#but really they found something to stay for and someone to stay with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsbarnesblog · 1 day ago

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˖˚⊹ call it survival

➤ summary: you were just trying to survive, keep your head down, follow the rules, and stay invisible. Rafe Cameron never played by the rules, and he became your savior before you could fully break

➤ w/c: 9k.

➤ warnings: domestic abuse, graphic violence, emotional manipulation, descriptions of blood and bruises, insults, mental health, self-doubt, reader is over 18, slow burn romance, kook trio causing problems, enemies to lovers, Rafe's redemption arc, very protective and down bad Rafe

➤ a/n: so far it was the most complicated work i've ever written and i reeeeally hope that my obsessed-with-insanely-long-fics people will enjoy reading it.

masterlist

Your father never explained why you had to move to the Outer Banks. One day you were packing up your life in your old town, stuffing your belongings into worn-out suitcases, and the next you were staring out the window of his truck as he drove past unfamiliar beaches and houses larger than anything you'd ever lived in. It was not your choice to leave, but you knew better than to question him.

What little you did know came in fragments. Late-night phone calls, where you heard him arguing about money with unknown people, his decision to lock all of the doors even when you were home, or the way he seemed to be nervous about other people getting too close to the two of you.

And once you found a business card. It was creased and water-damaged, the edges curling up like it had been forgotten—or hidden. The name on it meant nothing to you, but the logo said Bayside Collections. A bank, maybe. When you asked him about it, his whole face changed. His jaw tensed, and he yanked the coat from your hand so fast it made you stumble, snapping at you to never touch his things again and mind your business.

He was secretive, scared. That’s why he never let you make new friends, he never let you go anywhere after work, and you were forbidden from going out.

Life in the Outer Banks wasn’t easy. You didn’t fit in with the Kooks, and you weren’t really one of the Pogues either. You kept to yourself, working whatever shifts you could find, even if your father still took all of your money, and making sure to never step out of line. Your father didn’t tolerate mistakes. If he came home angry, you made yourself small, kept the house clean, and stayed out of his way, locked up in your room when your heartbeat skyrocketing. But it never mattered because something would always set him off, and when he snapped, it finished badly.

Most of the time, his anger came in the form of words—harsh, cutting reminders that you were useless, that you should be grateful he hadn’t left you behind, that you were already too grown to be this dumb and still dependent on him, even though he was the one who tied you down to that pathetic excuse of a life. But sometimes, his grip on your wrist was too tight, his shoves were too hard, and he didn’t hesitate to slap you for “opening your mouth.”

You thought about running once. Just taking off and disappearing. But where would you go? You had no money, no plan, and basically no friends. And if he found you? You didn’t want to think about that. So you stayed, kept your head down, and avoided anything that could make him look at you the wrong way.

That was before you met Sarah, a damn sunlight trapped in a person, and other pogues who seemed to be the only people who were actually nice to you. You tried to keep your distance at first, afraid of what would happen if your father found out, but she wouldn’t let you. They knew what was happening in your family, seeing the signs of constantly appearing bruises and the way you seemed to be afraid of someone watching you, but they didn’t push, giving you time to open up naturally.

You were careful, though. You never stayed out too late and never did anything that could get you in trouble, only once in a while skipping a shift just to feel normal with them.

That night you hadn’t meant to go to the party, but it was too tempting—the way everyone talked about it, the way girls promised to help you get dressed and begged you to let it go for once, and how they, wanting to go there without guys, actually tried to include you—and you couldn’t say “no.”

So you lied to your father. You practiced your speech for an hour, hoping that he would notice your trembling hands, and then made up a story about a late-night shift where you would get more money, and he, always eager to get more, waved you off.

You didn’t expect Sarah’s brother to be there. He and his friends had never been particularly nice to anyone, and it seemed that they enjoyed making trouble for your friends. Rafe himself, for some reason, awakened some feeling in you that you couldn’t quite understand. The way he was looking at you, curious, as if he couldn’t figure you out, was a bit unsettling, maybe because it was the first time you got any kind of attention from a guy, even if it wasn’t quite a positive one.

You saw each other only occasionally when you visited his sister at Tanneyhill, always slightly catching him off guard with the way you shyly sat at one of the bar stools in the kitchen, looking so small as if you were afraid to even touch anything. You always looked fragile and cautious, and he couldn’t forget the first time he saw you in his house—the way you looked at him with your pretty, big eyes.

He would stand in the kitchen, carelessly sipping some soda, looking at you, enjoying the way you were squirming under his gaze, pretending to be interested in whatever was in front of you. Maybe it gave him some sense of power, or maybe he was actually enjoying looking at you, and it was something that he didn’t want to admit even to himself. You were still his sister's friend, basically a pogue, and Rafe Cameron didn’t do pogues.

His thoughts were perplexing him, causing some weird feelings he refused to acknowledge, and instead he did what he used to—turned confusion into mockery, snide comments, and jokes.

So when the party was already dying down, when the kook trio suddenly felt the need to mess with your friends by actually calling the sheriff for whatever reason, you tried to run. You knew that you had to get home as soon as possible, and when Cleo and you were running towards the Twinkie, your mind was already spiraling with possible excuses for your father about the change of plans. But the universe seemed to have different ideas, sending you right into Rafe’s hands.

“Rafe, please.” You almost begged when you felt the weight of his hands around you, tugging you backwards. Your eyes were big and round, staring back at him in that pleading manner. He held your eye contact, and for a split second, you thought that they had softened and that maybe he would actually consider backing up.

But then it shifted back to its usual appearance—cold, cocky, as if Rafe actually enjoyed seeing you behaving the way you did, the way you begged him. He knew that he couldn’t give it up now, not in front of his friends who were waiting for his sign, not when he already made such a big deal out of it. But such a thought was lingering at the back of his head at the sight of your desperate and scared eyes, and for the first time he didn’t feel the usual content of being the bad guy.

“Please don’t do it.” You whispered so quietly, your voice seemed too broken even for your own ears.

“Call Shoupe, Kelce.” Rafe said calmly, and his friend obliged immediately, while your heart sank to your stomach. Sarah, Kie, and Cleo became as panicked as you were, all four of you looking at each other in desperation.

“I can’t get caught. I can’t. Not right now.” Your voice cracked as you shook your head, the realization of what would happen suddenly settling in. Rafe looked at you curiously, slightly tilting his head to the side, as a hint of concern flashed in his eyes.

But at the end of the day, you were just another Pogue, probably acting way too good to try to make him pity you and panicking over nothing. He shouldn’t care. Shouldn't even think about letting you go. But he did.

He noticed the way his sister moved her head to the side, telling you something without any words. You looked between her and Rafe, your eyes darted down the street, and then you were running.

Not quick enough, though. Rafe was hot on your heels, and he easily caught you before you could reach the main road or hide. He gripped you firmly by your upper arms, but not hard enough to hurt you, and held you close with your back firmly pressed to his chest when you two went back to the rest of them. You wiggled in his arms, tried to push him away, ignoring the way your body felt both flushed from closeness to him and pure terror of what he might do.

“He’s gonna be here in a moment, and he has already called all of your parents.” Kelce points his phone at the girls and you, but if your friends just scoffed, then your shoulders and head lowered in defeat. Your throat tightened as the tears welled up in your eyes, knowing what was yet to come.

You were not trying to get away from Rafe’s hold anymore, and he didn’t let you go either, knowing that you may try running again. He was observing your reaction, though he didn’t quite understand what was going on or why your friends were looking at you like that. Sure, they weren’t on good terms, constantly giving problems to each other, but never before had he seen such a disappointed and devastated look in his sister’s eyes. Her lips in a tight line, eyes burning holes in his head as if she was one second away from hitting him, but before he could think too much about it, the police car and your father’s truck parked not far away from your group, and you didn’t even lift your head, zoning out and focusing on your shoes.

“Your parents are going to be here soon.” Shoupe said as he got out of the car, pointing at Kiara, who just rolled her eyes and scoffed. “And you’re going home with your brother.” He then told Sarah, who was equally annoyed. But you didn’t pay attention to any of it because you knew that your father was there and you had no escape this time.

Your father was seething when he got out of the truck, carelessly leaving the door open and storming towards you, heavy boots hitting against the gravel with every hurried step. His eyes were zeroed in on you, and you felt it even if your own eyes were fixated on the ground. You felt cold sweat covering your skin just from hearing his hard footsteps.

“Get in the fucking car. Now!” His loud voice cut the air, and everyone got even quieter than before, throwing confused looks at each other. He stopped a few feet away from you with his hands on his hips, licking his lips in a way that made it seem that he held back some words that he didn’t want others to hear. “Did you not hear me, girl?” He yelled again when you didn't move. Your head finally went up, and you subconsciously moved back into Rafe’s chest, seeking some kind of protection from the fire in your father’s eyes.

Rafe’s hands tightened around your arms, and he felt a weird tugging feeling in his chest from your reaction. You were scared. Scared to the point that he, who was nothing but a pain in your ass, became a better option. Rafe’s mind was racing a hundred miles per hour, looking between you and your father, hearing your uneven breathing, and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. Why did no one say anything, not even Shoupe?

The Pogues were used to stepping in for each other. They kind of figured out what was happening in your family with your subtle hints and careless excuses. But seeing it in person? They just froze, looking at the scene in front of them helplessly. Shoupe stood closely to them, hands on his hips and head low, eyes on the ground. Letting it slide. Closing his eyes on it as if nothing had happened.

You knew that there was no point in just delaying what was inevitable, so with your head low again, you slipped out of Rafe’s hold before he could even react or protest. Your father’s grip on your forearms replaced Rafe's, but he wasn’t so careful, making you wince in pain. He dragged you to the passenger seat as if you were a child who was misbehaving. There was no point in protesting, asking to be gentler, and especially saying how sorry you were—it always seemed to make him even angrier—so you just followed him until he pushed you inside and slammed the door, barely not hitting you with it.

Your eyes were stinging with tears, and your head was lowered as you were trying to focus on your shaking hands. You didn’t dare to look up, knowing that your friends, the Kook Trio and Shoupe, saw everything.

Two days later you were sitting in the kitchen of Tanneyhill, after Sarah begged you to come there to hang out for a bit, promising that Ward and Rose were away on some business trip to Europe and that Rafe was at the golf club with his friends, so it was only her and Wheezie, who was too busy in her room.

You hesitated, declining it for as long as you could, not really wanting her or anyone else to see the way you looked. Not to mention that your father was still pissed off and gave you a silent treatment after what he had done the night he picked you up. It was always like that, always those emotional swings, when he got violent and then did not talk to you as if it was you who had done something horrible, like it was you who was always wrong. Yet, you thought that you liked these days the most because he acted like he didn’t care and you had more personal space, even if your whole body was aching with bruises.

“We should totally go to that store today. You know, the one I told you about last week?” She said, casual as always, mixing something in her cup. You loved that about her, always grateful that even when she saw the bruises, the distant look in your eyes, she wasn't pushing. She gave you space, just like you asked her to the first time she saw everything. Sarah was a walking light, and whenever you needed it, she gave it to you and did everything to distract you from the darkness.

“We can, but I don't have money, so…”

“Oh, stop it. It’s my dad’s card. You think he cares where I spend it?” She rolled her eyes playfully, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and placing an icy glass with a drink in front of you.

“I don’t want or need you to pay for me. Really. It’s not a big deal.” You refused her offer like you always did.

“Well, I don’t care.” She tilted her head up in that playful way, biting her lip to hold back a smile. You shook your head, already giving up on fighting with her about it. “I’m gonna change quickly, and we can go, yeah?”

She left you alone in the kitchen, running up the stairs before you could even say anything, and you let out a sigh. The same moment, as if on command, the front door to the house closed, and Rafe walked into the kitchen, looking as good and crisp as usual.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him, your hold slightly tightening around the glass. He didn’t even see you yet, stopping in the middle of the room, texting someone on his phone. You took a chance to look at him properly. Your eyes trailed up from his cargo shorts to the blue polo that looked too perfectly tight around his biceps and to the backwards cap. Rafe was attractive, and you hated yourself that your mind automatically wandered in the wrong direction.

Then his head snapped up, as if sensing someone’s eyes, and he froze. You did so too, the moment you understood what his eyes were exactly looking at.

Your hair or a giant t-shirt did nothing to hide the blossoming bluish bruises on your arms. The jacket that you wore on the way here was way too hot for summer heat, so you took it off the moment you walked in here, thinking that there was nothing that Sarah hadn’t seen before. But now Rafe was here, eyes fixated on your wrists that had marks looking awfully like fingerprints, and you swore you saw the moment a realization settled in him.

“What the hell is that?” Slipping his phone in the pocket of his shorts, he walked closer to you, not hesitating to walk into your personal space or even speak to you like you two weren’t something closer to enemies rather than friends. You turned on the bar stool to sit with your back to him, feeling your heart beating in your ears as you hid your hands under the table. “Turn around.”

You stayed still, praying for Sarah to come down quicker.

“It was him, wasn’t it? Your father. I saw your reaction. I heard the way he talked to you.” Rafe mumbled behind you, and it made you turn to face him. His eyes instantly spotted your split lip and a bruise at the side of your jaw that no amount of concealer could fully cover, no matter how hard you tried. His body tensed, slightly straightening up, as if in a defensive way, and he furrowed his brows when he realized something.

“I didn’t know.” He said, his voice low and suddenly guilty, like he couldn't get the words out of him. “I didn’t know he’d… do that.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, the bitterness too sour to swallow. “Well, now you do. Congratulations.” His jaw clenched. You could see the guilt clawing at his skin like it was trying to crawl out of him. Rafe Cameron, golden boy of the island, rich and careless to everyone and everything, wasn’t used to feeling bad for the aftermath. Not like this.

