Tiny bits of pasta shaped like stars swirl around in some sort of thickened broth. “Pastina. Good for your health. You sound sick. Eat up and go home.”

Your hand is hardly gripping the spoon when he says that, and it nearly slips out of your grasp to clatter back into the bowl. Mouth half open, you stare at Bruce with wide eyes. There’s not a single hint of maliciousness on his face—his eyes twinkle bright as he runs a hand over his balding head. Though he appears happy—proud of himself, even—you feel nothing of the sort.

“I can’t go home,” you try to argue, but he quickly cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“You’re sick, and you’ve been working too much. You’ve worked more hours than I can legally give you this week, and though I don’t mind paying you under the table, it’s not exactly good for either of us. Rest, before you really make yourself sick,” he dismisses.

Swallowing thickly, you attempt to fruitlessly hide the tremor in your voice. “But I… I really need the money.”

It’s all you can think about. Money. Numbers This vicious counting game. How you’re going to cough up the extra cash for Marco and still have enough to feed yourself. To do anything. To live. Or worse—what happens to you if you can’t make enough? How many more times is he going to change your payments based on stupid mistakes that aren’t your fault?

Waving your words off again, Bruce stands to his feet, hands pressing flat against the swell of his stomach as he does so. “I’ll give you a raise, then.”

Jarred, the side of your spoon taps against the edge of the bowl as you follow him with your eyes. “A raise?”

“Sixteen,” he replies. “Should be enough. I’m tired of you working so many hours. You need to go out and be a kid before you get old and useless like me, yeah? Pick up a hobby. Hang out with that guy Bianca won’t stop talking about. He seems nice, hm? I just want you to be happy, kid. Now, eat up. You’ll feel better.”

Bruce vanishes just as quickly as he appeared, leaving you alone with a bowl of pastina and your thoughts. It’s good that he did, because if you tried to thank him for such a gracious gesture, you’d certainly crumble. Perhaps he knew that, too.

In a poor attempt to save yourself from crying in public, you quickly turn your attention to the food Bruce lovingly whipped up for you. Steam wafts and twirls upwards, hitting your face in a fine mist. Its flavor is difficult to discern with how congested you are, but the rich texture is enough to satiate the hole in your stomach. It always seems ever growing these days. A barren cavern; a void that wants to swallow you from the inside out. Not ravenous, just gutting.

Maybe one day it will fill itself up again.

For now, it grows. Slowly. Insidiously. Taking bits of you and shredding them into ribbons. They trail behind you, fluttering in the wind as you walk up the steps to your flat where they then roll down the stairs. It would look beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that it was you. You, with quiescent feet trudging through the door. You, with the fatigued body that can hardly dress herself into pajamas. You, who curls into bed, a motherless child—a creature waiting to vanish.

Too broke to afford cold medicine to aid you with your congestion, it takes time before you can finally fall asleep. When you do, it grips you like a vice, pinning you down, spoon feeding you dreams you haven’t been able to see with the hours you’ve been pulling at work. They’re heavy, holding your head under water, threatening to suffocate you; you can do nothing but watch.

You dream of your mother.

She’s folding your school uniform in the laundromat—the very same one you use as common ground to meet up with Marco. Washers swish water in their drums as dryer alarms chime the end of their cycle in terrible cacophony. Pristine white blouses become ruined with burgundy—her hands are soiled. Covered with blood. She folds, and you sit and watch her, hands tangled in string, fingers unable to move. Each fold is done with purpose. Crisp. Effortless. Blouses, skirts, and ties stack up taller than her on the table, threatening to scrape the ceiling above.

“Throw them away,” you say, voice weak.

She does not look at you.

“They’re ruined. Throw them away,” you say.

She does not look at you.

“Did I ruin them?” she asks.

You blink. The string around your fingers tightens. You feel them turn cold as ice. Lack of blood. Festering wounds. Irritated nail beds. An extension of the sins trapped inside of you.

“It wasn’t you,” you murmur.

Finally, she looks at you and you flinch.

“Who was it?”

Fibers snap, and the string falls free from your hands. Fluttering and dainty; it lays on the floor in generous spirals. There’s so much blood on her shirt. An artistic splatter of violence. You can’t look away.

“You already know,” you choke out.

She smiles. A toothy grin. Teeth perfect and whole, lips curling, but it’s not real. Her eyes are cloudy—her eyes are dead. Her smile is dead. Your mother is dead. Cold skin, colder gaze, coagulated blood on linoleum. Rotting. You still smell it: stale blood, cologne, and mint. It follows you everywhere.

He follows you everywhere.

Your phone is under your pillow, and someone is calling you. Vibrations rattle through the cotton filling, yanking you out of your dream like you’re being pulled out from under water. For a moment, you think you’re home. Really home. Yet, the room is too cold, and you are too alone. Blinking the sand from your eyes, you shove your hand between the comforter and mattress to yank your phone from underneath your head. The screen flashes.

Incoming Call from Captain Jack Sparrow

You hit accept and bring the speaker up to your right ear. “Hello?”

“Chip!” Aelin’s voice purrs on the other end. “What are you up to?”

“Uh…” You pause as you turn to lay on your back, eyes blankly glued to the ceiling. You forgot to turn the heat back on when you got home, and you swear you can almost see your breath. “...relaxing.”

“That’s a first. Hey, I’m stuck at Terminus, and I’m bored. John wanted to have a quiet evening together but got caught up with some work stuff. Wanna get dinner or something?” she asks.

You sniff, and the pressure behind your eyes and ears nearly doubles. “I… don’t think I’m feeling up to that tonight. Sorry.”

“Oh wow,” Aelin gawks. Her voice drips with concern, and you hear shuffling on her end. “Are you sick? You sound very… congested.”

“Yeah, I got sent home from work. Must’ve caught a bug from… somewhere.”

Aelin says something in response, but you can’t hear it. There’s nothing but ringing as you force yourself to sit up and hack up snotty phlegm, trying not to choke on it as it comes up. Acidulous liquid coats your tongue, and you wince. Vile. Why can’t you ever have anything that tastes sweet? Something easier to stomach than an unwanted tongue or blood?

“Chip?”

Her voice brings you back to the present—back to your cold apartment with frigid sheets and your pounding headache. There’s no reason for your tears, yet they plague you anyway. Maybe it’s from your cold. Maybe it’s because you dreamed of your mom. Or maybe it’s just because you’re sad, and you have been for a while. You’re just not able to hold it back anymore.

“Do you wanna spend the night with John and I?’ Aelin finishes.

Lips curling inward, you try your best to hold back a sob. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Lovely. Riley’s driving. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

An attempt is made at making yourself look somewhat presentable, but it’s hard to make art when the canvas is crumbling. Nothing can cure you of the red irritation plaguing your scleras, nor the constant sniffing from congestion. You make do with fresh clothes and a washed face before shoving a few necessities in an overnight bag. Simple. Small. Something that won’t take up much space.

When Aelin arrives, it’s a very unceremonious occasion. There’s gentle greetings. A pitiful look. There is no mention of how cold it is, or how the place looks sparsely lived in. She’s beautiful in her peacoat with pristine curled hair and flawless makeup. Perfect for a quaint dinner with a friend. Her viridian eyes look at you with a pity that’s nearly palpable. You feel bad for being sick—she seemed so thrilled to eat with you.

Simon waits for both of you in front of the building in a sleek, black car that you’re surprised he can fit into. It’s terribly appropriate for him; something that would look perfect hidden in Terminus’s car park. Yet now it’s being used to transport you—a pathetic, ill woman—to her friend’s house as if you’re nothing more than a child.

It isn’t until you find your seat in the back that you realize just how long you slept for. Dusk pulls its cimmerian shadow over the sky, obscuring the streets in the pale yellow glow of streetlights as Simon pulls into traffic. You got home around noon. Nearly a whole day wasted with sleep.

Little is said between the three of you as you struggle to stay conscious. The consistent gentle hum of the car’s engine is better than any lullaby that you can recall. A siren’s song. A loving hand on your back. Head bobbing and swaying with the turns of the road, you listen to whatever Simon has droning on the radio; some sort of rock station that plays so quietly you almost can’t hear it at all. Every now and then, you catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, glancing at you like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep watch over you.

It seems he’s still taking Aelin’s request to heart.

As the car approaches the house, Aelin digs into her purse where she quickly shuffles through a small, periwinkle wallet. She fishes out some cash before handing it to Simon as he parks.

“Here,” she whispers, quiet enough that your poor hearing can’t catch. “Get her some medicine, please.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters in reply.

Before you know it, you’re tucked into a quiet guest room on the second floor of the house. Heat radiates from the baseboards, yet your muscles tense and ache in a shiver. To combat this, Aelin has found every spare blanket and duvet she can find and has tossed them on top of you until you are nothing more than a heaping pile of laundry. At first, she had recommended throwing them in the dryer to help warm them up further, but you rejected it.

You hate making her go through so much unnecessary effort on your behalf.

Still, she refuses to leave you as you curl into a ball, face pressed against her side as she sits on top of the covers next to you. Aelin always smells lovely. Fresh rosewater and lavender. You’re enveloped by her scent like it’s a warm hug as she rubs a hand along your back, but it’s muted. The considerable amount of blankets only allows you to feel the ghost of her touch.

“How long has this been going on?” she asks tenderly.

You shrug. “Day before yesterday, I think.”

She pouts with a huff, hand ceasing its movement as she silently chastises you. “And you were still trying to work?”

“I have to,” you mumble against her.

A terrible quiescence soaks the room. Everything hurts, and you want to rest, but you know that won’t come soon. Not when Aelin’s concern is eating her alive—a vicious plague ripping through her heart. You can hear the beasts feasting on her marrow even now.

“Well, I brought an old friend to come visit,” Aelin grins. Before you can gather the strength to ask her what she’s talking about, she pulls something out from underneath the covers to set it in front of you. “Tada!”

An old, well loved stuffed animal sits before you with lopsided eyes and a faded smile. Once vibrant, crimson fur has now faded into an off-tone auburn, but the resemblance of a fox is still unmistakable.

“I thought I told you to get rid of that,” you mutter.

“I can’t get rid of her! You used to love Pumpkin,” Aelin says as if offended.

For a long moment, you stare at your old stuffed animal and relive the memories that soak it. It was a gift from your father when you were a child—something you used to hold close with you every night, even after his death. Even after you went to live with John and Aelin after graduation. You don’t know why, but one day you decided that you couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. You’re not sure if it’s because it was gifted to you by your father—the man you’ve tried so hard to continue loving despite his flaws—or because sweet Pumpkin had become so tainted with you that you figured you should take pity on the poor thing.

When you don’t respond, Aelin sighs and sets the stuffed fox on the nightstand. “Alright, fine. She’ll sit right here for when you’re ready.” There’s a short pause that stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t last long before Aelin decides that the silence is driving her mad. “I’ve heard you and Riley have been getting close,” she prompts like she’s about to spill the daily gossip. A change in subject. A way to ease you into what she really wants to talk about. “Visiting him at the club, then?”