“I didn’t call the cops for you. I mean, I did, but—fuck, I thought it would be just the way it usually happened.” He admitted, rumbling, hands balling into fists by his sides. “You and the Pogues were somewhere you shouldn’t have been, and I was pissed. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yeah, well, you did.” Your voice cracked suddenly, and your chest tightened, unable to hold back the fact that you did blame him slightly. “You called the cops. He got the call. And then he got me.” Rafe winced like the words physically hit him. And you weren’t trying to make him feel bad, not really. You didn’t have the energy to blame him for your messed-up life because, truthfully, you saw that he didn’t expect such an outcome, and it was the usual way he messed with his sister. You were just too tired of bruises and apologies that never came, tired of rules set by your father, and tired of people thinking they understood when they never did.

But Rafe wasn’t moving. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do or what to say. Hell, he didn’t even understand the feelings that were currently making him sick.

“I didn’t know.” He repeated, softer this time.

You looked away, fingers curling tighter into fists. “Don’t act like you care. We’re not friends.”

“But—”

“Rafe, don’t you dare talk to her.” That was the moment when Sarah came in, interrupting whatever Rafe was about to say. She was beside you in a second, interlocking your fingers and dragging you up to stay near her.

“Did you know about her father? Fuck, of course you did.” He laughed bitterly to himself, taking off his cap and running a nervous hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you do anything?”

“Tell you? Yeah, that’s so funny.” Rafe’s face dropped when Sarah scoffed, dismissively looking him up and down. “Because it’s none of your business, Rafe. Stay away from it.” She didn’t let him say anything else, already guiding you out of the house.

It was almost 11pm when you finally finished your shift and headed back home. It was a little bit later than usual, but you told your dad about it beforehand, so the only worry for now was a walk back home.

The night was chilly, the sun had set a long time ago, and you shivered at the wind from the ocean, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket. You wrapped your hands tightly around yourself as you looked down the road, which was barely illuminated by a poor-looking light pole.

It was not a new thing for you to walk home alone at night, but the creepy feeling at the back of your neck never seemed to ease. You had no other choice, as you had no car, and it was way too late for the public transport. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t totally freak you out. Like someone could lunge out at any second, dragging you into the dark before you could even scream, but you simply had to deal with it because you needed the money that your current job offered. Your father was probably already at home, nursing a bottle of beer, not really caring about your well-being, as he told you many times that you were a big girl and could figure it out.

You thought that you might jump out of your skin when the car on the road didn’t pass you by like they usually did, but it started to slow down until it was right beside you. You started walking faster, tightening your hold on the keys as if it may actually save you, not daring to look back at the car. You felt like you were about to cry because there was no one who could’ve saved you if something went wrong, but then the window rolled down and you heard a familiar voice.

“Are you fucking insane?” Rafe, always straightforward, asked you, making you stop in your tracks. With your heart beating violently in your chest, you tried to control your breathing, but the look on your face was probably obvious enough for him to know how freaked out you were.

“What do you want?” You glanced at him, thinking about just ignoring his usual attitude and going back home. At the end of the day it was Rafe Cameron, and even if since that accident he seemed to keep his distance and not bother you or your friends anymore, you didn’t trust him fully. It’s been a week since he saw you at his house, a week since Sarah confronted him about you, and a week since he couldn’t get you out of his head.

“Why the hell are you here right now?” Through the darkness you saw his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer to the window above the passenger seat. You took in his appearance for a second—slightly leaned over, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, he looked so effortlessly hot.

“Because I’m working, Rafe, and I need to get home now.” You scoffed and started walking again, wondering why you even wasted your time on this.

“Get in the car.” He moved slowly beside you, glancing at you through the window, but you ignored it completely, keeping your head straight and eyes locked somewhere in the distance, not even turning your head. “Do you want me to get out of here and sit you inside myself? Get in the car, Y/N.” There was no anger in his voice, but he was firm, letting you know that he meant it.

You felt a sudden lump in your throat, maybe because you convinced yourself to be scared of him, or maybe because you hated that you were so exhausted and terrified of being alone on the street that you really wanted to accept his offer. Even if you acted tough in front of your friends, like you got used to your lifestyle, you were tired. Of having no choice, of working your ass off just to give money to your father, and of constantly being scared of him getting angry. You looked at Rafe for a few long seconds, and he didn’t break eye contact—always so sure, so confident. So you stepped over yourself and got in the car.

It was so warm and so comfortable that your body instantly felt sleepy, surrounded by the woody and musky smell. You shifted uncomfortably under Rafe’s long and sharp gaze while he took you in, looking up and down, probably judging you, before he finally looked back at the road, with his jaw clenched even tighter than before, and started driving.

“So tell me, why did you think that it was a good idea to go through the fucking cut alone and at night?” His hand tightened on the steering wheel as his eyes flickered back to you again. He hadn’t been able to forget the way you looked that day in his kitchen, arms bare, lip split. The image had buried itself under his skin, and now, seeing you walking alone like it was a normal thing to do, made him suddenly lose his mind all over again.

You squirmed, ignoring the lingering cold and fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

And of course he noticed that. In a second you heard a scoff leave his lips, as if annoyed, and then something heavy fell on your lap—his grey and warm zip hoodie—and you almost silently mumbled ‘thanks’ before wrapping it around your body.

“So?”

“I’m working, Rafe. Today it was even later than usual, and what other choice do I have? I need to get home somehow.” You shrugged casually, as if on instinct lowering your head and inhaling the fading scent of the perfume on the hoodie.

“No—who the fuck lets you do that, huh?” His voice suddenly got bitter, fingers tapping against the wheel, as he looked at you sharply.

“"Lets" me do that?” You scoffed, confused. “It’s not like anyone cares, Rafe. Not my father, that’s for sure. And the only other people that I know here are pogues and Sarah, and I don’t want to be a burden for them to figure out a safe way for me to get home every day.”

“This is not okay. You cannot just fucking walk around like a piece of candy. There are bad people on the island. Dangerous, Y/N.” You almost felt like crying from frustration. He clearly was judging you, asking you questions and looking at you as if you were insane. But Rafe clearly did not understand. Not your position. Not your lack of choice. Not that you would’ve given everything to something normal in your life or someone who would actually care. It was just how things were, and, unfortunately, you had to deal with it if you wanted to escape another harsh slap across the face.

Rafe’s free hand curled into a fist on his knee when he looked at you. How small and fragile you looked, the way he swore your eyes started watering after his words, and you instantly turned your head away from him. He hated it. Hated that he suddenly didn’t think of you as another friend of his sister, but instead he noticed you, and, for some reason, he wanted to help.

You both fell silent, with Rafe constantly glancing at you and you ignoring it as much as you could. In just a few minutes he parked a little bit away from your house, and you could not be happier about that, knowing that your father would kill you if he saw you in another man’s car.

“Thank you, Rafe. Um, I really appreciate it. I should go now.” You finally looked at him, for a second losing yourself in his intense gaze, before you snapped out of it and tossed his jacket in the back seat. You reached for a door handle when his voice stopped you once again.

“When does your shift usually end?”

“At nine, why?”

“Just asking.” You stared at him for a few seconds, not fully satisfied with the answer.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” The way he said it, his low and almost intimate voice, made your stomach drop, and you were grateful that it was too late for him to see the way your face was heating.

“Goodnight.”

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t understand him.

Because since that day, whenever you stepped outside after your shift, you saw a familiar blue truck waiting for you.

The first time you were absolutely confused and kind of scared, carefully walking around it with your eyes low on the ground as if you didn’t see him, and it ended up with an argument and Rafe threatening, again, to sit you in his car himself. You knew that there was no point in trying to argue more, because it was a simple and proven fact that if Rafe Cameron wanted to do something, he did it no matter what other people had to say about it.

For some reason, he liked doing it. He liked that after his own exhausting day, when he was surrounded by the bunch of pretentious assholes, after his dad got him mad over the phone for not doing enough, he could see you. Weird, right?

Rafe genuinely liked spending time with you and liked how you became more talkative after a few days of him picking you up. Maybe at first it was just guilt pushing him to do that—the guilt for causing you to get hurt, the gnawing reminder that he knew about some private and sick things that happened behind the closed door of your house, yet he couldn’t do anything.

But then, you were nothing like he expected. Although, truthfully, he didn’t even know what he was expecting. Just to hate you because of your friendship with his sister and her little dumb buddies? Probably, but you were easy to be around—soft-spoken, a good listener, kind, funny, and just… normal.

God, he needed normal in his life. Craved simple things, meaningless talks where nobody expected anything from each other, and just a comfortable atmosphere. It was weird, but actually good weird.

Sometimes he brought you food, a warm cup of good-smelling tea on a rainy night, which you always took with a shy smile and something like ‘you shouldn’t have to.’

He thought it was the least he could do.

The weeks went by without a eighth of you noticing. You started getting comfortable around Rafe. It seemed like the person who annoyed you at some point was fully gone, and now you saw glimpses of his funny and caring side. You both would sit in the car, sometimes eating, sometimes enjoying the comfortable silence, or just humming to the songs when Rafe chose a long route to your house.

There was, without a doubt, a connection between you two. Something that you silently shared whenever your eyes stayed locked longer than they should have, when your fingers or your knees accidentally brushed. His sudden and genuinely unexpected warmth made you feel weird, and no matter how scared you were to even think about it, you were falling for Rafe Cameron.

He knew and felt it too. That’s why it was hard stopping his hand from reaching out to you whenever you were so close. Hard stopping himself from snapping when he saw another bruise or cut on you.

Just the way you smiled every time you saw him at the usual spot made him want to do more, made him want to keep that spark in your eyes a little bit longer, because whenever it was time for you to go home, you hesitated and gave him that almost desperate look.

Over time you opened up. He never pushed about your father, though the question burned on his tongue, but he needed to know the truth—he made sure to slowly get you comfortable, make you feel safe around him, and eventually you revealed what nobody else knew. You told Rafe about your father always running away from something, about your constant moving from city to city, and about the fact that he was overcontrolling and had never let you breathe freely.

He was careful with that theme, letting you pour out your thoughts before so hesitantly mentioning the day it all started and the way your father didn’t even hesitate to act like he did in front of everyone. When you finally got brave enough, the words seemed to flow freely, and you dissociated, with a blank stare talking about everything that happened to you.

It felt normal to talk to Rafe. Natural.

The insults thrown like they were nothing, the hitting whenever you disobeyed, or the money that you brought home was suddenly not enough. Around him you didn’t feel like a human, and it was hard to constantly walk on eggshells to do everything right.

And Rafe listened. Fuming from the inside, gripping the wheel much harder than needed, but he listened and never judged. He looked at you, studying your profile, trying to focus on any little feature of your face that could calm him down. He let you cry. God, he hated crying, hated tears, though when your head tipped toward his shoulder and your body shuddered with little hiccups, he thought that he hated it for a whole other reason.

This night was not an exception. Everything seemed to be great—the warm sandwiches with your favorite drinks met you in the car, and Rafe was so damn talkative, making you laugh the way you hadn't in a very long time. You didn't want this to end, didn't want to leave his company and go back to your own nightmare.

“Goodnight, Rafe.” You mumbled back when his car parked on the driveway next to yours, away from your father’s eyes. The air felt different, heavy, and for some reason you were barely able to tear your eyes away from his. You tried to take a deep breath to calm your heart down, but you felt your pulse in your ears when he didn’t look away, didn’t even pretend to not stare at you with a smile.

Rafe’s head slightly tilted to the side, lip caught in between his teeth, as he watched you closing the door of his car and slowly getting closer to your house. The thought lingered at the back of his head, the one that he had been pushing away for probably the last couple of days. His eyes followed you, and when his mind finally said ‘fuck it’ to himself, he got out of the car, quickly catching you before you could reach your house.

“Wait!”

You froze, hearing Rafe’s hurried steps behind you, slowly turning back and looking up. His presence was suffocating as his blue eyes were studying your face, making your stomach turn again with that weird feeling. A flush of heat washed over you when Rafe stepped even closer, hands slightly lifting up, as if wanting to touch you.

And you didn’t step back, even if you should have. His cologne washed over you in that already familiar, calming way. He was taller than you, looming over your body and shielding the lamp from the street with his broad shoulders. You knew what was coming, felt blood rushing in your ears when Rafe’s hands cupped your cheeks slowly but without hesitation, but it didn’t make the situation easier. Your mind started racing with thoughts about it being the wrong decision, about you not being able to escape your father’s presence in your life, but it all came to a stop when his lips touched yours.

You melted instantly against him, lips moving slowly and hesitantly because, with all honesty, you didn’t know how it all worked. Rafe deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him, groaning when his tongue ran across your lip and tasted your sweet lip gloss.

Your hands at first just froze in the air, not knowing whether to place it on top of his hands, or grab his shirt, or wrap it around his neck, or… Yeah, you were overthinking everything again. Your mind went blank, and you just let your hands settle on Rafe’s chest—soft and slightly hesitant, listening to the steady beating of his heart. He smiled against your lips, bringing you closer when his hand found your waist and fully enveloping you in him.

When he pulled away slightly, your breathing was rapid, eyes closed while you savored the moment. Rafe nudged you softly with his forehead against yours, bringing your racing mind back down, and you finally looked at his smug yet soft face.

“That was… my first kiss.” You admitted hesitantly, savoring the taste of him on your lips.

“It was?” He smirked, playfully pulling you closer to his chest and reaching your lips again, kissing you until you laughed and turned your face away. “You’re cute.”

You looked up shyly, feeling something warm spilling in your chest, and nervously twisting the string of his hoodie between your fingers. “I should go, Rafe.” And just like that, his face dropped. Eyes narrowed slightly, looking behind you at the house that he started to dread, clenching his jaw again.

“But you don’t have to—”

“I do.”

He looked back at you, searching your face, and his eyes suddenly seemed sad, tightening his hold on you as if it could help him keep you safe somehow. “At least text me?” His frown deepened, and you instantly reached out to soften the crease in between his brows.

“Okay. I will.”

Rafe stood there, after you placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek, hair disheveled and heart pounding against his rib cage, while he was looking at you walking inside. The door behind you closed, and he slowly walked backwards to his car, keeping his eyes on your window, where the lights always turned on after a few minutes of him dropping you off.

He waited, jaw set tight, an uneasy feeling tugging at him, hands involuntarily curling into fists at both of his sides. Because something wasn’t right. He couldn’t tell what was wrong, but Rafe couldn’t go just yet, standing on someone’s front yard and just staring at your house.

And then a scream cut through the quiet setting of the street, making Rafe’s blood run cold.

You walked into the house, cautiously looking around the hallway, feeling unsettled by the weird stillness. You slowly stepped inside, your phone clenched in your hand, praying that your dad was just already asleep or at least lying in front of the TV with a beer bottle in hand, not caring about a single thing in the world. But the second you turned into the living room, he was there.

Standing by the window, curtain pulled away.

The one that had a perfect view of the street.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, and you froze in place when the realization hit you that he saw everything. He saw you in another man’s car. He saw Rafe kissing you. He knew that you were lying to him, and by the awfully calm look on his face, this was the end for you.

“So that’s what you’ve been hiding from me. Whoring around the island with a rich boy behind my back?” You shook your head as he stepped closer to you slowly, like a predator catching its prey with no ways to escape. You squirmed in the close proximity, shrinking into yourself when his figure loomed above you.

Your voice was trembling before you even opened your mouth. “Dad, it’s not—please, it wasn’t like that—”

Your head snapped to the side with the force of the slap, skin burning and eyes watering not only from pain but also from how terrified and anxious you were. Your phone fell out of your hand with a thud against the floor, your legs gave out for a second, and your body stumbled back against the wall. The metallic taste of blood blossomed on your tongue.

Tears blurred your vision when you hesitantly looked back into your father’s cold eyes, full of hate and pure rage. There was not a single part of him that felt bad for abusing you. The person who was there many years ago, when you were still a little girl, was gone. Now it was just an empty shell of a person who was supposed to be your family, your protection.

“You think this is a game? Didn’t I fucking tell you to keep quiet and not be all over the island while I deal with stuff?” He shouted now, getting all in your face to intimidate you, voice rising with every word. “You think I put food on your table just so you could run around like some cheap slut and ruin everything I’ve worked for?”

You blinked rapidly, chest heaving, trying to stay calm, trying to breathe, but the words bubbled inside of you. No matter how scared you were, the straight-up lies made you all worked up, because not once did he do anything to provide for you. “You didn’t work for anything! You just drink and yell and—and hit me when something doesn’t go your way—”

His eyes darkened.

“Ungrateful bitch.” The words spat from his mouth like venom. “You were supposed to listen to me. You were supposed to stay out of sight, keep your damn head down, and what do you do instead? You go and spread your legs for a Cameron for fuck’s sake? Do you know what kind of shit you’ve stirred up for me?” He was coming closer again, and your instincts screamed. You turned, bolting for the front door with shaking legs—

But you didn’t make it.

His hand caught your hair in a fist, yanking it so hard you screamed in agony. You crashed to the floor with a thud, the pain blinding. Your shoulder hit first, then your elbow, your knee scraping across the hardwood as your body collapsed beneath his grip.

And then the real hit landed. A kick to your ribs, sharp and vicious, knocking the air from your lungs. You screamed again, your voice cracking with begging him to stop, high-pitched and desperate, your hands flailing to shield your face. But he was above you, yelling, still yelling, the words incoherent now, lost in the chaos of his rage.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like your head was underwater. Maybe it was your last day. Maybe it would be easier. You hoped for it. At that moment, when you lay on the floor, all you could do was think about how it all could be different. If you went with Rafe. If you asked him for help. If he could stop it all.

Rafe knew it was you. Blinded by the rage and an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness, he didn’t even remember running up the stairs to your house. He didn’t remember banging his shoulder against the old and creaky door until it snapped open inside, hitting against the wall with a loud banging.

The only thing he thought would forever be engraved in his head was the picture of you on the floor with your hands covering your face and a man above you holding your hair in a fist, screaming so loudly that he didn’t even sense Rafe’s presence in the room.

He was there in a second, moving across the room like a storm, dragging the man off of you and pushing him back. Your father stumbled backwards, clocking off the glass coffee table on the floor, now fully focused on Rafe as if thinking he could handle him.

But Rafe was quicker. His fist connected with a man’s face with a loud crack, the blood instantly streaming down, staining the light shirt.

“You think you can fucking touch her? Use her like a punchbag?” Rafe roared, hitting again and again, while your father tried to push him away, only barely making him stumble backwards. “I should’ve come after you that same day you dragged her away with you, the same day I knew you were a fucking coward for hurting someone who can’t fight you back.”

“You don't know shit about me.” Your father choked on a grunt when Rafe lifted him by the collar of his shirt, damn nearly pulling him off the ground.

“Don’t I?” Rafe growled, his voice low, like thunder booming in the small room. “Because I dug, asshole. I found the files. You thought you could come to this island and pretend to be someone else? Think nobody would find you here with all of the money you owe?”

Your father froze, really froze this time. A flicker of panic rippled through his face, just beneath the blood and bruises. He didn’t say anything, but that silence said everything. Rafe pushed him back again like a bag of trash, and your father grumbled something under his breath.

Yeah, he was way too full of himself. He had never hesitated to hit you because he trained you to keep your head down and take whatever was coming your way. But he was not stupid enough to try to fight Rafe, who was bigger and much stronger than him. Your father might’ve been cruel, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew power when he saw it. And Rafe Cameron, standing there with blood on his knuckles and murder in his eyes, seemed like he could destroy everything with his bare hands.

So he, clenching his jaw and burning holes into the back of Rafe’s head, sat still.

And Rafe didn’t waste another second to finally get to you.

It might as well have been his horror dream, because you were still lying on the floor on your side, eyes open and clearly conscious, but body so limp it looked damn near lifeless. Your eyes were focused nowhere in particular, breath ragged, tears still silently rolling down the side of your face.

Rafe was not breathing when he kneeled in front of you—he was sure of it. His whole world shrank down to the fragile shape of you lying on that worn-out floor like something broken and discarded. His chest constricted so tightly it hurt watching the way your fingers twitched like you were trying to reach for something, someone, him, but couldn’t quite make it.

His hands were hovering above your body like he was afraid to touch you and make it worse. He had seen a lot of shit in his life. Drugs. Fights. Even Ward’s fists. But nothing had ever made his stomach turn like seeing you like that.

“Hey—hey, baby, it’s me.” His voice cracked right down the middle. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” Hard reached out hesitantly. He brushed the strands of your hair away from your face, making you slightly flinch from the contact and then finally focus your eyes on him. His eyes studied your face. Wetness from your tears, a clear handprint on your cheeks that was forming into a bruise, blood on your lips—the one that he kissed not even ten minutes ago.

You blinked once, twice, slow and dazed, as if you weren’t sure if he was real or some fevered hallucination pulled from the darkest corner of your pain-soaked mind.

His hands found you gently, cradling the back of your head, his thumb brushing the tear trail down your cheek, and the moment his skin touched yours, you started trembling like a leaf.

“That’s okay. You’re safe. I swear.” His hand reached for your forgotten phone, hurriedly putting it in his pocket, before he gently slid his hands under your body and scooped you into his embrace. He stood from the floor, your head lulled against his chest, and he held you closer, hoping that his hoodie could somehow warm you up. “I’m taking you home.”

Behind him, your father shifted just enough for Rafe to shoot him a look so sharp it instantly shut him up.

“Don’t.” He snapped. “Don’t even fucking breathe. You’re going to take all of your shit from this house and vanish, do you hear me? I don’t care how or where, but if I ever hear about you, I swear to God I’ll let them know your location, and they’ll do whatever they want with your pathetic ass.”

And your father, for once in his damn life, listened.

Warmth was the first thing you registered when your eyes opened. The room was quiet, dark, and unfamiliar, yet so safe, and as if on instinct, your body knew that there was no harm. This time you didn’t wake up because of a harsh voice calling your name or a loud bang against the door that made you jump up in horror—it was quiet. You were wearing a hoodie, a giant and heavy blue blanket pulled almost all the way up to your face, almost fully drowning you.

The pain wasn’t gone. Your ribs still ached, your lip still stung, but it was softer now. You managed to move slightly, instantly spotting Rafe at the other side of the bed, keeping his distance. Elbows on his knees, knuckles torn, a fresh cut scabbing over his cheekbone. His head was bowed, eyes locked on the floor, leg bounced restlessly. One hand kept dragging across the same spot on his thigh, like he needed to do something, anything, to hold himself together.

You swallowed. Your throat was raw. “Where am I?”

His head snapped up at the sudden sound of your voice. “Tanneyhill.” He said gently. “Safe. It’s just us. You passed out for a while.”

You didn’t even realize your hands were shaking again until you tried to sit up. The hoodie pooled around your waist as you moved, and Rafe immediately reached out but stopped himself, his hand hovering barely an inch from your wrist.

“Can I…?”

You nodded, and he moved towards you, helped you adjust the pillow, tucking a blanket up your side. Your eyes watered so unexpectedly, a sob coming out before you could even force yourself to hold it back. The tears came quickly, being an aftershock of everything that had happened to you. “I’m sorry—” You gasped between cries, your voice hoarse and fragile. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I—why I can’t stop—”

“Stop apologizing.” Rafe whispered, moving closer, facing you now, and placing his hands on your legs through the blanket to give you some kind of comfort. “That’s okay, baby.”

You sniffled, voice barely above a whisper. “He trapped me, Rafe. I didn’t… I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t even have money to leave. He controlled everything—what I did, where I went, and who I talked to. I thought if I just followed the rules, if I just kept my head down, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He leaned forward like his body couldn’t take the distance, wanting to pull you into his embrace, to keep you safe, and to try to scare all of the things that were terrorizing your poor mind away.

You looked at him, chest heaving. “I wanted to ask for help so many times, but he always made it feel like I couldn’t. Like he’d always find a way back. That even if I left, he’d show up and just kill me. And—and I don’t even understand why he tried to tie me down to him, because he didn’t love me, he didn’t want me—”

“Because he needed control, because weak men like him do that to make themselves feel better. It wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me?” His head dipped down, searching your eyes, waiting until you gave him a nod. Your hands trembled when you initiated the first contact, when you placed a palm over his hand on your knee. Rafe didn’t waste a second to take both of your hands in his warm ones, rubbing your knuckles with more softness than you could’ve ever expected.

“I have nothing. I don’t know what to do or where to go because—because I’m alone.” It came out as a whimper, your stomach tightening at your own words. “I don’t know what to do with my life.” You couldn’t resist the way your head fell forward towards his chest like it was natural. Rafe’s hand cradled the back of your head, fingers gently grazing your scalp as if in memory of the way you were held.

“You don’t have to know now. Just stay here. Eat, sleep, rest. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“But—”

“You don’t owe me anything. I just want you to get better. I need to make sure that you’re okay.” You pulled back after a second, blinking at him through tears, and in that moment it wasn’t the Rafe you had met many months ago. It was Rafe who picked you up because he was worried about your safety, who rumbled endlessly about things he liked while you were in his car, who couldn’t stop looking at you with soft eyes whenever he thought you didn’t notice.

So you leaned forward, just enough to press your forehead against his, trembling all over, letting your tears fall. You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t say anything because there was no need for it. Just let him hold you like you were something he couldn’t lose.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

tags: @buzzingbey @maybankslover @rafeismyking @sendme829

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lila-lou · 2 days ago

Text

✨Nanny Call - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: You weren’t expecting much when Jared Padalecki called. And definitely not to end up living with Jensen Ackles and his three chaos-loving kids. But now you’re in deeper than you planned, balancing bedtime battles and forbidden tension with a man you were never supposed to want.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 5944

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

You weren’t expecting much when Jared Padalecki called. Maybe a short congratulatory text for graduating college. What you didn’t expect was to be thrown headfirst into the life of Jensen Ackles.

“I swear, you’d be perfect for this”, Jared had said over the phone, voice light but insistent. “Jensen’s drowning a little. He’s got the kids alone for the next few months, and the show’s shooting schedule is brutal. He needs someone he can trust. And you’re great with kids”.

You hesitated. Sure, you loved kids. And sure, you’d babysat a lot during high school. But Jensen Ackles? That was a whole different universe. You’d grown up hearing about him through your older brother, one of Jared’s longtime friends, and of course, you’d seen Supernatural. He was larger than life. A celebrity. A dad.

But somehow, Jared talked you into it. You told yourself it was just temporary. Just until Jensen got his footing or found a full-time nanny. No pressure.

The first meeting was at Jensen’s temporary place in Vancouver, where he’d be staying for the next few months while filming season sixteen of Supernatural. It was tucked into a quiet neighborhood just outside the city, a rental that looked nice enough from the outside, but already showed signs of life within. Toys peeked out from behind the curtains, and a little pair of sneakers sat abandoned on the porch.

You tugged at your sweater as you walked up the steps, heart thudding harder than you liked to admit. This wasn’t just a gig, it was Jensen Ackles. And his kids.

Before you could knock, the door swung open, and there he was.

Jensen looked… exhausted. Comfortable, though. Barefoot, in joggers and a faded Texas Rangers t-shirt, his hair still damp from a rushed shower. He leaned against the doorframe like he'd forgotten how to stand still, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and mild regret.

“You’re Y/N?”, he asked, eyebrows raising slightly as he gave you a once-over.

You nodded, offering a smile that felt steadier than you expected. “Yep. Jared sent me”.

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, but close. “Yeah. He did”.

There was a pause, just long enough to be uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t the faint frown that tugged at the corner of his mouth, or the way he looked past you like he was still debating something.

“I gotta be honest”, he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wasn’t really sold on this”.

You blinked. “Oh”.

“It’s nothing personal. You’re just…”. He motioned vaguely, trying to find a polite word. “Young”.