The club. Andrei. Spilled pasta in an alleyway. Your unfortunate run in with Marco made you forget all about how you ended up in this mess in the first place. The blade of Andrei’s knife glints just as brightly in your mind now as it did that night, and you cover your urge to puke with a well timed cough. You wish she wouldn’t bring it up, but it’s a good sign.

It means Simon was true to his word.

“Just to deliver food. He kept fixing stuff at my apartment. Had to pay him back,” you explain like a broken record.

Lips stretch over ivory teeth as Aelin shifts next to you. “Is that so? Sounds like he fancies you.”

“Or maybe he’s just doing the job that you assigned him to do,” you reply bluntly.

Aelin doesn’t tense at your insinuation, but she does sigh as she settles back against the headboard. “Thought he was better at keeping secrets than that.”

“He didn’t tell me, I figured it out on my own,” you claim, stuffy voice unable to land the plosives of your consonants.

She chuckles amicably as she looks down at you. Eyes closed, you’re nearly asleep, and you would have been if it weren’t for her conversation.

“Well, you were always the smart one. Still, I won’t retract my statement. Riley’s had a lot of… partners, but he never lingers around anyone like he does with you,” she insists. “He’s a good man, really. I’m sure you’ve seen that for yourself.”

“Can’t entertain that,” you say. There’s a sour stoicness to your tone; too tired to be annoyed yet yearning for silence. “I’ve got work.”

Another stillness—a suffocating one. Aelin’s smile has long since vanished as her lips press together tartly. There you go, talking about work again. Like you can’t stand to do anything else. Like you’ll die without the money.

“Chip… you know that if you need help, you can always ask, right?” she prods carefully. “Anything. I mean it. John and I… we’re here for you.”

Help. you think of that word, and a sour cordolium rips through your chest. Asking for such a thing from someone is out of the question. You made that deal with yourself ages ago.

“I don’t… I don’t need help. I just… miss my mum.”

You feel the moment when the room freezes. It’s when Aelin looks down at you, doleness unleashed in her gaze. Bringing up your late mother was a mistake, but she’s all you can think about after that dream. You wonder if you’ll ever have a normal dream of her again—fresh, normal, and void of all blood. A dream where she smiles and it’s not dead.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say.

“Me too.”

When Simon returns, you’re fast asleep. Aelin can hear the sound of his boots on the floor from a mile away; purposefully making his existence known as he opens the door to the only room with the light on. His eyes are drawn to you, body curling into Aelin like you’ll fall through the bed without her. He approaches the bed and holds out the bag for her to take, and the very first thing she finds is every bit of cash she had given him to buy the items in the first place.

Instead of chastising him, she rummages through the rest of the items. NyQuil, Sudafed, Vicks, various soups and electrolyte drinks. It’s a variable feast to fight off your cold. Aelin looks up to poke fun at the man—at this raging chink in his armor—but she loses all words when she sees the way his hand presses against your forehead. Careful fingers gently brush against a faint scar by your temple as he feels the heat radiating from your body. He watches you with gentle devotion as your shoulders rise and fall with your breaths, congestion causing you to quietly snore. You do not stir awake, but she witnesses the way your brows furrow when he pulls away.

“She’s got a bad fever,” he concludes quietly. “She looks exhausted. Dehydrated.”

“Yeah. She’s been overworking herself too much. Hasn’t been resting or healing like she should,” Aelin concurs.

Fragile silence breaks as you breathe, airways too clogged for you to sleep peacefully. Simon and Aelin stare down at you for a moment, each of them considering the circumstance. Her lips press tightly together in thought before she carefully slides away from you, leaving your coiled form. She sets the bag of medicine and supplies on the foot of the bed before facing Simon with crossed arms.

“Can I talk to you before you leave?” she requests.

Simon answers her with a curt nod before they exit the room with the lights off and the door shutting tight behind them. Aelin’s heart pounds away in her chest as it fights against the tightness of her ribs. It’s an ever constricting cage. Relentless. Vile. She ensures that she’s not facing Simon as they traverse down the stairs.

“Chip is… really scaring me,” Aelin breathes, and she feels her voice crack nearly as bad as her heart as her feet hit the landing. “I’m more than a little concerned or worried now she… she’s always been something of a workaholic, but this is different. It feels like she’s trying to run away from something and she’s just—I don’t know—keeping something buried inside of her. Pushing away any help anyone tries to offer her. I’m… scared she might hurt herself.”

“Hurt herself?” Simon repeats in disbelief. “Has she done anythin’ like that before?”

“No. Not that I know of. It’s just…”

The words die as Aelin’s lips press tightly together once again, and she finally forces herself to look at Simon. He’s nothing but a stone—this immoveable being who won’t be swayed by anything physically or emotionally. She steadies her breath as she wills away the tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m going to tell you this because I trust you,” she says, gaze attempting to harden. It’s a silent vow. A demand that he not repeat any of the words she’s about to speak.

“Of course,” Simon nods.

Aelin swallows the guilt in the back of her throat.

“Chip’s parents are dead. They have been for a while. First it was her dad, and then her mum. My dad was the Chief Inspector working the cases of their deaths. It wasn’t… from natural causes. She holds a lot of guilt and she gets in a bad headspace over it, and I think that’s a bit of what’s happening and… it’s worse than I’ve ever seen it before. This time of year is always hard for her considering the anniversaries of their deaths, and I don’t know if it just seems worse because she’s sick right now but… fuck, Simon. The way she talked about her mum just earlier, I swear I nearly broke.”

Crisp eyeliner marks the edges of her eyes, yet it smudges as Aelin banishes the tears from her vision with the tips of her fingers. Still as ever, Simon watches carefully and without judgement as she gathers herself in order to finish.

“She needs to talk to someone about it, but I don’t think she wants it to be me. There are many things I think she would share, but there’s no way she’d give me the whole story,” she concludes.

Confusion clouds Simon’s stern gaze, and he shifts on his feet. “What, you’re thinkin’ she’ll tell me and not you?”

“Yes.” Her reply is speedy and sharp; a warning. No one knows you better than her. “She carries guilt for a lot of stuff. For… There’s just some things I know she won’t want to tell me. Things she can’t tell me because it’s… well, me.”

Something is off—Simon can smell the stench of it from a mile away. He knows better than to question Aelin, and she seems very convinced that this is the true issue at hand, but there’s an uncomfortable trepidation that hangs somewhere in the balance of it all. A picture half developed. The brittle edge of a cliff. It’s the same feeling that afflicted him the night he fought Andrei in the alleyway—a deja vu that screams trouble if he even attempts to entertain it.

“Please,” Aelin begs. “You don’t have to do anything crazy, I just don’t want her to be alone. Swear to me you won’t let her be alone through this. Simon, I’m not strong enough to cut through her walls but the thought of… the thought of her like this kills me.”

Another deal. Another oath. Simon has always been a protector, in some way. A tool which one uses to bludgeon. He doesn’t know if he can be gentle. He knows he’s certainly not palatable. But he thinks of your sleeping form in the VIP room after the tussle with Andrei, and the heat of your fever against his hand, and he thinks he’d at least like to try.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he assures her.

Nodding, Aelin attempts to strengthen her resolve with a deep breath. Frayed nerves still poke out of her skin, completely wired with worry. It sparks and fizzles, yet she still glances back up the stairs, as if she can feel the aura of exhaustion seeping out of the bedroom.

“Thank you,” she says, voice hardly above a whisper as she looks back at him. “Truly, I appreciate it.”

“Can’t do everythin’ on your own,” he says.

She scoffs playfully. “Tell that to Chip.”

Once the front door locks shut behind Simon and the house is still and quiet, Aelin sneaks back upstairs. You’re hardly conscious when she gently urges you awake to press cough syrup to your lips, but you don’t complain. You never complain—not when there’s bitter liquid on your tongue; never when you should. Silent. Pliable. Once you’ve swallowed every last drop, you collapse back into bed, body weak and overheated; slick with sweat.

She knows she should leave once your snoring starts back up again, but she can’t. There’s something to relish in how peaceful you are in this moment. Not working yourself to death. Not running from the grief that’s been strangling you since you were a child. For a moment, as you lay there in bed, Aelin gets to see you as you were when you were a kid.

As she stands at the foot of the bed, she recalls the first time she ever met you—both clad in black and unable to look at one another without timid smiles and tear filled eyes. Aelin was the one who had to break the silence. To introduce herself as the daughter of Sean Gilroy; the man who sat in that coffin so adorned with flowers and love. You’ve grown so much since then. A fine woman who should be proud of herself. She wants to shake you awake. Yank you out of your sleep and scream at you that there’s nothing to be forgiven—nothing to punish yourself over.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she turns around and leaves, ensuring that the electrolyte drink Simon bought is on the pillow next to your for when you wake up in the morning.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

#ilium writing #sr ilia #in limbo #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader

145 notes · View notes

whirlybirbs · 1 year ago

Text

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST | AO3 | SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing: a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster.

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague.

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock."

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches.

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate.

ALL I WANT TO DO IS GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot.

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah.

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig.

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade.

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was.

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...?

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all.

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear.

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter.

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows.

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future.

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning.

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not.

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action.

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused.

You hope it all works out for her in the end.

But, Christ this coffee is bitter.

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am.

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work.

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior.

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract.

And so this has been home for the last four months.

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras.

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers.

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one.

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern.

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny.

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it.

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do.

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now.

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you.

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark.

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK.

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to.

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131.

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it".

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door.

Your boots follow in a trail.

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo.

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief.

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again.

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too.

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline.

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different.

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that.

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday.

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time.

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London.

1977, huh. Zaniac.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled.

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet.

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone.

And he's here, wasting his damn time.

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time.

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks.

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes.

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in.

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?"

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact.

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time.

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki.

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis.

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt.

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin.

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers.

He has to... He...

He needs you back.

Now.

#beyond the void #from the void with love #loki x reader #loki x doc #loki x y/n #loki reader insert #loki/reader #loki/you #loki imagine #marvel imagine #marvel reader insert #loki season 2 fic #marvel fanfic

591 notes · View notes

endless-ineffabilities · 1 year ago

Text

The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #the avengers #mcu #chris evans #captain america #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the bolter

578 notes · View notes

riovidalupdates · 7 months ago

Text

LAST GIRL STANDING - i.

part ii.

“I’m not asking you to stay. I’m asking if this was ever real?” - Wanda Maximoff

“The issue with time is that it’s endless, yet, there’s never enough. How does it fit with us?” - Rio Vidal

“You were never a priority, but you became one that I can’t lose now.” - Agatha Harkness

pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader, and rio vidal x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to learn that you can love more than one person—because you love them in different ways. the problem: they love you in one way. so, who are you in love with and who gets hurt?

warnings: cursing, angst, intimate moments but not sex, and other stuff that i'll add as time goes on.

notes: this one has been in my drafts for a long time. i did a little bit of revision and editing, but i am busy and i do want to get this story going. as it goes on I will be more efficient with the editing. it is also a college au so there is no witches or anything like that, but other works will be! enjoy! chapters will be longer and the writing will get better. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually written a story, but I’ve been working on so many other projects and I had this all planned out before I got my new job.

word count: 1.4k

・❥・

There was never a time where you ever thought you’d be losing your sanity. Months ago, you only ever known the beauty of peace, having full control over your thoughts and emotions with no consequences. Where does the chaos abruptly begin, how does it begin, and why does it begin?