You bit your tongue to keep from saying something defensive. Because yeah, you were young. Fresh out of college. But you weren’t stupid. And you weren’t unqualified.

“And inexperienced”, he added, just twisting the knife a little deeper.

You shifted your weight and crossed your arms, lifting a brow. “I worked with kids through all of college. Daycares, summer camps, tutoring, kind of the whole shebang”.

He nodded slowly, but his eyes still held that wary edge. “Jared said you were great. He practically wouldn’t shut up about it. Said you were mature. Reliable. Said you’d be good for them”.

“And you don’t believe him?”.

“I believe Jared believes it”, he said. “But I’ve got three kids, a full-time shooting schedule, and not a lot of margin for error. I just…”. He trailed off, sighing again. “I need help. I just don’t know if this is the right kind”.

You let the silence settle for a beat before speaking. “Look. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But give me one day. Let me show you I’m not just some college kid who can’t tell a diaper from a juice box”.

That finally cracked something in him, a smile, small and dry, but genuine.

“Alright”, he said. “One day”.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But if one of them ends up on the roof again, it’s on you”.

You blinked. “Again?”.

But he was already stepping aside to let you in, muttering, “You’ll see”.

You’d barely stepped into the living room when a voice floated down the hallway, sharp and matter-of-fact.

“Dad. Zeppelin’s drinking maple syrup. Again”.

Jensen closed his eyes like this was a recurring battle he had long since lost. “JJ”, he called back, “can you grab it from him before he chugs the whole bottle?”.

“I’m eleven, not a miracle worker”, she replied, though you could hear her footsteps heading toward the kitchen anyway.

A few seconds later, she appeared, tall for her age and already carrying herself with the weariness of someone twice it. Her long hair was pulled back into a slightly lopsided ponytail, and she eyed you with a quiet, measuring gaze as she handed Jensen a half-empty syrup bottle.

“That’s JJ”, he said. “My little general”.

JJ gave a small shrug. “Hi”. Then, to you, flatly: “Are you the new sitter or just here for the interview?”.

“Guess we’ll see by the end of the day”, you answered with a smile.

JJ’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she was deciding whether to like you or not. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t walk away either, which felt like a tiny win.

Then came the thundering footsteps, real ones this time. Zeppelin burst around the corner, shirt on backwards, sockless, and grinning like he’d just committed a heist and gotten away with it.

“Hi! Are you the new mom?”.

“Zepp!”, Jensen’s voice cracked in disbelief. “No—no one is the new mom”.

Zeppelin blinked at you. “Oh. Okay. Are you gonna live here?”.

“I’m just the babysitter… maybe”, you said quickly, kneeling down to his eye level. “But thanks for the enthusiasm”.

Zepp nodded, then turned around and yelled, “Arrow! She’s not the new mom! You owe me five bucks!”.

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose.

Just as Zeppelin’s yell echoed through the house, Arrow appeared like a storm in mid-formation, arms flailing, one sock halfway off, and a suspicious smear of glitter across her cheek. Her eyes locked on you like a hawk spotting prey.

“You’re the babysitter?”, she asked, marching right up to you. “You look like a teenager”.

“Technically not anymore”, you said, trying not to laugh.

“Do you know how to cook? Because Dad burns everything”.

“Hey!”, Jensen called from the kitchen. “I make great grilled cheese”.

“You burned it twice last week!”, Arrow shouted back. “The toaster still smells like smoke and sadness!”.

You glanced at Jensen, who was muttering to himself as he refilled his coffee. He looked seconds away from either laughing or walking directly into traffic.

Arrow turned back to you, eyes narrowed. “Do you let kids swear?”.

“Depends”, you said slowly. “What kind of swearing are we talking?”.

She beamed. “Like, ass and crap, but also sometimes Zeppelin says shit when he’s mad and I like it”.

Zepp gasped from across the room, clutching his chest like she’d betrayed him.

Jensen groaned. “Arrow…”.

“I didn’t say I said it. I appreciate the intensity”.

You bit your lip, struggling not to break. “Appreciated intensity. Got it”.

Arrow tilted her head. “Are you cool? Because if you’re not cool, we can tell. JJ’s like, a people scanner. And Zeppelin’s too dumb to lie, so he always ruins it anyway”.

“Hey!”, Zepp protested.

“I’m cool”, you said, smiling. “But I’m also not afraid to put toys in timeout”.

Arrow’s eyes lit up. “You’re bluffing”.

“Wanna bet?”.

She stared at you. You stared right back.

Jensen, now watching with a fresh mug of coffee, leaned against the counter and said under his breath, “That’s the face she makes right before she sets something on fire”.

You believed him.

After a moment, Arrow broke first. She huffed, muttered something under her breath that might have been another swear word, then plopped down cross-legged in the middle of the floor.

“She likes you”, JJ said quietly beside you, like she was admitting to something grudgingly earned.

“Yeah?”, you asked, a little surprised.

JJ nodded. “She didn’t bite you”.

“That’s… comforting”.

Zeppelin came over and leaned against your side like he’d known you forever. “I bit a sub once. Got kicked out of class. They said it wasn’t ‘normal behavior’”.

Arrow grinned. “It was funny though”.

Jensen let out a long, slow breath. “So. Welcome to the circus”.

You looked around—Arrow whispering to her bunny, JJ pretending not to smile, Zeppelin braiding the fringe of your sweater like it was a sacred mission—and somehow, it already felt like you belonged.

“Thanks”, you said, looking back at Jensen with a smirk. “I’ve always wanted front-row seats”.

He shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Let’s see how you feel after bedtime”.

The house had finally gone still.

It had taken a full hour of negotiations, two bedtime stories, one lost toothbrush, and a dramatic meltdown over mismatched pajama pants, but the whirlwind trio was finally asleep, or at least quiet enough to fool you. You stood in the hallway for a moment, just breathing in the silence like it was oxygen.

Then you padded into the kitchen to find Jensen already there, leaning against the counter with the kind of posture that only came after surviving battle. His shoulders had relaxed, though, and when he looked up and saw you, something in his expression softened even more.

“You’re still here”, he said, reaching into the cabinet above him.

“Barely”, you said with a smile, sinking into one of the barstools. “I feel like I just ran a marathon. Blindfolded. In a thunderstorm. While carrying three feral raccoons”.

Jensen chuckled, pulling down two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. “Then you had the full experience”.

He poured a generous splash into each glass and handed one to you. The rim felt cool in your hand, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights.

“To surviving bedtime”, he said, raising his glass.

You clinked yours against his. “And to not getting bitten”.

He smirked. “A rare first-day win”.

You took a sip, smooth, smoky, warm going down. The kind of drink meant for winding down, not winding up. You let the silence stretch for a moment, comfortable now, not awkward like earlier.

“They’re great kids”, you said eventually. “Really. Just… a lot”.

Jensen nodded, staring into his glass. “Yeah. They didn’t use to be this… wound up. Not all the time. But things are different now. They know it, even when I try to keep things normal”.

You didn’t say anything right away. You just let him speak.

“Danneel and I, we tried. We really did”, he continued. “But when it got bad, we agreed not to let the kids be in the middle of it. So now we’re doing this thing—few months with me, then they go to her. It’s fair. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy”.

His voice was quiet, heavy in a way that made you feel like he wasn’t used to talking about this. Or maybe just not used to talking to someone who wasn’t already in his life.

Six weeks in, and you were convinced you’d aged at least a decade.

You hadn’t meant to become a live-in babysitter. It had started with a few overnights when Jensen’s call times stretched too late or started too early. Then one night turned into three. Then the guestroom slowly became yours—your phone charger on the nightstand, your sneakers by the door, your hoodie borrowed by JJ more times than you could count.

The kids had settled into the rhythm of you. Breakfast with you. School drop-offs. After-dinner dance parties. Bedtime battles that ended with Arrow curled in your lap, Zeppelin sleep-talking nonsense, and JJ quietly laying her head on your shoulder in the dark, just for a moment, before pretending she hadn’t.

But Jensen? They barely saw him.

The show was in full swing. Night shoots. Early calls. Script changes. You’d catch him in the mornings sometimes, half-awake and nursing a third cup of coffee while tugging on a hoodie and whispering goodbye to a sleeping Arrow. Or late at night, when you were cleaning up Lego landmines and found him sitting on the couch, too tired to even shower.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was nearly midnight when the front door finally creaked open.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in the worn blanket Arrow insisted you “borrow forever”, the TV playing something you weren’t really watching. You’d made popcorn an hour ago and hadn’t touched it. Sleep felt impossible, like your mind refused to power down with so much of your heart stretched across a house that wasn’t technically yours.

Jensen stepped inside and paused, keys still in hand, like he was surprised to see the lights still on. His eyes found yours almost immediately.

“You’re up”, he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges from another fourteen-hour day.

You gave him a tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep”.

He didn’t answer right away. Just slipped his boots off and crossed the living room in socked feet, collapsing into the armchair across from you with a low groan. His head fell back, and he let out a long breath, one that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.

“Rough night?”, you asked.

He cracked an eye open. “Rough week”.

You nodded, tucking your legs underneath you. “The twins had a glitter explosion in the bathroom. I think Arrow tried to make soap out of toothpaste and hand sanitizer”.

He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. “At least she’s creative”.

“She also called her teacher a ‘dictator in skinny jeans’”.

Jensen choked on a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Geez”.

“I didn’t even punish her. I was too impressed”.

His smile faded slowly as he looked at you—really looked at you—and something in his expression shifted. A weight, maybe. Or a recognition.

You would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him.

Of course you were. How could you not be? Jensen was Jensen. He was rugged and quietly kind, his tired eyes somehow still full of fire, and he carried himself with the weight of someone who loved too deeply and didn’t know how to put that love down, even when it hurt.

But attraction was dangerous. Especially here. Especially now.

This wasn’t the life you’d imagined for yourself. Playing second mom at twenty-something, falling asleep in a guest room that felt more like your own with every passing night, building a routine around three kids and a man who barely had time to breathe—this wasn’t what you had planned.

So you kept your distance. You held the line. Even if that line was getting harder and harder to see.

You sighed and rose from the couch, brushing the blanket off as you stretched. “I’ll heat something up. You probably haven’t eaten since noon”.

Your sleep shorts—tiny and soft and comfortable—rode up a little too high as you stood, and you reached to tug them down, not thinking much of it, until you turned, just a glance over your shoulder. And caught him.

Jensen’s eyes were locked on you. Not subtly. Not in passing. No flick of a gaze quickly averted. He was staring. Right at your ass.

For a second, he didn’t even seem to realize he’d been caught, his jaw slightly tight, one hand still resting on his knee. It was instinctual. Unfiltered. And when your eyes met his, something passed between you so fast and sharp it left the air between you charged like static after a storm.

His mouth parted just slightly. Your breath caught.

Then, slowly, his eyes dragged up to yours and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He held your gaze. There was heat there. Interest. Hunger he wasn’t saying out loud.

You swallowed, pulse thudding in your ears. The room suddenly felt a few degrees warmer, like the silence itself had turned into something alive and watchful.

“I—uh—”, you said, breaking eye contact as you turned fully to the kitchen. “Pasta. Right. Shouldn’t take long”.

You busied yourself with the microwave, but your fingers fumbled more than once, and you hated the way your hands shook just slightly as you hit the buttons. You didn’t even know what you were flustered by more, being caught looking back at him, or the fact that part of you liked the way he’d looked at you.

The microwave hummed to life behind you. You kept your eyes down, heart racing.

Then his voice—low, measured—cut through the silence. “I’m sorry”.

You froze, turning to face him again. “For what?”, you asked.

Jensen rubbed a hand across his jaw, rough with a day’s worth of stubble. He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stared down at the plate you’d just handed him like it held some kind of moral compass.

“For… ”, he muttered. “The staring. It’s been a long night. Hell, it’s been a long year. And I haven’t…”. He trailed off, then shook his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve even looked at someone like that. It wasn’t appropriate. You work here. You take care of my kids. You’re younger. Too young”.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely, not defensive, just… trying to hold something inside you still.

“I didn’t mind”, you said quietly.

That made him look up.

“I mean…”, you hesitated, cheeks burning, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “I noticed. Obviously. But I didn’t mind. It’s not like you were being gross about it. You just… looked. And honestly? You kind of caught me off guard”.

His brow furrowed, a question behind his eyes.

You gave a small, half-shy shrug. “I didn’t think you found me attractive”.

Jensen’s eyes darkened, the disbelief flickering behind them.

“Until a few minutes ago”, you added, voice softer now. “And look, I get it. You’re dealing with a lot. You have the kids, the show, the divorce still hanging in the air. But… I’m not naive, Jensen”.

He sat back slightly, his fork untouched, giving you his full attention now.

“I’m not looking to complicate your life… I’m not asking for anything serious”. You paused, then tilted your head slightly, meeting his eyes with quiet certainty. “But… if you want to blow off some steam, I’m not saying no”.

The words hung in the air like smoke, bold and unfiltered, the kind of honesty Jensen had come to expect from you. That was one of the things he liked most, how you never danced around your truth. No games. No pretending. Just you, direct and grounded, even when the stakes were quietly rising around both of you. But right now…

Jensen’s jaw tightened, his breath a little shallower now. He wasn’t expecting you to make it that easy. Or that real.

Because the truth? He’d been thinking about you. More than he should have. At first, it was small, quiet admiration. The way you moved through the house like you’d always belonged. The way you soothed the kids without forcing it, met chaos with calm, and met his exhaustion with understanding. It was comforting. Familiar.

Then it shifted.

It started the night you came into the kitchen in one of his t-shirts and bare legs and didn’t even notice the way his brain short-circuited. The night you laughed at something stupid he’d said and threw your head back and looked at him like he was someone worth laughing with.

It turned into late-night thoughts when he was too tired to sleep. Quiet, unspoken fantasies in the shower. Wondering what your skin felt like under those shorts. What your mouth would taste like if he just let go. It wasn’t just attraction. It was desire. Gnawing, growing. Dangerous.

And now? Now you were standing in front of him saying it out loud. Jensen let out a slow breath, his eyes tracing you like he couldn’t help himself. But even as his hand hovered near your waist—so close, so damn close—he didn’t touch you. Not yet.

His jaw clenched, and you could practically see the war going on behind his eyes.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, stepping back just enough to break the moment, but not far enough to escape it. “This is such a bad idea”.

You stayed where you were, heart thudding hard, lips parted. “Because I work here?”.

He looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching with something like guilt. “Because you live here. Because you’re wrapped up in all of it—me, the kids, the mess I’m barely managing. I’ve already blurred so many lines, I don’t even know what’s safe anymore”.

You nodded, trying to steady your voice even as your body buzzed from the almost of it all. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Jensen. I’m just saying you don’t have to be alone tonight”.

“I should be alone”, he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like it might shake sense into him. “Because if I start this with you—even if it’s just physical—it won’t be simple. Nothing in my life ever is”.

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve lived with you six weeks”.

That shut him up for a moment.

You stepped a little closer now, careful but deliberate. “I’m not fragile, Jensen. I knew what I was walking into. And I know this is messy. But you’ve been trying so hard to do the right thing, you’re forgetting you’re allowed to want something for you”.

Jensen was quiet, but his eyes burned into yours like he was holding onto your words, trying to find the flaw in them and failing. The conflict in his expression softened, just slightly—like the fight in him was losing ground to something warmer, deeper. Need.

“And you’re okay with this being just…”, he began, but the words trailed off.

You nodded. “Just physical. I’m not asking for more than that”.

He searched your face for a long moment, and you let him. You didn’t flinch or backtrack. You let him see the certainty in you, the steadiness, the want.

And something in him cracked.

His hand found your waist again, more confident this time. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your shirt, grounding and possessive all at once. You sucked in a breath, and before you could say anything else, he dipped his head and kissed you—really kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant anymore. It was heat, and pressure, and pent-up hunger finally breaking loose.

You answered it with equal fire, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt, dragging it up as his mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your lower back, like he was mapping the parts of you he’d only thought about before tonight. You tugged at his shirt until he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it to the floor.

The moment his skin met yours, it got harder to breathe.

He lifted you effortlessly onto the counter again, your legs parting to let him step between them like he belonged there. Like he knew he did. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth dropped to your neck, his stubble scraping gently against your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your collarbone, a shiver running down your spine. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to the moment, hot and real and finally.

Jensen pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours as his chest rose and fell against yours.

“no one can know about this”, he murmured, his voice gravel and restraint.

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, breathless but still steady. “I figured”.

“I mean it”, he said more firmly, like he needed to say it before he lost all grip on logic. “Not the kids. Not Jared. Not a soul. This doesn’t leave this room”.

You smirked, tugging gently at the back of his hair, leaning in just close enough that your lips almost brushed his again. “Relax, I’m not planning to live-stream it”.

Jensen exhaled a half-laugh, half-groan.

You tilted your head, grin teasing, voice a little breathy but still playful. “Besides… I’ve already been working here six weeks. I know most of your dirty little secrets already”.

That made his eyes narrow, curious and amused, suspicious in that half-scolding dad way he did with the kids, but a whole lot darker when it was directed at you.

“Like?”, he challenged.

You let your nails drag lightly down his chest, just to feel the way he tensed under your touch. “Well”, you drawled, like you were ticking off items on a mental list, “I know you only ever jerk off in the shower. And only at night. After the kids are asleep. Like clockwork”.

His mouth dropped open just slightly, stunned into silence.

You leaned in, voice near his ear now, wicked and warm. “You’re quiet, but not that quiet. The pipes in this house are ancient. And sometimes I’m doing laundry late”.

He stared at you, deadpan for a beat. Then shook his head slowly, grinning in disbelief. “You are such a little brat”.

You gave him your most innocent look. “You hired me”.

“I must’ve been out of my goddamn mind”.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re definitely out of your clothes”.

He groaned, then pulled you in harder, his hands gripping your thighs as he pressed you back against the counter. “Say it again”, he growled, low and amused and barely holding back.

“What?”, you teased, breath catching.

“That you don’t want anything serious”.

You bit your lip, eyes dancing. “Just something to blow off steam… remember?”.

Jensen's mouth was still on yours when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you off the counter in one smooth—but slightly breathless—motion. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, arms looping around his neck as he steadied you against him.

You smiled against his lips, the kiss breaking just long enough to whisper, “You sure you’ve got me?”.

He let out a low grunt, adjusting his grip with a quiet, “Barely”.

You laughed, nuzzling against his jaw. “Wow. All that muscle and you're winded already?”.

“I just filmed fight scenes for twelve hours”, he muttered, huffing slightly as he started down the hallway with you clinging to him. “Cut me some slack”.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “I don’t know… you were acting like such a big, strong guy back there in the kitchen”.

He gave you a pointed look, but didn’t stop. “You’re lucky I like mouthy”.

“I know you like mouthy”, you whispered near his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “You wouldn’t be hauling me to your bedroom right now if you didn’t”.

Jensen huffed a laugh—half aroused, half exasperated—as he kicked open his door with his foot and stumbled just slightly when the edge of the bed bumped his shin.

“You okay there, old man?”, you teased, one brow lifting as he finally dropped you onto the mattress with a soft thud.

“You’re enjoying this way too much”.

You stretched out beneath him, legs still bent around his hips, your shirt riding up dangerously high. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just enjoying watching you work for it”.

He braced himself over you, staring down with a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, his hair slightly tousled and his chest rising and falling faster than before.

“You keep running that mouth”, he said, voice low and thick with warning, “and I’m not gonna be so nice”.

You tilted your head, smirking back. “Good”.

And that was all it took.

He leaned down again, and this time the kiss was rougher, more urgent. The heat between you burning past the banter, curling into something heady and consuming as you finally gave into everything you’d both been holding back.

Jensen was shirtless above you, skin warm and solid, every muscle under your palms tensing with anticipation. You were still fully clothed, your shirt rumpled from where he’d gripped your waist.

Then his hand slipped lower. Beneath the waistband of your panties.

And when his fingers found just how soaked you already were, he pulled back from the kiss with a low, guttural groan, rough and broken, like the sound had been ripped from his throat.

“Fuck”, he muttered against your neck, his breath hot, his voice wrecked. “You’re—fuck, you’re soaked”.

You couldn’t even find words, you just arched into him slightly, pulse thundering in your ears, your fingers curling in the back of his hair as his thumb teased a little more pressure.

Just then, somewhere down the hallway a door had shut. Hard. Both of you froze

Your entire body went rigid beneath him as your eyes snapped open. Jensen’s face hovered above yours, blinking like his brain was sprinting to catch up with reality.

Then he sat up fast, his hand disappearing from your waistband like he’d been burned.

“Shit”, he breathed. “Shit. That was a bedroom door”.

“Kid?”, you whispered, sitting up, your heart racing now for a whole new reason.

He was already standing, grabbing his t-shirt off the floor and yanking it over his head while padding to the bedroom door. He pressed his ear to it for a second, then opened it slowly, peeking out into the dark hallway.

Nothing.

He turned back to you, his voice low and urgent. “Stay here”.

You nodded, your hands tugging your panties back into place as the moment dissolved into adrenaline. You could still feel the ghost of his touch—warm and slow and so close—and now it clashed violently with the sudden fear of a kid standing in a hallway… or worse, hearing something they shouldn’t have.

You listened from the bed, heart still racing, as Jensen’s footsteps padded down the hallway. The house had gone quiet, but not for long. You heard the creak of a door, followed by a soft murmur, Jensen’s voice, low and tired.

Then, faint and groggy: “Dad?”.

You sat up straighter, instinctively still, every nerve in your body on edge, not from fear now, but anticipation. The heat of what had nearly happened still pulsed in your skin, but reality was pulling everything else into sharp focus.

“It’s okay, Zepp”, Jensen said softly. “Did you have a nightmare?”.

There was a rustle, a sleepy sniffle. “Yeah. It was about the spiders again. They were on the ceiling and one fell on Arrow and she turned into one and started hissing at me”.

You smiled despite yourself, rubbing your hand over your face.

Then came Zeppelin’s quiet plea: “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”.

A pause.

You could feel the hesitation in Jensen’s silence, even from the hallway. Then a low sigh, weary but gentle.

“Yeah, bud. Come on”.

You climbed off the bed, heart still thudding in your chest, and tugged your clothes back into place. You barely had time to smooth your hair before Jensen returned, carrying Zeppelin, arms and legs dangling awkwardly as he did his best not to drop the very solid, very eight-year-old boy in his arms.

It clearly wasn’t effortless.

“Damn buddy”, Jensen muttered under his breath as he nudged the door open with his foot. “You gotta stop growing”.

Zeppelin’s head rested on his dad’s shoulder, blinking blearily at you through one half-open eye before mumbling, “Hey”.

“Hey, bud”, you whispered, offering him a soft smile.

Jensen eased him onto the bed with a quiet groan, adjusting the blanket around him as Zeppelin immediately curled toward the pillow, grabbing it like it might float away without him.

You stayed quiet, stepping back to give them space, the earlier fire now buried under layers of real life.

Jensen lingered for a moment, watching his son’s breathing even out. Then he slowly turned back to you, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and fondness, the weight of the night pressing heavily between you.

“I know”, you said gently. “It’s fine. I should go anyway”.

He didn’t argue. Just nodded, slowly.

You gave him a faint, tired smile—one that said we’ll talk later without actually promising anything—and then you turned, stepping lightly toward the door.

Your feet were almost silent on the hardwood, but the room still felt thick with sound. With breath. With everything left unsaid.

Zeppelin had already drifted off, his soft snoring the only noise as you slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind you with a gentle click.

The second it shut, your shoulders sagged.

Your body was still humming, still burning from the weight of his hands on your skin, the heat of his mouth on yours. But it had faded now, muted by guilt, by timing, by the steady presence of a scared little boy who needed comfort more than you needed release.

You walked down the hall, barefoot and half-dazed, the house quiet in that eerie, late-night way. The kind of quiet that comes after tension, not peace. You opened the door to your guest room and stepped inside, the cool air making you shiver now that everything had settled.

You dropped onto the bed, not even bothering with a change of clothes. The sheets still smelled like your shampoo and the lavender laundry detergent Arrow insisted on helping you pick out at the store. You stared at the ceiling for a while, the shadows from the window playing across the drywall like slow-moving ghosts.

You could still feel the way Jensen had looked at you. Still hear his groan when he touched you. Still feel the sharp stop in your chest the second that door slammed, and everything real rushed in to remind you, this wasn’t a fantasy. This was his life. And now, it was yours too. In some unspoken way.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles the boys #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #spn cast

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willwasnotfound · 24 hours ago

Text

Other kind of demon

Hello, Hello! Ehh, well I rlly don't know how to start this, idk if it stays only abt lore of reader or has something else, if it does srry for getting to other stuff.

Soo, her backstory is really tragic and involves some traumas that I don't know how to translate, so I'll write it literally, someone sells her body andd kind of child abuse, mention of death and some other stuff

Again, English is not my first language, so any error of grammar can happen in here lol Chapter 2

Memories.

Y/N was finally at her own penthouse, it wasn't too far from where she found those demons, so it didn't took too long.

She was tired, and directly went to fall on her bed, she needed to rest, and she did her best to do so.

But yet she couldn't.

She thought maybe it was her clothes fault, so she changed them, and when she layed down again, failing again.

She grabbed some food, perhaps she just was hungry.

Nothing again.

She layed down, frustrated, it was like that encounter reavivated the memories, her mind couldn't rest after that.

Y/N was not a normal girl, at least not like she wished.

She was just a commoner, the only thing that made her stand out of the rest of her village, was her beauty.

Her mother was beautiful, but was already getting old, so she knew that her own daughter would probably be more beautiful than her.

The woman wasnt exactly the kindest person to Y/N, basically, her life was like Cinderella's, the only thing was- that she was most likely to never meet a prince, and she knew it.

They were commoners, born like that, and probably die like that, even with the beauty of both of them, her mother married a carpenter, and that was Y/N's destiny.

Until her father died, and with that, her mother didn't have the money to keep her luxuries- which weren't a lot, considering they were commoners.

And that was just the start of her hell. Her mother started to search jobs for her while she was barely 9 years old. Whatever that bringed money for her, Y/N was forced to do.

And then, her mother realized she had grown, and poor little Y/N, even if her age was young her body no more looked like the one of a kid.

She started to sell her body.

Y/N grew with fear, not only about the men that touched her without her permission, but also from her mother. She would do anything to keep the life she had, but without moving a finger.

But yet, Y/N couldnt hate her mother, how could she? She was her mother, and she was supossed to love her mother, and her mother surely loved her too.

At least that was the lie that she told herself everyday.

That was until she got sick, Y/N's face started to look pale and started to lose that beauty that made men pay to her mother.

And of course she wasn't happy. "Stupid filthy thing!" The woman kicked Y/N?S body down the house, the poor girl just tried to protect her body by hugging herself. "How dare you...! First you ruin my life! And now... now you can't give me the money I need!"

Y/N laid on the floor, without moving, she didn't wanted to piss off her mother more than she already was, hearing her leave while mutering curses to her daughter.

"Poor little thing."

She heard a voice, but she couldn't sense nobody.

"You will never please your dear mother like this." The male voice kept going, "But I can help you with that."

And suddenly a man appeared in front of her, he was tall, and was wearing only black clothes, but she couldn't see his face.

Y/N sat up however she could, tears going down her cheeks.

"Ow little one, don't cry." His voice was almost sooothing, he moved his thumb to clear the tears while the girl seemed like she was about to faint. "I can offer you health and the beauty you still crave, you'll get to live better than this poor village."

"A-And I can help my mother that way?" Y/N Held her tears.

Even the man was surprised, a little girl that still craved for the love of her mother, even after all the pain she putted her through.