Because fuck all that, why do you have to be involved in a mess that you didn’t ask for?

You stared out of your dorm window, tracing the movement of students below as they hurried between classes. The campus was alive with energy—laughter, chatter, and the constant shuffle of feet on the worn pathways—but it all felt distant to you, like watching life happen through a glass pane. From the outside, you seemed well-adjusted. A few close friends, decent grades, a knack for blending in at social events. But lately, you had begun to feel a quiet, persistent void growing inside, one that friendship, academic success, and even casual flings couldn’t quite fill.

It wasn't that you were lonely in the traditional sense. In fact, you had friends—great friends who provided the utmost support in all that you do. Natasha Romanoff from work, Kate Bishop from short-film club, Steve Rogers from gym (he was also Natasha’s boyfriend), Tony Stark who crashed into your car the first day of move-in (he paid for all damages after you punched him), and Wanda Maximoff, your best friend. Wanda had been by your side for years, a constant source of home. There was so much to your overall relationship with her that it couldn’t be replicated with the others or anyone. Even if you were to try.

But no matter how much you spent time with Wanda, she found her footing in rather quick. And while you don’t want to assume things are going well for her, you could at least tell she was happiest when she was in the arms of her obnoxious, academically skilled boyfriend, Vision. Vision who is ahead of the IT program, the captain of the golf team, and somehow Tony’s coworker at Stark’s Industries (who cares about some intellectual freak? Not you).

Anyway, it felt like there was something missing, some deeper connection you couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes, you’d feel yourself pulling back in conversations, faking a smile here and there when noticing yourself drifting out of sync.

You sigh as you turned away from the window, grabbing your backpack, and slinging it over your shoulder. Another day of classes to get to, papers to turn in, and your typical routine to follow. It all felt so automatic, like living on autopilot.

Perhaps there was something you weren’t doing. Maybe you were actively doing something to avoid fulfilling that aspect of void?

Your phone buzzed on the desk—Wanda.

“Dinner tonight?” She asks once you pick up. “And I swear if you say no, I am going to drive to your class and drag you out myself.”

You considered telling her no for a moment but it’s Wanda and because of that you say, “Sure. Just don’t barge in like last time. Felt like I got in trouble with my mother…” Despite your growing sense of detachment, you couldn’t bring herself to decline. You’ve been avoiding her like the plague. She’s your best friend and has asked to hang out for the last month or so only for you to be nowhere. Questions were beginning to rise, and you weren’t ready to answer any of them.

Her laughter echoed through and you kind of forget that you were falling into a hole of emptiness. “Look, I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah. See you, dekta.”

Dekta. It was always that.

As you made your way across campus, weaving through the throngs of students, you felt a heaviness settle in your chest. Classes, work, clubs, and repeat. How was it that you could be surrounded by people, involved in their lives, and still feel like an outsider looking in?

You loved your friends, or at least you thought you did, but lately, even that felt like a lie you told yourself. You enjoyed your courses. So what if you have to stay up until 2am for shoots and editing, you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t enjoy it. Actually, you were late to register, and this was kind of a last minute decision. And you were president for the short film club, but you kind of are guessing why you’re doing this all because you hate people.

The reality is, it’s to avoid facing the deeper truth: that connection, the real kind, the kind that made you feel alive and seen. Not just from relationships, courses, and social life.

Was this what your life was going to be? Always on the fringes, never fully connecting? You wanted more but didn’t know how to get it. Maybe you didn’t even know what “more” really was.

You were good at pretending everything was fine, good at putting on a show of contentment. But deep down, you knew you were waiting for something—or someone—to break through that glass pane that kept you at arm’s length from everyone around.

But until then, you’d keep going, navigating your college life as best as you could, feeling more like an observer than a participant.

・❥・

You sat across from Wanda at your usual spot in the campus dining hall, picking at her salad as Wanda animatedly recounted the latest drama involving her boyfriend, Vision. You nodded along, making the appropriate sounds of sympathy and surprise, but part of you couldn't help but tune out the problem.

“I swear, sometimes he just doesn’t listen,” Wanda continued, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Last night I..." She sighed, looking down at her food. "I told him I needed space and time to collect my thoughts about where this is going, but he kept calling and texting, so we could talk it out..."

You forced yourself back into the conversation. “Sounds like he’s not respecting your boundaries,” you offered, glancing up at Wanda. You couldn’t help the slight resentment that crept in whenever Vision came up. There was always an unspoken tension in your friendship, one that emerged whenever Wanda talked about her boyfriend.

You didn’t know exactly why you disliked him—maybe it was his arrogant demeanor, or the way he always seemed to treat Wanda as an accessory rather than an equal. She would often vent about the small ways in which he let her down, like forgetting their date plans or brushing off her opinions, but then she would always follow it up with some form of an excuse that he cares. You would just nod along, hiding the skepticism behind a supportive smile.

"Tell me about it,” Wanda huffed, shaking her head. “It's a flaw of his and when the time is right, we'll discuss it and how we can better ourselves. Enough about me though, how about you? Anything exciting that requires you to get out of that hermit crab shell of yours? Maybe with...that TA? Angus, right?"

You snickered but also couldn’t help but notice how Wanda seemed to skirt around anything serious about her relationship with Vision (what a prick). There was a glint of something—maybe uncertainty, maybe resignation—in her eyes when she spoke about him. You wondered if Wanda was just as skilled at pretending everything was fine as you were. It made you feel a little less alone, knowing you weren’t the only one hiding something.

Yet, despite your doubts about the boyfriend, you never voiced your concerns outright. The last thing you wanted was to come across as jealous or possessive. Deep down, you wondered if there was a part of you that simply didn’t want to share Wanda—a feeling you quickly buried before it could grow into something more troubling.

Your face flushed at the mention of Agatha, and you quickly took a sip of water to hide the embarrassment. “Her name is Agnes,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes for effect. So, maybe you kind of lied. Only because you didn't want Wanda to track and stalk the girl. "And she's just intriguing..."

"Intriguing, huh?” Wanda teased. “You should talk to her more. Or, you know, talk to her at all.”

“Very funny,” You shot back. “It’s not that simple.”

But maybe it was. Maybe if you could muster up the courage to actually talk to Agatha, you’d feel less like you were floating aimlessly and more like you were taking control of your own life. You could already hear Wanda’s voice in your head, encouraging you to just go for it, to not overthink it, to take a chance.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #rio vidal #wandavision #witches #wanda maximoff x reader #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x reader

279 notes · View notes

readerstories · 6 months ago

Text

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 7/?

Had some time during my layover, so here's the next chapter, hope y'all enjoy! Don't know quite when the next chapter will be, since I'll be on vacation, but I'll try to get something out in hopefully not too long. Just a smigde of info, reader has tried to look up treatments for the pain caused by soulmates, the only one that really works is to be near them. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10)

Warnings/tags: male reader, slightly suggestive, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 1689

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

This time it’s a week and a half before you see them. Your sanity might be thanking the universe, but your body is not. You’re stiff, your shoulders and back constantly. You’ve taken to taking long and scolding baths to ease the pain, it helps for a bit since painkillers don't do shit.. Which you discovered through lived and read experience.

So, in a way, it’s good that you meet them again, even if you will barely admit that to yourself.

This time it is in a place you didn’t think would be their scene.

This time you are a bouncer at a nightclub, a favor for Dave who got food poisoning. You groaned over the phone when he asked for the favor, but said yes after he promised to buy several rounds for you next time you go drinking with him. It gives you a reason to leave your apartment, to try to live life normally.

So now you are getting paid to look tough and check ID’s, and have free drinks to look forward to later. So, a win-win. Even if you have to deal with drunk people, and you can’t go armed, since the dress pants and t-shirt that is the uniform doesn’t hide much. You’re wearing your gloves again, even if they are not needed, an old habit and comfort. Technically you shouldn’t need to be armed for this job, but it always feels more safe to be than not to be, especially with your life.

It’s a win-win until you spot two familiar people in your line into the club.

Two annoyingly familiar people.

Wade’s wearing tight black leather pants, a black plastic cowboy hat, a pink hello kitty long-sleeve that sits plastered to his muscled torso, a pink bandana covering the lower half of his face, and matching pink chunky closed toe high heels.

It makes him taller than Logan, who’s wearing black jeans, boots, and a tight black shirt that is unbuttoned to show a hefty amount of chest hair on his muscled chest.

They both have glitter on their cheekbones, which glint in the light outside of the club as they talk to each other, not having noticed you yet.

They look kinda ridiculous.

But hey, opposites attract you guess.

You know you are stuck until they notice you. You can’t just leave, there’s too many people in line, it would take forever to get everyone in if there was just one bouncer. So, you are forced by the universe to stay put, watching as your soulmates get closer and closer, even as much as you want them to go further and further away. (Though your body screams for the complete opposite.)

When they are just a few people away, Logan catches your gaze. His eyes narrow, before flicking down to Wade, pushing at his arm, directing his attention to you instead of him. Wade grins as he spots you, you can tell because he pulls the bandana down to his neck instead.

“Oh heyyyy.” Wade drags out, grinning, while Logan watches you, saying nothing.

“This doesn't seem like your scene.”

“Not like you would know that, little pookie, you need to know people to know where they like to have fun.” There’s a shot of bitterness in Wade’s tone and your bond, but it’s gone before you can dwell on it as Wade keeps looking at you, unashamedly checking you out.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just go inside.” You gesture for them to walk past you as you open the rope in front of the club door, but both of them stay put.

“Not gonna check ID’s?” Wade grins, fluttering his eyelashes, the only kind of hair he has (you assume). You and Logan snort in unison.

“Neither of you look 20.” And you don’t doubt both of them could get a fake ID with ease.

“Not interested seeing how old we are, pookie?”

“Not in the slightest. Now get the fuck inside before I change my mind, and keep you out here.”

“You say that like being here with you is a threat, and not a treat.” Wade winks, but walks past you to go inside. Logan follows right behind him, giving you a quick once over, eyes lingering on your gloved hands for just a moment before the door closes behind him.

“What was that?” The other bouncer leans over to half-whisper after you’ve let a few more people in.

“It’s complicated.”

“They trouble?”

“Only for my own sanity.” It’s with great annoyance you realize your shoulders feel just a tad lighter.

—---

A few hours later, you have moved from the door, instead making the rounds through the club. People going in have slowed, meaning you are not needed outside anymore. It feels good to be moving, even as your body aches and hurts.

The club is packed inside, the loud and rhythmic music making sure the dance floor is crowded with people in varying states of drunkenness. There’s probably some other substances too, but people are behaving for now, as your eyes scan the crowd you spot nothing that you need to stop.

As you walk through the edge of the crowd, you slowly become aware that your bond is more open, as something starts to filter through the low, but constant, hum of the bonds.

It’s not something you can immediately identify. It’s certainly something you’ve felt before, it’s just been a while, and you’ve never felt it this clearly through the bond before. A hint here and there, but you can hardly blame them for being human.

It’s desire. Arousal. Lust. Horny, if you are going to be slightly less fancy about it.

You feel your cheeks heat up, and sigh as you rub your forehead. You close your eyes, letting the bond guide you for the briefest of moments.

It takes a couple of tries of you closing your eyes for you to be led to a metal door in a corner next to the bar marked “Employees Only” in red letters. The lights of the club dance over the letters as you push the door open, and the music spills out into the alley before you let the door fall closed behind you. There’s not much here, just the concrete steps you are standing on, a couple of dumpsters, a wooden bench with an ashtray drilled into the armrest. And two people pressed against the brick wall of the neighboring building.

“You guys should not be here.” Wade pulls away from Logan, turning his head to look over his own shoulder, grinning. His hands are in Logan’s hair, Logan’s hands are on his hips, neither of them let go of the other.

“Pookie! Fancy meeting you here!” You scowl at Wade, then meet Logan’s own scowling face, before he hides his face in Wade’s shoulder, but you do catch the beginning of a smirk before it's hidden from view.

“See peanut! I told you he would feel it.” Absent-mindedly you notice the glitter has moved from just Wade’s cheekbone to his lips as well, and his neck, just above where his bandana now sits.

“Feel what?” Wade ignores the question for a moment, kissing the top of Logan’s head. The bond still isn’t fully closed, as you feel another wave of arousal wash over you, making you take a deep breath. It feels strange, like it wants to settle in your gut, but just flows through you. “Well, now at least we know our bonds aren’t platonic! Well, we knew ours wasn’t-” Wade ruffles Logan’s hair, you see his hands clench Wade’s waist tighter “-but now we know for all of us! How exciting.”

You don’t know that to say to any of this, you rarely do, so you revert back to old habits.

“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.” A brief spike of disappointment, then your bond is finally blessedly muted again. Wade grins, but it’s a lot less teasing than earlier in the night.

“Ohhh, I like it when you get all bossy. Gonna start manhandling us? You are more than welcome to.” Wade keeps the grin on his face, Logan shakes his head against his shoulder. Or he’s rubbing against it, you are not sure.

“I will call the fucking cops.” Wade sticks out his tongue at you.

“Party pooper. Come one peanut, let's go home.” Wade plants one last quick kiss on Logan before turning towards you, dislodging Logan’s hands from his hips, taking one of them in his own. “At least you are a lot less stabby tonight.”

“I am unarmed.” Wade gasps, overly dramatic. You don’t even know why you offer up that tidbit. Not like it was hard to guess with your outfit though.

“Oh my god, our baby is naked. Quick, cover your eyes!” He moves his hands back towards Logan’s face, who smacks them away with a grunt.

“I am not yours anything, and quit it with those fucking nicknames. There’s no way to hide anything in these dress pants.”

“No, you can indeed not hide a lot in those.” Both of their eyes wander over your form, you feel anger rise, and push it through your bonds.

“Again, I will call the cops.”

“Again, party pooper.” Wade retorts, but drags Logan with him towards the door. You swear you feel him brush against you when he goes past, but by the time you process the light touch and turn around to look at him, all you see is their backs before the door shuts behind them.

You stay behind, breathing in and out through your nose. Calming yourself down, the usual background hum of your bond fraying at your nerves.

You shove your hands in your pants pockets, surprised when you feel something in on of them, even through your gloves.

Fishing it out, you are met with the sight of Wade’s bandana in your hand. You stare at it. It’s soft, there’s little horses on it in a darker shade of pink.

You ball it up in a fist and stare at the door to the bar.

(Part 8)

173 notes · View notes

fanfictiongirlie · 6 months ago

Text

Twilight: Some Soulmate - Chapter One

Click here for masterlist

Parings: Paul Lahote x Reader

Description: Y/N a member of the Cullen family is imprinted on by one of the wolves, she is shocked, he is shocked. She is struggling with drinking animal blood over human, and he is disgusted by a vampire for a soulmate… But maybe it could work..?

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 1,819

"Good morning" I smiled as I skipped into the living room, I wiped the blood from my mouth, my hunt was successful, disgusting, but successful. Deer blood will never quench my thirst, but to stay with my family this was to stay part of my diet.

"Good morning Y/N, how was your hunt?" Carlisle, my longest friend asked me. I smiled weakly, I was so hungry. Esme appeared behind me, before I could answer, she placed both her hands on my shoulders giving me a tight squeeze. I always felt so loved when she was around, it relaxed me.

"It was okay, better than last time" I answered. I was lying of course. I missed human blood more than I could even explain. I suppose one good thing that comes from only drinking animal blood was my eye colour, I must preferred the amber over the red. Of course the Amber still didn't compare to my human blue eyes.

"Are you ready Y/N?" Alice asked me. I nodded and followed him and the rest of my siblings out the door. Luckily we were taking Rosalie's car today, I preferred her driving over Edwards. Luckily Edward was out picking his human up and taking her to school.

I hated how Edward always smelled like her now, her blood was intoxicating. Jasper struggles too, I suppose it makes me feel better that I'm not struggling alone. I'm not sure how Edward copes. I remember when I had a blood singer, only once it had happened to me. Of course I killed him, I hadn't been a vampire long.

We spent most of the drive silently, as we normally did. Then Alice turned back to me, smirking.

"Guess what?"

"What?" I asked, I had an inking to what she was going to say.

"Mike's going to try again today" She giggled.

I groaned, ever since we started at this school, two years ago, Mike Newton had tried, every few weeks to ask me out, and even though I'd say no, every time, he continues to ask. I wonder if he'd ever get bored.

"A few months and then it's over" I smile, thinking of never having to go back to that place, I had decided this was the last time I'd attend school, at least maybe for a while. Luckily I was in the same school year as Rose and Emmett, meaning I could escape sooner. I also couldn't wait for people to stop telling me I look way too old to be in High School. Physically I was 21, way over high school age, but I had a baby face.

We arrived at school to see Edward with his arm over Bella, I thought they weren't going to become a official thing. I climbed out of the car.

"I'll see you at lunch" I smiled at my siblings before I set off inside the school. I had English first, a class I didn't mind too much. But of course Mike was waiting outside of my classroom, I'm sure he knows my schedule better than I do.

"Hey Y/N!" He grinned happily.

I muttered a small hello, he smelt so strongly of his aftershave, it was burning my nose.

"Prom's coming up, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?" He asked, I pretended to take a deep breath.

"No thank you Mike, I've said before I won't be going" I smiled sweetly, and then I pushed past him to get into my class.

~~~~~~~~

I didn't pay attention to the class, I knew everything that was being taught. Another reason why I was excited to leave, maybe I could get a job, or take another college course. I'm sure there's something I haven't read about yet. I found myself drifting into a daydream, I was excited for my life after school, but of course I'd have to stay close to the family, otherwise it would upset Carlisle and Esme, and I'd do anything for them.

'It had been a few months since I had become a vampire, and I was leaving a long string of bodies behind me, it was so easy to keep going. No more would every suspect the woman who could easily bat her eyes and get away with whatever she wanted. It was the year 1887, I was 21. I was never meant to become a vampire, but one night, a man grabbed me, and started drinking my blood, he was going to kill me. But someone or something stopped him, and I was left to die in an alley. I was suppose to die in that alley, but a few hours late I woke up, changed.

I was all alone, and so scared.

Until a man found me, he was a strange man, I thought he was human at first, but just a second before I lunged I couldn't hear his heartbeat, couldn't feel the heat of his blood. I had never met another vampire. Not since I became one.

"Who are you?" I hissed, my teeth bearing at him.

"My name is Carlisle, if you'd let me, I'd like to help you" He smiled, I felt a warm feeling wash over me, maybe I could trust him?'

When I met Carlisle he took me in, tried to show me the vegetarian way. But I've struggled with it. After a few months with Carlisle, we realised I had a gift. Not a big one, but I can always tell what someone thinks of me, how they feel about me. It's how I could tell Carlisle was to be trusted. I can always tell if someone likes me, to dislikes me. It made hunting so fun, I could always tell if someone thought I was beautiful, it meant I could seduce them, and feed from them.

It's how I can tell Mike only thinks I look nice, he doesn't care about anything else.

Once class was over, and another class droned one, it was finally time for lunch. I had a blacked out water bottle full of animal blood. It was gross.

I sat along side my siblings, except Edward, he chose to sit with Bella. I envied them almost.

Edward and I were the last two without mates. Now it was just me. 154 Years old, and I had never found someone who made me feel complete. My family had, and I endured seeing it everyday. I'm sure if my heart still worked it would be constantly breaking.

I sipped my drink loudly, my siblings hated when I did that. I smirked at them and carried on..

~~~~~~~~

"Y/N" Esme called, I left my room and followed the noise coming from the kitchen, I walked in and was shocked. My family were cooking, actually cooking.

"What's happening here?" I asked, watching them. I had no clue what they were even making.

"Edward is brining Bella here" Esme beamed, I rolled my eyes playfully at her, but then felt my throat burn.

"And I want everyone to be welcoming" She added.

I put my hand to my throat and rubbed it absently.

"Esme, I don't know if I can" I panicked "I'm worse than Jasper"

She pulled me into her arms and hugged me for a few seconds.

"You'll be okay" I smiled at her, and stepped closer to Emmett. He was strong enough to stop me if needed.

"Is she even Italian?" Rosalie asked.

"Her names Bella" Emmett answered as if it was completely obvious. I started chucking at him, until I smelt it.

Bella, her blood, it smelt amazing, intoxicating. I held onto the breakfast bar and tried concentrating.

"Here comes the human" Rosalie sung.

Edward and Bella walked in, Edward introduced her to Esme and Carlisle, and then brought Bella over to me. I wanted to kill him for bringing her closer.

"This is Y/N, she's actually the third eldest in the family, after Carlisle and Jasper" He chuckled, but stopped when he saw my face. I'm sure he could hear me cursing him in my head.

"Yes Edward, mention my age" I said grimly, but it gave me an excuse to walk out. I needed to hunt.

I left my house quick, and ran into the forest, I found something to feed on, and managed to get blood all over myself. I looked a complete state. I slumped against a tree, and sat. I sat and sat for hours, thinking, and making a weird little flower chain. I was quite content, and calming myself down. Until I heard a growl.

I looked up, and jumped in fear, I jumped so I was clinging onto the tree a few feet off the ground.

I heard the growl again, realising it was probably a animal, I jumped to the ground. I was still thirsty, perhaps I could find the source. Without a sound I slowly started walking towards the animal, I had picked up it's scent, it was foul smelling. No animal I had smelt before.

I stopped, deciding to find a more appealing animal, until it jumped into the clearing.

"Oh, it's one of you" I hissed, one of the shapeshifters. I hadn't seen this wolf before, not that I had seen many. He was dark silver, and was looking incredibly angry at me.

I looked into its eyes, I wasn't sure if it was going to attack or not, but I wasn't going to make a move. Suddenly I felt something wash over me, a strong feeling of love and care, it confused me. I didn't understand what was happening, but the feeling was coming from him.