Oh, this was going to be easier than he thought.

"Of course, you will make happy your mother this way, she'll get what she deserves." The man stretches his arm, as a sign of sealing the deal. "But you'll need to pay to me later." Y/N doubted, she just wanted to make her mother happy, to get her to live however she wanted.

"Okay." She stretched his hand, and a loud laughter came out from the man.

She would never guessed what she had done.

His eyes shined with a gold glint, and her body started to fill with purple marks. It hurted, hurted as dying, and suddenly he dissapeared. And so did the marks.

She ran to the nearest mirror on her house, realizing she was even prettier than before.

Happy to see she was cured, she ran to search her mother, but she wasn't anywhere.

"How strange..." She mumbled and just went to walk through the village, relieved to have her health back.

Little did she know, her mother was laying dead at her own house, hided in a place she could never think of.

The men on the village didn't recognize her, so many times using her body- and yet none of them could tell who she was.

She started to think that so many stares were weird, of course she wouldn't mind one or two stares, but it was the whole town, even women and she didn't know if it was for hate or admiration.

Even after all the day her mother did not appear, and even if she was worried, a small part of her that she tried to dissapear was glad to not see her.

In fact, that part wouldn't mind founding her dead.

Days passed, and she managed to survive the same way her mother obligued her to do, by selling her body, until one day she killed the man she was with, she didn't even knew how, she cried with fear of the people to find out, because he seemed death, but there was not a sign of harm on him.

And it continued, one by one men started to disappear, until a small account stayed. Some women were concerned of where did their husbands went, and kinds where their parents were.

Y/N was slowly turning into a demon, and she didn’t notice that she was consuming their souls, until one say she went out for food, even when she didn’t wanted to.

Everyone looked at her, not with desire, not with envy. They stared with fear.

Her whole body was covered in marks, and her skin was turning to a shade of purple, not all, but what the people could see.

When she got to the place, the man that was supposed to sell the food didn’t show up. And she stayed there for a bit, until she heard screams.

“That’s her fault! She killed the men of the village!” A woman yelled while signaling her, while men with armor got closer to her, they were holding spears.

Y/N didn’t know what to do. Yes, she was right, but it wasn’t her fault, it was probably the man she made a deal with.

“I swear I didn’t!” She stepped backwards, trying to find a place to run.

“Monster!” “She took everything away!” “She doesn’t deserve to live!” “Kill her!”

A chorus of angry people sounded in the background, no, this wasn’t supposed to be happening, she just wanted to make her mother happy, not kill people.

“She killed her own mother!” Was the last thing before everything faded to black.

Did she actually killed her mother? That mattered?

It seemed like it did, because a lot of the voices she heard before, plus agony screams she thought were from the death men started to sound through her head, it wasn’t a whisper, it was the kind of thing that makes your ears bleed.

And then again, the male voice that she thought saved her made them silent.

“This is your part of the deal.” The voice spoke on her head, giving her enough strength to get up.

She wasn’t at her village anymore, she was in a dark place, only lighted by a red fire, that was just in front of her.

“Y-You knew this would happen to me?” She stammered while watching her hands, they were no more like that, they were claws, sharp enough to actually kill.

“You never cared to ask what I would be asking in return.” The voice, know coming from the fired laughed, being followed by tons of laughter behind her.

When she turned around she found millions of demons, she knew it, there were books of them in the human world.

“Now you serve to me, Gwi-Ma, your soul is mine to have fun with, and you can never scape.” She just looked down, of course she wouldn’t reply, that fire was like her mother, he ruined her life, exactly the same way her mother did before.

What was her error? She just wanted to please her mother, and now, she ended up pleasing the king of demons, it was like she didn’t deserve to be happy herself, always forced to make the others happy at her own cost.

She woke up, what a lame dream, she only wanted to stop dreaming at this point, it was worse than remembering, because everything was so vivid.

She stood up from her bed, it was still dark outside, probably she just slept one hour or two.

God, how she wished the demons from earlier accepted her offer.

Umm, in Spanish makes sense, idk how well written it is in English, soo srry-

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the story, next chapter we’ll get to the main plot again :D

Thanks for reading!

Taglist:@just-set-things-on-fire, @gremlinartstudio, @amery-benson-cvii, @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone, @katzline, @megunian

#huntrix #kpdh #kpop demon hunters #mira kpdh #rumi #rumi kpdh #saja boys #saja boys x reader #zoey kpdh #huntrix x reader #k pop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters fanart #zoey

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erikawrites13 · 1 day ago

Note

heyy, would you do a Secret Hookups, Jealousy Turns HeatedPublic andTeasing / Almost Getting Caught with oscar or yuki??

“Too Close for Comfort” OP 81

Oscar Piastri x Y/N (Lando Norris’ younger sister) — with secret hookups, jealousy, teasing, and a close call.

Stars☆- Secret Hookups → ☆3 Jealousy Turns Heated → ☆6. Public Teasing / Almost Getting Caught → ☆12

The secret made it hotter.

Every brush of fingers, every lingering glance across the paddock, every excuse Oscar found to "accidentally" be near Y/N it all sparked fire. No one knew. Especially not Lando.

And that made it dangerous. And addictive.

Oscar and Y/N had been together for a few months, managing to keep their relationship low-key. Late-night meetups at hotels, stolen kisses behind garages, whispered goodbyes at the team motorhomes they had it down to a science.

But they weren’t perfect.

A Close Call

It happened in Monaco. The team had wrapped up testing early, and Oscar had snuck off to Y/N’s room at the hotel. He thought they had time. He was wrong.

A knock on the door mid-makeout.

“Y/N? You in there?” Lando’s voice, muffled but unmistakable.

Oscar nearly fell off the bed, grabbing his shirt and diving behind the curtain like a panicked cat. Y/N's face paled, then reddened as she called back:

“Uh yeah! Just getting out of the shower!”

Oscar stayed silent, heart pounding, as Lando lingered outside.

“Alright… just wanted to see if you were coming out for dinner with the team. Don’t take forever.”

Y/N waited a full five minutes before bursting into laughter as Oscar peeked out, still shirtless and wide-eyed.

“That’s not funny,” he muttered, trying to look stern.

“Oh, it’s hilarious.” She teased, walking up to him and brushing her lips against his. “You nearly dove into the minibar.”

But that wasn't the night things exploded.

The Night Out

Barcelona. The team was out celebrating a solid qualifying day. Music thumped through the rooftop bar as Red Bull and McLaren crews mixed, danced, and drank.

Y/N looked stunning. Her backless black dress had Oscar in a chokehold the moment she walked in. But he had to keep his cool. Lando was just a few feet away, laughing with Daniel and a few engineers.

Oscar kept his distance until he saw him.

Some smug guy from the Red Bull garage was chatting up Y/N at the bar, leaning in a little too close, smiling a little too wide. And Y/N? She wasn’t exactly pushing him away.

Oscar’s jaw clenched. The tequila in his blood only fanned the flames.

He crossed the room in seconds.

“Everything alright here?” he asked, a little too sharp.

Y/N blinked in surprise. “Yeah. We were just—”

The guy smirked. “Didn’t realize she came with a bodyguard.”

Oscar didn’t even smile. “She didn’t. But she’s not interested.”

Y/N stepped in quickly, placing a calming hand on Oscar’s chest. “Oscar”

“No, he needs to back off,” Oscar muttered, eyes still locked on the other guy. "Now."

The tension between them crackled, people beginning to notice. Lando turned slightly from across the room.

“Stop,” Y/N hissed under her breath. “You’re going to cause a scene”

Oscar grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the bar, ignoring her protests, leading her toward the quieter stairwell.

Once alone, the door clicked shut and Y/N spun on him.

“What the hell was that?”

Oscar’s eyes burned. “He was all over you. And you let him.”

“I was talking. You can’t go all caveman every time someone flirts with me in public!”

He stepped in close. “I wouldn’t have to if we didn’t have to keep this a damn secret.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “You think I like hiding from my brother? From everyone?”

“I think I’m going insane pretending you’re just Lando’s little sister when you’re the only thing I think about.”

Silence. Her eyes searched his, something softening.

“You really mean that?” she whispered.

He nodded, frustrated and flushed, voice low. “Yeah. I do.”

Without another word, she closed the distance and kissed him — fierce and desperate. The kind of kiss that made him forget they were in a stairwell, in public, with half the grid upstairs.

They didn’t care. Not anymore.

☆ Done! ☆. Tag list - @dessashippr @mrvlf1 @oscarpastri @mimisweetz @fangirlmusicbiashoe Write if you want to be added or removed!

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winchestergirl2 · 5 hours ago

Text

Blake was an oxymoron—he dressed like a wealthy hipster and talked like a frat bro. He had the skinny jeans and a silky patterned shirt, a thin gold chain around his neck, an obnoxious gold pinky ring, and a trendy cropped haircut. You regretted letting him buy you a drink, but then again, you never wasted good vodka.

Oh! He's trying a bit too hard to be trendy, isn't he? (Fits the 'kens' bit of the lyrics perfectly).

“Where’d you find the trust fund baby?” you asked. “He one of your clients? Let me guess. He likes his asshole bleached the same shade as his hair.”

😂😂😂😂

“Wait!” Sarah called after you. Your other two friends just rolled their eyes and stayed behind to keep drinking and dancing. They were used to your antics by now, just like you were used to theirs. They'd been trying to set you up on dates for a couple of months now. This one was the sneakiest by far.

I'm sure they think they are trying to help by setting up dates, but they really should respect the fact that it isn't what she wants. And if you are going to try and set someone up be upfront about it, don't be sneaky with it.

And I know they still talk to Rachel.”

Really?!! After what Rachel did they are still talking to her!! She needs better friends.

You walked away first—out of the seaside bar in beautiful Venice, California, with every piece of your heart bleeding out into the street.

Beautiful heartbreaking imagery 💔

You stumbled in your stupid heels. You nearly took a whole table with you, but two chairs broke your fall. Almost all the cops in the group looked your way, their heads swiveling with a trained response to sudden sounds. Your name fell from Amber’s lips, a small, shocked breath.

Oh no. That is definitely not the way you want to run into your ex for the first time after the breakup.

The way he looked at her…

Poor girl. As if it's not bad enough running into Mark like that, she sees him with Oliveras and assumes something is going on there (with someone else she knows).

No wonder she needed to get out of there quickly.

Uh-oh

He didn’t take the hint. He drew closer, wrapping the pretense of a helping hand around your arm. He fingered the edge of your leather jacket.

Seriously what is wrong with some guys?! Take the hint!!

“Take a walk, pal. I’ve got her,” Mark said. He flashed his LAPD badge for good measure.

Yes Mark!! Love a protective man.

“I can’t…don’t want them to see me like this,” you said.

Ok definitely in need of some new friends. She should be able to turn to at least one of them in that state. Although it does allow Meachum to look after her instead.

Were you okay now? Was that him? Was he home? Had the past year just been a cruel invention of your mind to torture you?

I hadn't heard this song before, but I love how this bit fits, linking that line from the song with the story.

“Yeah. How’d that feel, Smokey?” he asked

Ok, love this. I read it hearing him say it in my head.

you were D.A. Valwell’s Executive Assistant.

Oh, I'm guessing this has the potential to cause some issues/ conflict between her and Meachum with his work on the task force.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said. He met your gaze, firm, earnest. “It didn’t go down the way she said.”

AH HA

Only, she didn’t stop there. She shimmied a bit higher and buried her face in his neck, where she pressed a little kiss. An alarm bell rang in Mark’s mind, but his body was too slow to respond. She turned her head and laid another kiss on his cheek, and then his lips.

Seriously girl!! This is your sister's fiancé!!

Could he really shackle you to a dying man?

This was 100% my thought when we found out about Meachum and his fiancée in the show. My first thought was that he did that to end it so she wasn't 'stuck' with a dying man.

Mark frowned. He looked over and found Rachel leaning on his arm. She was lying naked under the thinnest sheet. He knew, not only because of her bare shoulders, but her nipples poking through the fabric.

OMG, she has no shame!!! Why does she think this is ok? Imagine if the roles had been reversed and Mark had done what she has, he would find himself in serious trouble.

It was a joke. A cruel prank. But maybe after this, you wouldn’t open your mouth to criticize her ever again. Maybe you’d think twice next time, because in the back of your mind, you’d remember that she could’ve had your man.

OMG... she needs help. That is not normal behaviour Rachel!! I hope she gets a few home truths told to her.

“Turns out… I’m sick, baby.”

Your expression changed, almost instantly. Traces of anger and doubt fell away, but so did some of the color in your face.

Love the shift here fits perfectly with the fact they still clearly love each other.

After all this time, you were still his peaceful spot. If you only knew the amount of death he’d seen in just the past couple of weeks on Blythe’s taskforce, the chaos, the stress of near-misses, being on the sweet razor edge of getting killed, saving his own body the trouble. That thrill took its toll.

Her being his 'peaceful spot' is beautiful. That man definitely needs it after what has happened so far on that task force.

CATASTROPHIC BLUES

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

AN: Okay, so this was only supposed to be a 1K drabble sequel to DOWNGRADE for my lovely friend, @waynes-multiverse, but of course it snowballed on me lol. (And there’s a little more to come!) This is set during early season 1, let’s say between 1x02 and 1x03.

Song Inspo: “Hits Different” by Taylor Swift (YT)

Word Count: 6.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, drunkenness, skeevy men, Mark doing his best with an angry, hungover reader (bit of grumpy x sunshine), talk of cheating, what really happened, and other truths revealed…

Nine months. It should’ve meant something.

You should be able to go out with your friends to the club. You should be able to feel confident in one of your favorite dresses and the tallest pair of heels you could almost walk in.

You should be able to let loose on the dance floor, letting the closest attractive guy grind on your ass.

He later offered to get you a drink, his hot breath in your ear. An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine. But you know what? Fuck it.

You went back with him to the bar, taking the chance to rest your achy feet. He tried to make small talk with you, despite you being stiff and awkward now that you couldn’t distract yourself with the vibes of the music running through your body. Now the thump thump thump of the bass was too much, too distracting for a normal conversation.

You also started to get suspicious when one of your friends “casually” came up on his other side.

“Ask her about her job,” Sarah whispered. You just barely caught it.

“Oh, yeah. So, uh, what do you do?” Blake asked you. You were pretty sure he was more interested in your cleavage than your job.

“I’m an assistant to the Head District Attorney of California,” you said blandly.

The guy blinked. “…Oh. Cool.”

“And what do you do, Blake?”

“Well, my dad owns an advertisement company, so I do some stuff for him every now and then. But mostly I’m a competitive gamer. Like, uh, League of Legends, Counter Strike, Mortal Kombat. What about you? You a gamer?”

Blinking slow, then sighing, you leaned over and locked eyes with Sarah, one of your best friends and a well-known esthetician in L.A.

“Where’d you find the trust fund baby?” you asked. “He one of your clients? Let me guess. He likes his asshole bleached the same shade as his hair.”

Sarah bit her lip in embarrassment. Blake coughed and spluttered into his scotch. You didn’t stick around for the predictable denial and slid off the bar stool. You gave him $15 for your drink, downed the rest of it in one long gulp, and savored the rush of it tingling through your head on your way out of the club.

Sarah, for her part, never let you walk out alone.

“Next time you try to set me up with someone, can you please just tell me,” you said tiredly, “instead of pretending you want to hang out with me?”

Sarah deflated. “Look, we’re just trying to help.”

“I know,” you said, holding yourself against the chill in the air. “I know, okay? I know you guys want me to move on, because I’m a fucking bummer. I know I’m…I’m not handling all this as well as I should be. And I know they still talk to Rachel.”

Tears stung in your eyes, but you sucked in a subtle breath. Sarah’s blue eyes were sad and glassy with guilt, even if it was just by association.

“Go back inside,” you said eventually. “I’ll just take an Uber home.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ended up at a bar down the street. You barely ever went clubbing anymore, but you hadn’t stepped foot into a real bar in nine months.

“Come on, sweetheart. You really want to do this here?”

“You’re one to fucking talk! But you know what? Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to say. I just…I don’t know how you could do this to me.”

“Please,” he said. The green of his eyes were desperate. It was the first time you ever heard him beg. “Just let me explain.”

You wouldn’t let him touch you, let alone try to hold you. The thought alone made you sick.

“I saw you, Mark. I saw the goddamn pictures. And my sister told me all about how your last night of ‘freedom’ went. But you know what? You’re fucking free.”

You put the ring in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, jaw clenched. Meanwhile, hot tears streamed down your face.

You walked away first—out of the seaside bar in beautiful Venice, California, with every piece of your heart bleeding out into the street.

Another vodka cranberry at the end of the bar turned into shots you couldn’t name or count. You rebuffed men who tried to talk to you. You ignored the voice in your head that sounded a lot like your dad.

Sweet girl, what the hell’re you doin’?

You stopped trying to answer that question a long time ago. Just like your friends had stopped trying to get you out of the house after work. No more wine tastings or Sunday brunches. No more weekends at the beach. The coarse grains of sun-bleached sand would only remind you of Santa Cruz—a sweltering summer, a perfect day, now fractured and wrong in your mind’s eye.

A fucking lie.

Another empty glass hitting the bar counter drowned out the salty crash of ocean waves, but you finally had to stop when your stomach churned with alcoholic slosh. Your brain reeled when you tried to blink. Your eyes felt dry, irritated, and glassy at the same time.

You got up from your seat and used the wall like an anchor on your way to the bathroom. You checked yourself in the mirror there. Your black dress, your hair, and your makeup were still intact, so you supposed you still looked good, if absent in the eyes. Again, you blinked too hard. Fuck.

On your way back out, new noise was filling the bar. A whole group of four or five people came in and grabbed seats at the bar, laughing, ordering drinks, giving each other shit. They sounded like cops. You knew, because you’d grown up around them your entire life.

“All right, Oliveras. What’re you drinking?”

You stopped short at the voice, deep and rich like aged whiskey. In fact, you needed the back of an empty chair to hold you steady.

“What, you're buying?” she shot back.

Amber. You recognized her profile and the litheness of her frame. You two were old friends, since you roomed together back in college. You hadn’t heard from her in months though. She had called to give her condolences when your almost-marriage fell apart.

And now, your ex-fiancé had an arm draped casually behind her chair. His smile was effortless, charming, the crows’ feet around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Well, within reason,” he replied, inclining his head. “I think I’m in the mood for some good fuckin’ whiskey—”

Mark’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening when you looked up at him on reflex. You were forced to take him in, his green eyes, the new haircut, the well-trimmed beard, the jeans and dark blue jacket. He had no fucking business looking that good.

But you were like two shocked deers not expecting to meet in a forest—neither one willing to move or speak, or even blink…

Until you stumbled again. Your weight on the unstable chair began to give way.

“Shit.”

He and Amber both jolted to help you. Mark’s hand reached for you first, but you firmly ignored it and somehow straightened onto your shaky feet. You smoothed down the dress and fixed the little straps the best you could, even though one was hanging down your shoulder.

Your arm got tangled in the thin chain of your purse, but you slung that over your other shoulder with all the grace of a toddler. Then you affected a “polite” smile that just came off looking like a grimace.

“Uh, hey. Of all the gin joints in the world and stuff, right?” You made sure to enunciate, hoping your hand wave was casual and not insane. “I’ve gotta go.”

You pointed toward the door before you made it your mission to actually get there. Your heart pounded loud in your ears. The rush of cool and quieter air was a balm to your frayed mind, but it wasn’t enough.

The way he looked at her…

The turning of your stomach became a violent roil. You closed your eyes against the movie reel torturing you in your mind. You imagined how their night would go, drinking, laughing, touching, stumbling back into his house at 2:00 a.m. Maybe he’d end up actually loving her, someone more like him. More than he claimed to have loved you.

The liquid contents of your stomach rebelled, and you threw up right on the edge of the street. You clung to a utility pole as you coughed and cried involuntary tears. You heaved and gasped for breath when you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?”

Alarm trilled in the back of your mind. You had enough awareness to look behind you. Finally, you noticed the guy. He’d approached you in the bar earlier, but you’d turned down his advances. You couldn’t remember what you said to him. He clearly remembered you, though.

You waved him off, not even able to speak as you tried to stay upright against the utility pole.

He didn’t take the hint. He drew closer, wrapping the pretense of a helping hand around your arm. He fingered the edge of your leather jacket.

“You need a ride? I’ll get you an Uber or something,” he said, with the facsimile of concern. “Where do you live?”

“Hey,” a voice cut in, deep and with authority.

You tilted your head, and Mark’s stern face came into view along with the rest of him. Him and those damn bowed legs.

“Take a walk, pal. I’ve got her,” Mark said. He flashed his LAPD badge for good measure.

That made it even easier to knock away the foreign hands off your body and angle himself in between. His arm came around your shoulders, supportive and safe.

Half of you was grateful, the other half resentful, but all you could do was glare at him. He shot you a quirking smile.

The other man backed off, trying to hide his annoyance. He continued down the street with his hands in his pockets. Mark itched to do more than just scare him off. A familiar protective anger had burned in his blood, raising his hackles, but he had to focus on you.

He led you back to the front of the bar. He went slow enough for you in those red stilettos (ridiculous, he thought, no matter how sexy they were).

“Late night, huh?” he said.

“What d'you think you’re doing?” you said. Your tone would be more snippy, if you had any energy left. Your inner world was reeling, unfocused and barely conscious. You had no choice but to lean on him as you gripped his jacket, the dark blue denim rough between your fingers.

“Well, I’m thinking I could call one of your friends, have ‘em take you home. You came out alone?” he asked. He was trying to be civil, retaining his sense of humor, but there was no masking the concern in his eyes. Not completely.

“No,” you admitted, “but ‘m alone now. Obviously.” You snorted.

Mark’s lips twitched upward. He heaved a small sigh. “All right. Well, who do you want me to call? Sarah? Yesenia? Lauren?”

After a moment, you shook your head, even though that just made it swim. Fuck.

“I can’t…don’t want them to see me like this,” you said. The confession provoked a sniffle, a tremble of your lips. This time, you couldn’t stop the sting of tears from flooding over. You covered your face, as if that could stop your embarrassment, your overwhelming emotions from clogging in your throat in a painful lump.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Mark said. His tone pitched deep and gentle. It was an easy reflex for him to give into as he soothed a hand over your hair to try and calm you down.

You didn’t know it, but there was a gaping ache in his chest that had never really faded away. Seeing you again, let alone like this, made it sharp and splintering.

He led you to his car, and he took you home.

For a moment, you saw it so clearly.

Tracing his brows, the line of his nose, and the cut of his chin while he slept. What his hair felt like between your fingers, loose and soft, or gripped tight with need.

The sound of his voice reaching deep into your bones. The way his arms allowed you to reclaim safety whenever he came back to you…

Worrying for your dad on his twenty-five-year beat in Homicide had transitioned into worrying for Mark. He was always quick to reassure you though, to downplay with his ridiculous sense of humor and good sex. The best, actually.

But it was the in between moments you missed the most.

The distant sound of a lock turning in the door had you waking, slowly, a silent struggle in your bed. Your eyes cracked open.

Were you okay now? Was that him? Was he home? Had the past year just been a cruel invention of your mind to torture you?

…No. Your throat momentarily closed up as you realized. This really was just your shitty reality.

You groaned as you picked your head off the pillow, pushing your body up until you were sitting on the edge of your bed. Your bare legs hung off the side. You still wore your wrinkled black dress from last night, but your heels were strewn forgotten on the floor. You didn’t remember taking them off. You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, let alone to your bed.

However, it all started coming back to you when the door shut again. Fresh coffee wafted in from the living room, along with something sweeter.

Your bedroom door creaked open, and there he was. Mark fucking Meachum.

He held a tray with two hot coffees and a greasy brown bag from your favorite bakery. Your gaze crept up to meet his, though yours was decidedly grumpy.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a smile. “It’s already almost noon, but I figured we can’t start the day without coffee.”

“Did you stay here all night?” you croaked in disbelief.

“Yeah, just, uh, took the couch out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the living room. “Could use a couple of extra throw pillows though. Think I got another notch in my spine…”

At your persisting glare, his expression sobered.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you snarked. “You can go now.”

Mark watched you try and fail to stand. You sunk back down to a seat on the edge of the bed, closing your eyes for a second while you attempted to stop your head from swimming.

He sighed and set down the coffee and pastries on your desk nearby.

“Have you been making this a habit?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but last night was the first bar I’ve been to in exactly nine months and...fifteen days,” you replied. You swept your fingers over your cheeks, grimacing when you found remains of your mascara. You probably looked like a gremlin. This wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to look when you next saw your ex.

Except you’d never planned to see this man again.

“All right,” Mark said. He grabbed your purse off your desk, where he’d set it last night. He popped it open, your private goddamn property.

“Excuse me,” you protested angrily.

He retrieved a whole pack of cigarettes. “How about these?”

He tossed you the pack, and you barely caught it. Your irritation grew and grew, along with the sting of shame. The worst part was, he knew he didn’t have to say anything.

The unfiltered nicotine in your hand was the reason your father died. He’d been the Captain of Mark’s precinct for ten years—the exact number of years since your dad had quit smoking. It hadn’t mattered much in the end.

Still, you resented that raised brow of judgment on Mark’s face.

You leaned over and grabbed a lighter from your nightstand. You fished out a cigarette from the pack, and you took your time lighting it up. You were being an asshole, you realized, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You made a show of holding the cancer stick between two fingers. You looked up at Mark, right in his eyes, and tried to channel Audrey Hepburn when you brought it to your lips for a long drag.

And you immediately coughed it up. Fuck.

Smoke polluted the air above your head while Mark nodded in vindication.

“Yeah. How’d that feel, Smokey?” he asked (all too high-and-mighty, in your opinion). He crossed the distance and took the cigarette from your hand while you kept coughing. He went into the bathroom to get rid of it.

Meanwhile, you held a hand to your chest and groaned. Damn him, he was right. Your stomach roiled at just the taste of that shit in your mouth, let alone first thing in the morning.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” he suggested, sweeping a hand toward your adjoining bathroom when he came back out. “A little coffee and sustenance will be waiting when you’re done.”

“Seriously, you can go. You don’t need to wait up for me,” you rasped, but the man still helped you to your feet with a supportive hand on your arm and your lower back.

“Yeah, and what if you lose your balance and crack your head on the bathroom tile? Nope, not on my watch.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“He ain’t gonna help if you take his name in vain like that,” Mark couldn’t help but tease, fully expecting your glare. That was something your mom used to say.

You groaned, annoyed and still nauseous.

“Would you just shut up?”

“Nope, pretty sure I’m physically incapable.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

He made sure you were steady on your feet before he left you in the bathroom. You avoided his gaze when he closed the door. His heart gave a painful pulse.

What the fuck am I doing? he thought.

Brushing your teeth and taking a hot shower had its innumerable benefits—making you feel alive and close to normal again, for example. But the one thing it didn’t do was get Mark out of your apartment.

You sat together on your couch while the TV played at a low volume. You saw the remnants of Mark’s night in your favorite throw blanket tossed over one of the armrests. The pillow he'd used for his head was caved in and smelling like his cologne, a rich, woody scent of sandalwood, spice, and musk.

You tried to ignore it while you finished eating a blueberry muffin. He polished off his third donut and washed it down with some more coffee.

“So,” you said. “Amber Oliveras.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Last night. You two were out together, seemed to be having a good time. Sorry I crashed your date,” you said, trying not to seem as bitter you sounded in your head.

Mark’s brows furrowed. “We’re, uh, not together. Not like that. We’re just working a case.”