"What's happening" I stutter at the wolf. The wolf looked scared now, he growled once more and ran off. I copied, and ran home, fast.

"Carlisle" I screamed when I got close enough to the house. My family were outside the greet me, all of them worried.

"He imprinted on you" Edward suddenly said, I was still confused.

"What?" I screamed, they all flinched.

"Imprinting is when a wolf finds their soulmate" Carlisle explained carefully

"So a wolf is my soulmate? They hate us! They want us dead!" I yelled "Not to mention I'm not even allowed on their land"

I started walking towards the house, wanting to be away from everyone.

"Some soulmate" I scoffed to myself, knowing the others could hear too.

I walked into my room, shutting my door and locking it.

I grabbed my laptop and started researching about the wolves, and their legends, and mostly about imprinting. Apparently it didn't happen very often, it was described as extremely rare. I didn't even know the wolf, I had no way of finding out who he was either. I wasn't allowed on their land, not that I was brave enough to even go close.

To make matters even worse, I'm not sure there was anything I could even speak to about this..

Next Part

#twilight imagine #twilight x reader #paul lahote #twilight fanfiction #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x you #paul lahote x y/n #vampire reader #vampire x werewolf

262 notes · View notes

hornyfor-redacted-onmain · 8 months ago

Text

Feelings

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 19 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Part

You found yourself waking up with a jolt. There was a weight on your chest, and your eyes felt glued from crust, but you felt frozen, waiting for anything to let you know what it was that woke you up. Your fridge was humming softly, and besides the soft breathing from next to you, there was no other noise. Until you picked up a soft beeping.

With a sigh, you slowly shifted Jisung off your body so you could slip out of bed, softly padding towards your pants. After a second, you realized it wasn’t your phone that had made the noise. You gave a second to glance back to the boys still sleeping in your bed, looking peaceful. You contemplated it for a second, but another buzz made you shrug.

It was probably fine.

It was in Jisung’s pants that you found the offending phone, a few notifications from ‘Channie-Hyung’. You could only see the most recent messages since you didn’t have his phone password.

‘Let me know’ 1m

‘We might be going over the melody for the bri-’ 1m

‘Feel free to catch up with us later. We’ll be-‘ 2m

You hummed softly, bringing his phone back to your bed with you. You placed both of them on the nightstand and, figuring Chan would have called if it was urgent, found yourself falling back asleep.

Or at least, you tried.

Despite dozing for a few minutes, you found yourself unable to actually fall back asleep. You let your eyes flutter open, about to stretch, when you caught movement in the corner of your eye. You shifted your head slightly up to see what it was.

Minho was awake, his eyes heavily lidded as if he was seconds away from closing them again. He was looking down at Jisung, who had turned over and decided to use his hyung as a pillow in your brief absences, and there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch in your throat. The movement that you had caught was his hand lifting up to brush hair away from Jisung’s face.

The back of his hand softly caressed the sleeping rapper’s cheek with a tenderness that you had never seen before. Except, maybe in movies. And very briefly, between soulmates.

As his actual soulmate, it should have made you feel jealous to see that look in Minho’s eyes. The kind of look he had never shown you. But while it did make your chest clench tightly, it wasn’t because of a jealousy or hurt that you had known quite well from past relationships and unrequited crushes. It was … you weren’t sure what it was.

Minho’s eyes darted towards you, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” He whispered in English, his voice soft and yet deep from sleep.

“Morning,” You whispered back, trying not to wake up the other boy.

“What time is it?”

“7-ish,” You murmured.

The dancer threw an arm over his eyes. “Too early.”

You let out a huff, nodding your head in agreement. “Go back to sleep.”

You weren’t sure if he did, since he didn’t answer you. Now that you were sure you weren’t tired anymore, you grabbed your phone to scroll for a while in hopes of passing the time, both because you didn’t want to actually get up for fear of bothering the other two, but also because you had no plans.

At first it was just alternating between videos and social media, catching up on anything new. But then you saw a particular post that made you pause.

It was you. At least, you were pretty sure it was you. And it was definitely Seungmin standing in front of you, even if his face was slightly blurry in the picture. You recognized the outfit as the one he was wearing yesterday.

Someone must have noticed you two on your not-date. The post only had an exclamation mark, with no other information or accusation, but the replies more than made up for it.

‘who are they?’ ‘IS THAT KIM SEUNGMIN?!!!?’ ‘ADFDGSH you saw Seungmin in the wild T.T’ ‘normalize actual captions plz. I have no idea what this is’ ‘lol stay is doing Dispatch’s job for them’ ‘wait is it just me or does that look like stray kids Seungmin?’ ‘oh my god you met Seungmin?’ ‘OP, is this you in pic?’

You knew for a fact that none of the boys had seen this post yet. There weren’t a lot of interactions, and the lack of confirmation from the original poster in the replies managed to keep most people in a stage of confusion. But it made your heartbeat faster, the sudden anxiety that you had been caught in public.

You hadn’t even noticed anyone taking the photo. What if you had been holding hands, or kissing? Right now, even if anyone managed to confirm it was Seungmin in the photo, there was plausible deniability that you were just a friend.

You turned your phone off with a sigh.

Jisung flipped over onto his back with a groan. “Jagi?”

Minho grunted, reaching out to grab Jisung’s hand.

Jisung mumbled something. too slurred and soft for you to make out, but Minho understood perfectly. He said something without opening his eyes, still too soft for you to make anything out except for ‘dinner’ and ‘our’, to which Jisung let out a loud groan as he stretched his body out in an exaggerated way.

You snickered.

��Yah, you’re too far. Come here,” Jisung said, holding out his arms to you.

“You’re the one who left me,” You said, allowing him to pull you close. “Just like I expected. I’m just the third wheel here.” You let out an exaggerated sniffle, dramatically placing the back of your hand over your forehead.

“You’re only now figuring that out?” Jisung joked.

You gasped, pulling away so you could slap him on the arm. “Hey!”

When you tried to get out of bed, he tightened his hold on you. “Noooo! I’m sorry, I was just joking. Don’t leave me!”

“You’re so dramatic,” you sighed, allowing him to pull you on top of him. You held yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with a fake frown. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Kiss me?”

You pretended to think about it, but at his impatient look, you found yourself caving. You placed a slow, gentle, kiss on his lips, pulling away to affectionately grab his chin with your free hand. Jisung beamed up at you.

“Now I feel like the third wheel,” Minho said.

“Aw, are you feeling jealous Jagi?” Jisung pouted. “Come here, I can give you a kiss too.” He made exaggerated kissy noises, leaning over to get closer to the dancer, but in doing so he ended up pushing you off him.

You landed on your back on the edge of the bed with a laugh. “Hey, careful!”

The boys seemed to be in a wrestling match, both of them laughing and Jisung yelling out that Minho should accept his love, and you rolled your eyes.

“Boys,” You sighed to yourself.

0o0o0o0

Changbin invited you out to the gym the next morning, and you were already starting to regret it. It made you realize that you weren’t exactly in the best of shape, especially when you found yourself struggling to keep up with what was supposed to be a beginner friendly warm up.

At least he was nice enough not to point it out.

Chan showed up about halfway through, looking both surprised and amused when he realized you were there. “He going easy on you?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” You grunted, letting out a groan as you lifted yourself back up from your squat.

You expected some more teasing, maybe some reassurance from one or both of the boys, but they were surprisingly quiet. You glanced at them in the mirror.

Changbin was smirking, and Chan’s eyes were far too low to be on anything but your ass.

You laughed so hard you almost dropped the bar.

0o0o0o0

Soulmates

Y/N Alright, which one of you gremlins stole my hoodie Felix Not it! Hyunjin It wasn’t me, but now I’m kind of wishing it was Jisung Wait, the black one? Or the grey one? Seungmin Self-admitting to being gremlins? You guys are so dumb. Felix I will bite you Jisung Or maybe the red one …. Sungie, stop stealing my hoodies! Jisung But they’re so soft! You’re the only one who wears them to bed. Felix Yeah, because most of us don’t wear anything to bed ;) Y/N I’m going to start stealing your hoodies as revenge >:( Jisung Don’t threaten me with a good time

0o0o0o0

“Okay, I might not have thought this completely through,” You admitted.

Hyunjin peeked over your shoulder. “Who’s Sophie?”

“A friend of mine,” You said, erasing what you had been typing. “I mentioned that I was in Korean and now she keeps asking me to send photos of all the places I go to so she can ‘live through me’.”

You did the air quotes with your fingers, and Hyunjin blinked at you slowly, looking far too much like Minho in that moment.

“Okay?”

“The problem is, I haven’t exactly been to many places,” You explained.

“We went to the museum,” he pointed out.

“Together,” You said slowly, pointing between you two. “I don’t have any pictures without you guys in it. She’s a Stay.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “So you need more photos?”

You pouted, looking down at your phone. “Yeah. It would also be nice to visit some actual tourist attractions, you know?”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

You looked up at the dancer to find he was completely serious. He grabbed his phone and started towards the front door, looking back at you to make sure you were following.

“Wait, right now?” You exclaimed, stumbling out of your chair.

“Why not? I don’t have anything else to do today.”

You beamed at him. “Really?!”

Hyunjin reached out a hand for you, and he pulled you in close so he could grab your hip with one hand, using the other to raise your joined hands to his lips. He gave you a gentle kiss on the back of the hand, and then another on your forehead.

“I’m all yours.”

0o0o0o0

You wanted to surprise the boys. They had a long day; a couple meetings to discuss their next release, and then a video they had to film for some variety show program. They had texted you not to wait up, that they were going to be at the company building late that night, so you thought it would be a great idea to pop by to give them some goodnight kisses since you wouldn’t see them until the morning.

You thought you would be fine walking. You had taken the bus with a few of the boys before, knew the routes well, and it was only three actual minutes out on the street.

It just so happened that in those three minutes, the sky decided to open up like some kind of action movie.

To say you were soaked when you finally made it to the cover of the building would be putting it lightly. You were literally dripping, your shoes squelching with every step, and you refused to move from the entrance since it would end up with you spilling water all along the shiny marble floors, and the poor cleaning staff didn’t deserve to deal with that.

The secretary at the front entrance gave you a sympathetic look, offering to make the call for you since your own phone wasn’t turning on.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

You shivered. “I feel like I almost drowned out there.”

Chan threw a jacket over your shoulders despite your protests that it would just get wet. And when you explained how you didn’t want to get water all over the floors, he proceeded to pick you up and carry you to the public restrooms like you were a child.

You weren’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or impressed.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve here.” You told him with a sigh as he set you down on the counter. “I’m still wet.”

Chan pulled his phone out, giving you a cheeky look as he dialed a number. You leaned in close to see if you make out who it was. Ever the gentleman, Chan put it on speakerphone.

It was Minho who picked up. “Hyung?”

“Hey, can you get me a change of clothes? Bring it down to the woman’s bathrooms in the lobby.”

Apparently, questions weren’t a thing for the second oldest, because he hung up a second later.

“You guys keep spare clothes at the company?”

“Sometimes we take showers here before heading home. They have better water pressure,” He explained, pulling his jacket off. He then proceeded to tug on your soaked shirt. “Come one, lets get these clothes off before you get sick.”

You helped him peel the wet fabric from your skin, the clothes seemingly having shrunk with the rain. “You just want an excuse to see me naked.”

“Guilty as charged,” He joked, although his eyes never strayed from your face.

He then used some of the paper towels to dry away any lingering moisture from your back and arms as you wrung your hair out in the sink, the strands getting frizzy as you tried to shake it dry. He didn’t hesitate to pull his own dry and warm shirt off for you to wear while you waited, although you didn’t have to wait long.

Minho walked into the bathroom without so much as a knock, acting as if it was an everyday occurrence to find Chan shirtless in the bathroom. From behind him, Jeongin followed like a lost puppy, waving his hand at you.

“Hi!”

“These were the smallest I could find,” Minho said, handing you a shirt and a pair of sweats that would probably fit.

“Thank you.”

You grabbed the clothes, and then stared at the three boys for much too long.

Chan was the first to realize. “Right! Sorry, we’ll let you get changed.”

“Damn,” Jeongin whispered.

“I told you they weren't going to let you watch,” Minho said with a sigh, pushing the younger singer towards the bathroom doors.

Your brain to mouth filters failed you in a moment of weakness. “I mean, I let you watch.”

Chan raised his brows in shock, Jeongin spinning around so hard that he almost knocked Minho onto the floor.

“You what!?”

Minho smirked. “Oh honey, you’re going to give them the wrong idea.”

Already more than aware of how it sounded, you looked away in embarrassment. Jeongin wasn’t backing out without a fight, however.

“When did you let him watch? I thought we agreed to go slow?”

“Ayen, dude. Chill,” Chan warned him. “We agreed to go at their pace.”

“We didn’t even do anything,” Minho added. “We only got ready for bed.”

Jeongin pouted, “Still-“

“Wait, what do you mean you agreed to go at my pace?” You asked, clothes long forgotten. The three of them shared a look that you could roughly translate to ‘oh fuck’. “Have you been talking behind my back?”

“I mean, we just figured it wouldn’t be fair to pressure you or anything. We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Chan explained.

“Seriously?”

Minho titled his head to the side. “Is that not what you wanted?”

“You guys can be real idiots sometimes,” You hissed. “You do realize you guys can just ask me things, right? I mean … I thought since nobody brought it up that maybe ....”

Chan choked. “You thought we didn’t want to?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like we ever talked about this?!”

Finally having enough, Jeongin moved away from the other two boys, pushing his way up against the counter you were sitting on, in between your legs. He then pressed his hands against the counter on either side, leaning up into your space.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, sucking in a breath of air that you held for just a second longer than normal. And then you grinned, eyes darting to the other two boys.

“Take notes, boys.”

For as cold as you had been only minutes before, Jeongin’s lips against yours made your entire body heat up to the point you felt like you were on fire. His skin was equally hot under your palm as you reached up to cup his jaw, tilting his head back farther so you could lean into him. He let out a groan at the sudden change in position, your hand slipping down to the back of his neck, fingers scratching along the skin.

Chan swore, and you smirked against Jeongin’s kiss, more aware of the fact you had an audience now. Something in you was brought to life at the idea of putting on a show, your legs coming up to wrap around Jeongin’s back and pull him in closer. You let out a moan of your own as his tongue pressed against your lips, opening up for him.

There was a hushed whisper, and then the sound of someone slapping the other as Minho giggled. You snorted, pushing away from Jeongin to bury your head in his shoulder.

“Aish. You guys really do have to ruin everything, don’t you,” The maknae complained, his hands sliding up your bare sides. You shivered as cold air reached your skin.

Chan sighed. “Alright, let them get changed. You two can have a good pash later.”

You watched them go with tingling lips, feeling a sense of satisfaction.

0o0o0o0

Soulmates

Y/N New phone, who dis Felix RIP your old phone, it will be forever missed At least it was a Samsung Changbin I know where you sleep Felix Yeah, with me XP Hyunjin Can’t believe your phone died in the rain like that Jeongin Still can’t believe Lee Know-hyung got to see you naked Hyunjin Now im worried everytime it starts to rain that the same thing will happen to my phone Wait, what? Y/N He didn’t see me naked! Felix I thought we agreed to go slow?! Chan We agreed to go at their pace! Jisung HOW COME I HAVENT GOTTEN TO SEE ANYBODY NAKED! T>T Y/N HE HASN’T SEE ME NAKED! Minho Yet Y/N O.O

0o0o0o0

Dinner with the boys was quickly becoming an everyday tradition. While not all the boys were available all the time due to their solo schedules, you could always count on someone inviting you over to eat.

Today, it was surprisingly at the 3racha dorm and not at the maknae’s. Danceracha was busy working on some choreo, and Chan had decided to take the night off, leaving him in charge of dinner. Seungmin and Jeongin showed up early enough to help out, but they were more of a hinderance to the elder’s attempts at fried rice, stealing food and distracting him with random questions every time they strayed into the kitchen.

It only took half an hour before everyone except you and Changbin (the only two who were actually helping) were banned from the kitchen. Jisung pouted at you from the couch when you passed the kitchen doorway. You winked at him.

“Like actual children, I swear,” Chan sighed, taking the salt offered out of your hands. “Thanks.”

You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. “You poor thing. How do you put up with them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hey, not all of us are bad,” Changbin mumbled, carefully shaking the salad he was working on so that the veggies mixed together without flying out.

You plucked a tomato out of the bowl. “Yeah! Some of us are worse.”

“Out!” Chan yelled at you with a laugh, Changbin complaining about the stolen tomato with a high-pitched whine.

You giggled the entire way out, collapsing onto the couch next to the maknae, who didn’t waste any time latching onto you like an octopus. “I’ve been banished, my fellow thieves.”

Jisung and Seungmin both frowned, the English words unfamiliar to them. What proceeded was the most chaotic English lesson you ever tried to give, with the word banished quickly finding it’s translation, but the concept of ‘fellow’ throwing them off.

“It’s like, something you share in common. We all stole food,” You explained.

“Ahh. So, I can say ‘my fellow friends’?” Jisung tried.

“Mhh, it makes sense. Just sounds weird.”

“My fellow soulmates?” Jeongin tested, his accent heavy against your neck. You squirmed.

“I don’t think that one works. Kind of implies you guys are all soulmates with each other, instead of just sharing one.”

“One soulmate is more than enough,” Seungmin said with a grimace.

“Aww hyung, you don’t want to be my soulmate?” Jeongin teased.

You expected a deadpan answer, something to make you all laugh in the way he normally did. But Seungmin actually paused, tilting his head towards the youngest in thought.

“I guess being your soulmate wouldn’t be so bad,” he admitted.

“Awww.” You and Jisung both teased, and Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“Better than the others, for sure.”

“Ya! I better not be included in that,” Changbin yelled as he poked his head out of the kitchen. “Come help me set the table.”

With the human octopus still clinging to you, it was hard for you to get up. The other two abandoned you with snickers when you cried for their help, and it was only when you agreed to stay with him tonight that Jeongin finally let you go.

He held your hand under the table all night (thankfully not the one you used to eat with), and only let you go to your apartment to change with the promise you’d meet him at his dorm.

Felix and Hyunjin were on the couch when you arrived, both of them watching something on a phone between them. Felix looked like he was already half asleep, only managing to smile at you sleepily. Hyunjin flapped his hands at you.

“Help me get him to bed?”

You glanced at the hallway, and figured Jeongin could wait a few more minutes.

Between the two of you, it was more than easy to guide Felix to his bedroom. It was, however, difficult to do so without alerting the others to your presence, as you discovered Jeongin pouting at you from Felix’s doorway when you finished tucking in the young dancer. Hyunjin immediately took your spot on the bed, wrapping himself around the other boy with a hum.

“Thank you,” He whispered out to you, blowing you a kiss.

Jeongin wrapped his arms protectively around you the moment you were close enough for him to reach. “I thought he was going to steal you.”

“Never. I’m all yours,” You joked, glancing back at the blond-haired duo. Hyunjin was running his fingers through Felix’s hair, eyes soft as he looked down at his friend. “Besides, I don’t to ruin whatever they’ve got going on.”

“Hmm. Maybe they should have been soulmates instead,” Jeongin teased.

You blinked, thoughts beginning to run through your head. “Maybe.”

_o-o_o-o_o-o_o-o_o-o_o-o_

Taglist: (if you wish to be added or removed, please let me know)

@kayleefriedchicken @dessianna1 @tryingtolivelifeblog @luvvvash @purplelady85 @jc003

289 notes · View notes

charliegyrth · 21 days ago

Text

The Hottest Guy in Town - 2 of 2

Mac Grows into Himself

This is a prequel to Two Fat Guys on a Blind Date. Read Part 1 here.

21 Years Old – 315 Pounds

I couldn’t focus. The words in front of me seemed to jump off the page and dance around. I needed to understand these last three chapters before my exam tomorrow, but it was tough. My brain had run out of space.

If I told Sean that, he’d just smirk at me and say, “Told ya so.”

At the beginning of the school year, I’d signed up for a way-too-ambitious class schedule. I planned to graduate in three years instead of four. Sean had told me that I couldn’t manage it, but I didn’t listen.

And now, I was drowning in coursework, behind on essays, and barely getting any sleep. The only good thing about this semester (besides living with Sean) was the amount of food I was cramming into myself. I snacked when I studied, and because I constantly studied, that meant I constantly snacked.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision, either. I’d expanded my capacity so much that half the time, I didn’t even realize I was eating. Right now, as I stared at my textbook, I had three empty boxes of brownies next to me on the couch. I had no memory of eating any of them, but I know I had. The crumbs were all over my shirt and I had a definite brownie taste in my mouth.

Sean didn’t spend as much time feeding me, sadly. Just three or four times a week. We hadn’t pulled out the funnel in at least a month. We were both too busy. I was still overloading myself with calories, of course, but they came from constant grazing instead of erotic binge sessions.

I slammed the textbook closed. Time for a break.

I hoisted myself off the couch and lumbered toward the balcony. It was a surprisingly chilly night, even for me and my extra insulation. I sat on the balcony chair (too dangerous to lean against the railing, obviously) and looked out at the stars.

My anxiety slowly drifted away as I watched the stars and squeezed my hanging belly droop.

I had so much to be thankful for. I was on track to graduate. I already had a job lined up at a marketing firm with an office in my hometown. I had a boyfriend who loved me and helped me grow. And with each passing day, I felt more comfortable in my own body.

I loved how my stomach spilled out of me, how it had sagged into such a wonderful apron of fat. I loved how my hips were starting to dimple, how my arm fat was hanging shapelessly, how my stretchmarks decorated not only my belly, but the sides of my chest and the edges of my armpits. I loved how every single part of me had softened, and yet, old friends could still recognize me because my face wasn’t changing.

Most guys my size have wide, soft faces that made them unrecognizable compared to their skinny pasts. I felt so lucky that people could look at my face and automatically think, “Poor guy. He must’ve been so handsome before he let himself go.”

So yeah, I had a ton to be grateful for.

“Deep thoughts?” Sean asked as he joined me on the balcony. He leaned against my soft side and nuzzled his head against my shoulder.

“Taking a break from studying,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” he asked flirtatiously. He took my hand and led me back inside.

Whatever he wanted to do to me, I was up for it, though I wasn’t quite done relaxing under the stars.

He brought me into our bedroom, pushed me onto the mattress, and brought out a bag of cookies that he’d hidden in the nightstand. He popped one into his own mouth and then got ready to feed me the rest.

“How’s the studying?” he asked as he pressed a cookie against my lips.

“Slow but steady. Still on track,” I said, choosing not to mention how much my brain was struggling to keep up.

“Good,” he said, though his voice sounded a little disappointed in my answer. He anxiously ate another cookie himself.

“Is something wrong, Sean?” A minute ago, he seemed like he was really in the mood. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

He shoved another cookie into my mouth. More aggressive than usual. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Honestly, I didn’t. He had a really easy courseload. What did he have to be upset about?

“Seriously, Peter. Don’t you ever think about us? You’ll be graduating a year early and leaving me behind. And then who am I gonna be with? I don’t get turned on by normal guys anymore. You fucked up my whole… everything. I don’t want to hold you back, but I don’t want to leave Phoenix. And you’ve never asked what I want.” The words fell out of him. He clearly wasn’t planning to unload all that on me, but once he started talking, he couldn’t stop.

I wasn’t planning on leaving him. But… He was right. I hadn’t really thought about how my early graduation would affect him. No wonder he’d tried so hard to convince me to slow down for another year.

“I’m sorry.” And I meant it.

He had another cookie in his hand, ready to feed me, but he pulled it back and anxiously gobbled it down himself. “Who am I gonna help grow when you’re gone?”

I really wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t know what to say. I sat up straight and pulled him closer to me. Then I pinched at the slight roll of flab that poked out of the bottom of his shirt. My snacking habits were finally rubbing off on him. Not by a lot, but enough to be visible. Neither of us had mentioned it yet, but I figured this was the best time to finally talk about it. “You could grow yourself, honey.”

He looked down at his stomach, at the pudge between my fingers, and he jumped out of bed like he’d just seen a ghost. “I… I…”

Oh God. He didn’t know. And now I’d made things so much worse.

“You look great, Sean. Seriously. And I’m sorry we haven’t talked enough about our future plans. But…”

“I gotta go,” he mumbled. Then he rushed out of the apartment.

I knew he’d come back. I knew I’d see him again. But I also knew that our relationship had run its course. I ate the rest of the cookies alone in bed.

***

22 Years Old – 355 Pounds

I extended my hand. “Peter McDowell.”

Johnny, my new coworker, looked me up and down before he shook my hand. “Peter McDowell? No offense, but you really don’t look like a Peter.”

I didn’t know how to interpret that.

“Let me guess. People call you Mac instead. Am I right?”

He wasn’t. All my life, I’d been Peter. No one called me Mac. Or Pete. Or anything else, really. My ex-boyfriend Sean called me Tubbs sometimes, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable having a coworker call me that.

“Yup,” I said. “I’m Mac.” It was a weird thing for me to say, but whatever. Why not? I was finally out of school, starting a new job, starting a whole new phase in my life. And in a way, Peter felt like more of a skinny-guy name, anyway. Mac seemed much more substantial, like me.

Johnny showed me around the office, introducing me to all my new colleagues. He took me into the breakroom, apologizing for how narrow it was. I literally had to walk sideways between the cabinets because my hips were too wide. A lot of people in Johnny’s position would look at me with pity. They’d give me the same look that my lit professor gave me a few months back when I got stuck in my chair.

I was used to it. And if I was being honest with myself, I really, really liked it. That whole “Oh, you poor thing” expression was so much better than all the ogling that I used to get. (God, that part of my life felt so long ago.)

Anyway, Johnny did not look at me with pity. He was sympathetic, but there was no judgment in his eyes.

He wasn’t really my type. (Stick-thin and kind of nerdy. Also pretty straight, from what I could tell.) But I did like him. He seemed like he’d be a good coworker.

After squeezing out of the breakroom, I followed Johnny to my own office, which was small but not too small. The desk chair needed to be replaced, though. Johnny realized that, too. He wheeled it out of the office and brought in a storage crate that I’d have to use until the company could find a replacement.

The crate wasn’t comfortable, but it worked fine for the rest of the day.

Once 5:00 rolled around, Johnny took me to Risky’s Barbecue Pit for a little getting-to-know-you dinner. That was one of my favorite restaurants. I hadn’t been back there since I was a teen!

The place hadn’t changed at all, though the booths definitely felt smaller. Johnny had to slide the table a few inches before I could sit.

He sat across from me, a big smile on his face, like he knew something I didn’t.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “This is on the company’s dime, so go crazy. Let’s see what you can do.”

That definitely sounded like the words of an encourager. I’d only had one (Sean), but he’d definitely said those exact words to me before. “Let’s see what you can do.”

I looked at him a little funny.

“Look,” he said, “I think I know your whole thing. I grew up in Bullhead, so I used to see you around in the summer. I know what you looked like, and no one changes this much without, you know, wanting to. I’m straight. Happily married. So don’t read too much into this. I just, I have a gainer friend. Great guy. So… To welcome you to the company, I figured I could show my support.” He slid the menu toward me. “Go crazy.”

Since breaking up with Sean, I��d been a bit lonely. Without a cheerleader to keep me going, I struggled to stay motivated. I’d spent the last few months trapped in the 350 range. The fact that Johnny was so direct really meant a lot to me. Perhaps he could help me get over my plateau.

“Challenge accepted,” I said.

***

23 Years Old – 420 Pounds

I waddled into the office, gasping for breath. My usual parking spot had been taken, so I had to cross the entire parking lot in 100+ degree weather. Not fun for someone my size.

My work shirt was soaking wet, with horizontal sweat stains between my rolls and one continuous stain covering my back. The air conditioning hit me like a blast of heaven.

“Hey, Mac!” Maggie the receptionist said. She handed me my morning muffin. I ate it on my long walk to my office. I finished half of it before I reached Sammy’s cubicle.

“Mac! Welcome back!” He handed me a frappuccino.

Now that I was working from home three days a week, my days back in the office felt extra special. Lots of sweets from my supportive coworkers. I’d learned in the last year that gaining weight was so much easier with help. I didn’t have a boyfriend to feed me, but I had Johnny, and Maggie, and Sammy, and pretty much everyone else at work. They weren’t technically feeders or encouragers, but they all liked me a lot and accepted me as the loveable fat guy in the office. I felt really, really lucky.

Johnny was waiting for me in my office, his lanky body leaning against my desk. “Right on time,” he said.

I wasn’t. I was thirty minutes late. (The McDonalds drive-thru took longer than expected.)

He filled me in on the marketing projects I needed to finalize. It was a lot of work, but he knew that I could handle it. I finished my muffin and frappuccino while he talked. Then, once all the business stuff was out of the way, he leaned closer and whispered, “What’s the damage now?”

“Four twenty,” I whispered back.

I could've gone into more detail. I could've told him about the irregular new thigh rolls that made my legs rub together in a slightly different pattern. I could've mentioned how my skin color was darkening inside some of my deeper creases. Hell, I could've pulled up my shirt and shown him the new, lumpier texture of my lower belly.

But no. Those were things to share with a boyfriend, not a coworker, no matter how supportive he was. It was best to just stick to the number.

He gave me a congratulatory pat on the stomach. “And your personal life? Anything new?”

I shrugged. “Still with Trevor,” I mumbled. Trevor was a guy I met on Grommr almost a year ago. We didn’t have anything in common besides our hunger for gaining, but he was a good guy. I guess we were happy.

“Good for you,” Johnny said flatly. I knew that he didn’t really like Trevor. Plus, he was always hinting about setting me up with his gainer friend in Bullhead. I wasn’t interested in anything long-distance, though. Bullhead City wasn’t too far away, but I hated the drive. Now that my grandparents were both gone, I really didn’t have a reason to go down there.

Johnny left me alone to get back to work. He came back in a few more times throughout the day to drop off snacks, but otherwise, I was in work mode.

When I got home (once again sweat-soaked and wheezing), Trevor was waiting for me. He looked particularly bloated today, and while his gut was much smaller than mine, it was a lot rounder. (Hairier, too, but that wasn’t obvious through his shirt.) “Good day at work?”

“Productive,” I said. I wanted to tell him about all the marketing projects that I was working on, but I knew he wasn’t interested. “How about you?”

“Also productive.” He was an accountant. I wasn’t really interested in hearing about his job, either.

We stood there in awkward silence, not sure what to talk about. Like I said, we didn’t have anything in common.

“So,” he finally said. “Should I get the funnel?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

***

24 Years Old – 518 Pounds

I was sprawled on the couch, sucking on a milkshake and waiting for my Uber Eats to arrive.

When the doorbell rang, I immediately stood up. (“Immediately” might be an exaggeration, but I pushed myself off the couch as fast as I could.) I lumbered toward the front door, moving fast enough for my hanging gut to make quiet, little thwaps against my thighs.

I opened the door, but the delivery guy wasn’t there. It was Johnny.

“Hey, Mac! How’re you holding up?” He glanced over at the piles of empty take-out containers littering my living room. I normally cleaned after myself pretty well, but now that I was in the midst of my post-breakup wallow, I’d let the trash pile up.

“Okay,” I said. “I, um… Come in.”

He walked inside, stepped over all the wrappers, and sat on my recliner. It was the one piece of furniture that didn’t have food trash on it.

I sat on the couch.

“We miss you at the office,” he said.

A few months back, my bosses pulled me into a private meeting to suggest that I work entirely from home. I’d outgrown my office chair. And I’d accidentally fallen in the break room, cracking the cabinet and messing up my ankle. Plus the bathroom situation had gotten a bit difficult.

(Sorry for oversharing, but… once I crossed 500, I sort of lost the ability to wipe myself. Had to stick to bidets now. I know some guys my size don't have that particular problem, but I'd really started struggling with, you know, maneuvering. Reaching places.)

Anyway, the company thought it was best that I stopped coming in, which was the right decision, even though I missed seeing all my coworkers. A lot. We still met up at restaurants, and they came over sometimes, but I’d pretty much drifted away from all of them except Johnny.

And then Trevor broke up with me. His weight gain had plateaued while mine just kept going, which made him ultra-jealous. He started getting really snippy, and the one thing that we had in common had become a point of contention between us. Two weeks ago, he ended things.

I didn’t miss him. I never loved him the way I’d loved Sean. (And looking back, I didn’t really love Sean either.) But without a boyfriend, I felt… hopeless. Like I’d never be able to find anyone else.

“So I have an offer for you,” Johnny said. “Well, the company does. I’m just the messenger.”

“Go on.”

Johnny smiled from ear to ear as he told me about our company’s new office in Bullhead City. He wanted me to transfer there to help run things. I’d still mainly work from home, but I was expected to work out of the office more often. He assured me that the new building had plenty of ways to accommodate my special needs. (Wider halls, for one. Bidets in the restrooms.)

I was already sold.

“Plus,” he added, “you can finally meet my other gainer friend. I really think you guys’ll hit it off.” It had been so long since he’d brought up his friend, I’d sorta forgotten. But yeah, why not? If Johnny liked him, then I’m sure he was a great guy.

“Absolutely,” I said. “About the job. About everything.”

I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I felt like I was finally going to get out of my funk.

“Cool. I’ll get the paperwork in order. The company will help you find a place down there. And once you’re all settled in, I’ll ask Jason if he’d be up for a blind date.”

My heart sped up before my brain could register why. Then it hit me. “Your friend is named Jason?”

“Jason Robbins. Why?”

Holy crap. Jason Robbins was the guy I’d met when I was 17, the handsome face that was always in the back of my mind, the stranger who’d convinced me to start gaining. All this time, Johnny’s friend was the Jason Robbins! How could I not have connected the dots earlier?

“Mac? You okay?”

I guess I was spacing.

“Um, yeah. Let’s do that blind date. See what happens.”

We talked a bit more about the job specifics, then he announced that it was time to go. He had to get back to his family. As he was leaving, the Uber Eats guy arrived at my door with three bulging bags of Mexican food. Johnny brought them inside for me.

Then, instead of leaving, he sat down again.

“I thought you were going.”

He shrugged. “In a bit. For old time’s sake, why don’t you… ya know, show me what you can do.”

I opened the first bag.

***

25 Years Old – 538 Pounds

Jason sat next to me, his fat squishing into mine. We were scrolling through old photos on my laptop.

“That’s me at 16,” I said, “a year before I first met you.”

The photo showed me shirtless on a boat in Lake Havasu, my blond hair looking particularly sun-bleached and my lean torso a bit pink from a sunburn.

“Whose boat is that?” my boyfriend asked. He was rolling my belly fat around in his fingers, just a minor bit of contact that calmed us both down.

“Some lady. I didn’t know her, but she invited me to join her and her family. I told you what it was like back then. Hottest guy in town, always getting special treatment from everybody.”

He let go of my roll and positioned his 400-pound body to the side. He looked me dead in the eyes. “Mac, you do realize that you’re still the hottest guy in town. And you get special treatment all the time. Your office literally installed bidets just for you. People stare at you all the time. You’re constantly getting free snacks from people. How is that not special treatment?”

Jason and I moved in together a couple weeks after our blind date. We both knew that we were destined for each other. Unlike Sean (who never really embraced the gaining lifestyle for himself) and Trevor (who didn’t have anything else going for him besides gaining), Jason was the full package. Beautiful, fat, smart, funny, perfect.

And insightful too, apparently. “I guess you’re right.”

He grabbed my laptop and placed it on the coffee table, out of our way. “No more looking at the past,” he said. “Let’s just enjoy the present.”

He kissed me, his hands squeezing into my softness, my hands squeezing into his. I tasted ice cream on his lips.

I might be the hottest guy in town, but Jason was very quickly catching up to me.

The End.

#gainer fiction #gainerstory #feeder fiction #male wg #gainerfiction #gainerstories #gainer story #gainer stories #weight gain fiction #gay feeder

108 notes · View notes

whimsyfinny · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 1762

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

I'm Not Your F*cking Maid

Please read Prologue before starting.

Chapter 1

I sat in the window booth at the typical sleepy diner, tapping my fingers on the sticky wooden table and checking the time on my phone every minute. She was late. She was never late. And now I’m getting worried. I’m sure she’s fine, I had convinced myself as I reached for my backpack and pulled out an old tome on burial rights over various different cultures. I might as well read to distract myself whilst I wait for her to arrive. I try to relax into the monotone ambience of the room, and just as I get settled into the scrawling text on the ancient pages, a growling engine pulling up outside draws my gaze away from the long paragraph on ‘Cremation’. I return my attention back to the book after a second as the engine ticks over outside for a few more beats before being turned off. The waitress returns to my table to collect the empty beer bottle I’d drained when I first arrived; she smiled and asked if she could get me anything.

“Just another one of those please,” I smiled back, hearing the bell ring as the front door opened and my gaze jumped from the waitress to Charlie as she came skipping towards where I was sitting, sliding into the booth opposite me.

“(Y/n) I’m so sorry I’m late, I had an errand to run and it took waaaayyy longer than expected.”

“It’s ok, I was starting to get a little worried so I’m just glad you’re alright….” I felt my voice trail off as I felt the booth cushion dip as someone sat next to me. I whipped my head around and came nose-to-nose with a man I’d never met before; with the most enticing green eyes I’d ever gazed into and annoyingly kissable lips pulling into a devilish smirk. Just as those lips parted to speak, I blurted out without thinking:

“Who the fuck are you?”

He blinked in slight shock, and paused like he was rethinking what he was going to say. He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted a second time.

“Dean, don’t sit so close,” another man, who I didn’t even realise was there, had sat down next to Charlie. He was taller, with impressive hair and softer features than this Dean guy, who was practically sitting in my lap and eyeing me up and down. Dean gave this other man a look as if to say ‘shut up’, before turning to me once more, devilish grin back in place. He opened his mouth to speak a third time right as the waitress returned with my beer.

“Here you are,” she said sweetly, not knowing she was interrupting as Dean threw his hands up in defeat at not being able to get a word in, slumping back in the chair. The waitress put the bottle down in front of me.

“Can I get anything for your friends?” She looked around the table and before either of the men could answer, Charlie jumped in;

“Three very strong coffees please.”

Dean huffed, “Oh so I can’t even order a beer?”

“You two boys have been living on pizza and beer for God knows how long. At least drink something that contains some water,” Charlie quipped, looking at them both like they were naughty children. She sighed when she realised they looked slightly ashamed of themselves. “Anyway, (Y/n), this is Sam and Dean. I know you’ve been looking for work and these two might be able to help. They’re good friends of mine and they’re-“

“Hunters,” I interrupted, feeling my blood start to run cold, “yeah I know who they are. Winchesters,” the name felt bitter on my tongue, like poison.

They must have noticed the change of tone in my voice because the table went quiet, even the mischievous glint seemed to have gone from Deans gaze as he looked at me with intrigue. Annoyed at myself for not realising who they were sooner, I grabbed my backpack and unzipped it, packing away my book. I stood up and glared down at Dean, about to bark at him to move when Charlie grabbed my wrist.

“(Y/n) what’s wrong? What are you doing? Please don’t go, we…they could really use your help right now.”

“And why should I? They’re the reason I’m struggling in the first place,” I paused, staring down at the two men who now had dark, ashamed expressions cloaking their features, almost like this wasn’t the first time they’d heard this side of the story where they weren’t always the hero’s. “They’re the reason my family is dead, and I’m all alone.” More silence hung over the booth like a dark cloud. It was Sam who spoke up after a minute or so, genuine sorrow in his eyes.

“(Y/n) I’m so, so sorry. Who-”

“Bobby Singer.”

The Winchester brothers shot each other a stunned look.

“B-Bobby?” Sam stuttered whilst Deans eyes widened. He looked like he’d taken a blow to the chest and had the air knocked from his lungs, “We didn’t know he had any living relatives…”

“He was my uncle,” Deans jaw clenched, “And you guys didn’t know because he knew I’d end up being used against him. I collected books for him to help you guys on all your bullshit missions, so haven’t I already helped you enough? Don’t you owe me some peace?” I threw my bag on the floor and picked up my beer, taking several gulps before slamming it back onto the table before continuing, the words just spilling out. “He was my only living relative for as long as I can remember. So fuck you guys for taking him away from me.”

“We loved Bobby,” Dean spoke suddenly in a grave tone and his gaze went dark as he stood up to face me. His tall form with strong, broad shoulders loomed over my much smaller stature, one of his fingers jabbing into my chest.

“Dean-” Sam started but was silenced by a wave of Deans other hand.

“You can get down off your high fucking horse if you think that you’re the only family that he had. You weren’t. He raised us more than our own father did, and I’ll be damned if I don’t think about him every day and wish he was here. You’re not the only one grieving him so stop acting like a precious little bitch and grow up,” Deans voice grew louder and more pissed as he spoke, and with every word he spoke he got closer and closer until he was right in my face, our noses almost touching. My heart rate was starting to pick up and I could feel the anger start to boil in my veins. Without missing a beat I threw my fist out and punched him in the face, making him stumble out of the booth and into the aisle in the diner. I heard gasps around me but didn’t look up. When the anger in my veins didn’t fade with the single punch, I didn’t give him a chance to gain his composure as I tackled him, making him fall on his back as I straddled him, my knees gripping his hips as I began punching him again and again right in that stupid face of his. Charlie and Sam seemed to sit there in disbelief for a few seconds before springing into action and lifting me off the older Winchester brother. Sam held me back gently but firmly as Charlie helped Dean to his feet, handing him a napkin from the table for the blood pouring from his nose and lip.

“You crazy bitch!” Dean spat.

“Fuck you!” I tried to break free so I could slap him but Sam held me tight.

The whole diner had gone silent as they watched me lose my shit, some amused but most were horrified. It took a few more moments of silence before they all went back to what they were doing and Sam let go of me, watching me like I was a time bomb. I heard Charlie giggle quietly.

“Holy crap (Y/n) I had no idea you had that in you. I’m actually a little impressed, you were always so quiet.”

“What can I say,” I turned to glare at Dean “I learnt from the best,” as I turned away I heard him mutter under his breath.

“Yeah you aren’t the only one.”

For a second time I saw red, and before Sam could grab me I spun on my heel and threw my fist out. CRACK.

The car doors slammed closed next to me after I was crammed into the back of Deans car. It wouldn’t have been that bad - the seats were oh so plush - if it wasn’t for the handcuffs tight round my wrists and duct tape across my lips. Oh, and that my thigh was rubbing up against the man that I had just assaulted. Dean was in the same situation with the handcuffs and the tape, his long legs having to spread wide so he can fit in the back of his own car. I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face as I watched Sam and Charlie apologising to the diner staff through the front window. I was trying to find any sort of distraction right now, as Deans body temperature was hot and I could feel it through both his jeans and mine as he pressed into me. He was starting to make me sweat a little. Luckily it wasn’t long before Charlie and Sam hopped into the car, Sam in the drivers seat. They both turned to face us, smiles of bewilderment on their faces as if they were still processing what had just happened. Sam spoke first.

“(Y/n) is now officially barred from that diner, and honestly they wanted to call the cops. Charlie managed to save your ass as she still had her FBI badge on her,” he shot her a look and she grinned.

“So because now, you technically owe me a debt of gratitude, you will be staying in the bunker with the boys and helping them with their research.” She chimed, like she had won a game. In the end they got what they wanted.

I groaned and rolled my eyes. Of course. I heard Dean huff next to me, and he sounded just as displeased as I did. To be honest at this point, that’s fair.

Although he had it coming.

——————————————————————

Up Next

Chapter 2

#dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x female!reader

446 notes · View notes