“A case?” you said dubiously. “She’s DEA. You’re Homicide. What kind of case would you be working on together?”

He hesitated, brushing some pastry crumbs from his mouth. “Sorry, I can’t get into the specifics. You know the drill.”

Yes, you knew his cases were supposed to be confidential, but that hadn’t stopped him from telling you details before, especially because you were D.A. Valwell’s Executive Assistant. You had a higher clearance than the average civilian anyway.

But you let it go. It truly wasn’t your business, after all.

It was Mark’s turn to look your way. Morbid curiosity was eating him alive. Or maybe that was just the pull of being with you again, seeing your face, hearing your voice…even if you hated him.

He did think you were torturing him a bit too. You smelled nice, like floral soap and minty freshness. You were wearing an oversized shirt from your college days that was already threadbare from how many times you ran it through the wash. It slipped off one shoulder and barely went halfway down your thighs, brushing the edge of some little shorts. He had to stop his eyes from following the path of your bare legs.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?” he asked.

You paused. You even set down your muffin and chuckled, giving him a long look.

“How does it look like I’ve been?”

A grim silence fell between you two, thick and tense.

“All right," he said. "How long’ve you been smoking?”

You shook your head, lips pursing at his audacity. “You really don’t have any right to judge me. You know that, right?”

Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, an anxious, frustrated tick you knew well. “Look, what happened back then—”

You rose a hand to stop him. “Please, for the love of God. We don’t have to go through this shit again.”

You got up from the couch, intending to throw away the coffee cups and garbage if it meant gaining some space from this man.

But he followed you, stopped you with an imploring grip on your arm.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said. He met your gaze, firm, earnest. “It didn’t go down the way she said.”

Your instinct was to jerk your arm out of his grasp, but he just held you in place, gently, but insistent.

“Are you gonna let me explain this time? If you do, then just let me get it out. And afterward I’ll screw. I’ll walk the fuck outta here, and I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You stared up at him, close to seething, but there was something in his eyes that stilled you, gripped you more than his hands. A sliver of doubt began to creep in.

Your sister apparently hated you enough to fuck your fiancé. Had she been vindictive enough to lie about it?

You had realized, all too late, that you couldn’t put anything past her. Mark could be stubborn, but he wouldn’t dig his heels in on this without a reason.

So you relented, with a small nod.

Breathing a subtle exhale of relief, Mark guided you back down to the couch. You turned off the TV and sat facing him with your arms crossed. You gave him an expectant look.

Mark steeled himself. Where to fucking start?

A beat to think, and then he knew.

He had to give you everything.

Nine Months Ago...

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers Mark stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him. Your father reminded him beyond the grave, with words Mark never forgot.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” she said, guiding him further into her hotel room. With slurring words, Mark asked her to go find you. He needed to talk to you.

“Shit, think I left my phone downstairs too. Needa get it,” he muttered.

“You’re a mess. I think you need to lay down first,” she said, huffing as she supported his weight over to her bed. She helped him lay down. A subtle smile tugged at her lips as she began to open up his jacket. He resisted at first, giving her a look of confusion.

“You should get comfortable. I doubt we’re gonna be able to move you from here.” She giggled.

He guessed he could see the sense in that. He let her help him shrug the black leather jacket off. You helped him pick it out a couple of weeks ago while you were planning for this trip.

Rachel tossed his jacket to the foot of the bed, and she sat close to him on the edge of it. Her bare thigh brushed against his arm as the skirt of her dress rode up. It looked like she’d been about to take a shower after a night out with you and your friends. He instinctively moved his arm, crossing it with the other over his chest.

“You know, I never got a chance to thank you,” she said.

Mark’s brows furrowed. It was taking all of his concentration just to keep her face in focus.

“For what?”

“You were really there for me when Dad passed. You were like our rock, coming by with food, checking in on me when you visited. It really meant a lot to me,” she said. Her words said one thing, but her eyes were beginning to lead him somewhere.

“Your dad was a good man,” he said tiredly. “You guys went through a lot. You, your mom, your sister. It uh, hit her pretty hard.”

Rachel’s lips pressed together. “Yeah… She was his favorite, you know.”

Mark blinked. “What, he said that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said, glancing away. She began to drum her fingers against his arm. He noticed it, but he was also trying to concentrate on what she was saying. “He always talked to her more, trusted her more, even when he was harping on her. She got that government job, probably thanks to him. But he was proud of her.”

“’M sure he was proud of you too,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t think so. I just don’t know why,” she said, sniffling as tears welled up in her eyes.

Mark frowned in sympathy. “Aw, hey.”

He didn’t know how to make her feel better, but he didn’t like to see her cry either. He sat up the best he could in the bed. She met him halfway, burying her face in his chest and sliding her arms around his middle for a hug. He gave her that comfort, patting her on the back.

He finally jerked back, holding her at arm’s length.

“Hey. What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded. His tone was sharp without a filter.

Rachel’s tearful eyes met his as she bit her lip. Her hand tentatively drew down his chest, warm over his shirt.

“I just…I finally had to tell you how much you mean to me,” she said. “And I think she takes you for granted.”

His brows furrowing, Mark grabbed her wrist.

“Rach, I love you. I really do, but you’re like a lil' sister to me. I love your sister. I wanna marry her.”

The thought alone struck a sharp jolt of pain through his skull, and through his chest. He did want a life with you. But is that fucking fair?

Could he really shackle you to a dying man?

Sure, he didn’t know how long he had, but that could be a cruel waiting game, one you'd just gone through with your father for three months. Mark didn’t want to put you through that all over again.

“Look, just...go tell her 'm here. Please,” he said. The fight was draining out of him. His energy was waning, his eyes blinking slow.

Rachel nodded, wiping at her tears. She left him in a huff, but she went to lock herself up in the bathroom first. The sink faucet turned on.

Mark sighed. Fine, let her clean up and pull herself together, but she’d better go get you. He doubted he could make it, even if he crawled. But if he had to, he would…

Slowly, the ticking seconds turned longer. His eyes grew heavier, until he was unable to pry them open again. He fell asleep.

He woke to a streaming sun in his eyes, and a pounding ache between them.

Shit. He groaned, covering his eyes. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t good for an already fucked head after all.

“Hmm, good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, immediately turning over to climb out of the bed. He was very fucking relieved to see he still had his jeans and underwear on, but his shirt was missing. He found it strewn on the floor.

“You actually did that yourself,” Rachel remarked. “Think you got a bit hot last night.”

There was a playful note in her voice. Mark grit his teeth. He was fucking pissed.

“You’re over the fucking line, you hear me?” he snapped.

“What, are you really gonna tell her?” she taunted. “It’s not like we did anything. I just prefer to sleep naked.”

He snorted. Sure. And what happened to the part where she was supposed to go find you and tell you where he was? No, the girl saw an opportunity, and she took it.

Mark hesitated though, because she raised a good point. Goddamn it, what was he going to tell you?

His jaw clenched, and he angrily finished getting dressed. He got up and stormed out of the hotel room, but not before Rachel got of out bed and let the sheet fall away from her slender form. She walked in confidence and feminine sway over to the bathroom, smiling in amusement when he quickly turned away before he saw anything.

The door slammed shut.

Her smile slowly fell. Tears of embarrassment stung in her eyes. Not really because he was mad at her, but because he’d rejected her too.

She knew it was wrong. Yeah, she was pretty sure it was the worst thing she’d ever done. Part of her even hated herself for it. You were her older sister, after all. You, who always looked out for her when you two were kids—better than Mom did. You, who got the most attention from Dad, and the quiet reliance of Mom.

Yeah, Rachel did love you...but she also kind of hated you too.

After she got dressed, she went back to find her phone. She cycled through the pictures she took, every angle that made it seem like your fiancé had spent the night in her arms after the hot and steamy bits.

Now...

Mark finished telling you the story from his perspective. He gave you as many details as he could remember: what she said and did, and what he said and did.

Understandably, you were getting more upset by the moment. That pendulum swung between shock, and anger, and upset again. It all culminated in hot tears as you crossed your arms, holding a hand over your mouth.

“How do I know that’s true?” you asked, wiping vainly at your cheeks.

The problem was, you wanted to believe him. Of course, you also wanted to believe your sister wasn’t quite as screwed up and hateful as you thought she was, but even this was insane. You'd only ever tried to look out for her. Maybe along the way you had been a little critical, a little too judgmental. But had you really deserved this?

Could you even let yourself hope it was all a lie?

Mark met your gaze head on. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

You sighed in frustration. “Mark, you’re a professional fucking liar. I’m not a human polygraph.”

“But you know me.”

“I thought I did,” you said, rubbing at your eyes with shaking hands. Eventually, you were able to look at him again. “If what you said is true, why the hell didn’t you just tell me that?”

“You wouldn’t let me! You made up your mind before I could get a word in edgewise.”

“I was angry!"

God, what an understatement. You'd been so furious and hurt, you'd seriously debated taking one of your dad's old golf clubs and knocking out every window, headlight, and tail light in Mark's precious car.

"So you're saying you didn’t even fight for me. You just let me think the worst of you all this time? For what?!” You sunk your hands into your hair and pulled hard on the strands. You shook your head. “And you know what, why did you get so drunk in the first place? Your friends told me you went back to the hotel early, by yourself. It had to be for a reason.”

Mark nodded slowly.

That was when he knew, he really did have to give you everything.

“You, uh…remember those headaches I’d been getting?” he said. “Started about a month after your dad passed.”

Your brows wrinkled with a hint of confusion, but you nodded as the memory resurfaced.

“Yeah, you were going through entire bottles of Advil. But what does that—”

“I went to the doctor.” Mark rubbed a clammy palm over his jeans. He could stare down murderers, drug lords, and terrorists with steel in his veins, but coming clean with you was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He knew it in his bones, just like he knew why he needed to do it.

“Turns out… I’m sick, baby.”

Your expression changed, almost instantly. Traces of anger and doubt fell away, but so did some of the color in your face.

Mark took the chance to get a little closer on the couch. He laid a hand over yours on your thigh, but your whole body was locked up, sitting very still.

“W-What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean,” he sighed, “I’ve got a mass in my brain the size of Nevada. I don't know how much time I got exactly, but..."

Your eyes widened. Your hands clenched into the fabric of your shirt, until your nails bit into your palms. As you processed those words and began to understand the weight of them, it sunk inky claws into your mind, into every shady corner.

You shook your head in denial, lips trembling. Mark just held your gaze, a silent confirmation that he said nothing but the truth.

"I found out a few days before the trip to Venice. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, but obviously I didn’t handle that part very well," he said.

Anger, stubbornness, suspicion, pretending you didn't care what he had to say—all of that faded. It drained out of your muscles, out of your pores. You began to fall apart.

You turned your hand under his and squeezed, hard. It was a while before you could speak, but Mark was patient. He held your hand and stroked his thumb back and forth across your skin while you tried and failed to hold onto your tears. Then your soul-wracking sobs.

Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He brought you closer, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a coarse whisper. “God, Mark. Why the fuck would you let me think you cheated on me, with my sister?”

He gave a wry huff. “I guess I thought I was being noble. I thought I’d rather have you hate me, than try to stay with me. Watch me break down, bit by bit, for God knows how fucking long. Now I know I’m just selfish. I don’t want you to see me like that… Hell, I don’t wanna see me like that.”

You pulled back on him. Devastation filled your bleary eyes, but you caressed his cheek with a shaking hand.

“Have you gotten treatment?” you asked.

“Doc says it’s not worth it.”

The divot between your brows deepened. “What about a second opinion?”

He hesitated.

“Have you seen another oncologist?” you pressed.

“No. Guess I didn’t see the point. I saw the scans myself. I don’t know how you’d confuse a big fucking tumor for anything else.”

“Mark.” You shook your head and wordlessly guided him closer. You framed his face with both hands, while his own found purchase on the soft curve of your waist.

It was nice to feel your touch again…but at what cost? All that stubborn fire in your eyes, all that pain, it was everything he’d been trying to avoid.

Still, you were gentle, sliding your fingers up into his hair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Before that, those nine months undercover had been a divorce from his reality, pretending that he hadn’t left you broken along with whatever heart there was left in him.

He never imagined that he’d be here with you again. He never thought you’d forgive him, let alone touch him like you still loved him.

When he opened his eyes, you were still there. Tears clung wet to your lashes. You led him closer, where you tenderly rested your forehead against his.

He let you do it too. You were the only one he’d soften up for like this.

He smiled. “Hmmm. What now, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, but you slowly pulled back and opened your eyes. You didn’t go far though.

You guided him into an even more familiar path to your lips. It was more bittersweet than he remembered, but worth it all the same.

He was home.

AN: So, you guys forgive me? 😘💙 I know it's not the happiest ending ever, but it felt like a good place to pause for these two. Rachel was more complex than she seemed, and so was Mark's side of the story!

I have at least one more actual drabble in mind for these two, coming soon! 😂 Please let me know what you thought of this one 💜

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Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mark Meachum Tag List (Part 1):

It seems like a lot of people on the Dean tag list like Mark! lol So if you prefer not to be on this list, just let me know. I'll take you off no problem (you won't hurt my feelings lol 💜).

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@chevroletdean @hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@rizlowwritessortof @jackles010378 @nancymcl @spnaquakindgdom @bettystonewell

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989 @siampie @masked-lost-girl

@spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @globetrotter28

@cookiechipdough @winchesterwild78 @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @iprobablyshipit91 @bleuatlas

@mrsjenniferwinchester @fromcaintodean @kiddieclaws

#fic rec #mark meachum x reader #mark meachum x female reader #mark meachum fic

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whereserpentswalk · 3 days ago

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It is possible to remove a human soul. For a long time mages thought there was no way to do it. Even the darkest creations of magic, vampires, werewolves, banshees, all still have souls, even if they're twisted and dark. But now, in this industrial age, we've found the way to remove a soul to be simple...

...You have to rip it out yourself...

Only you can remove your own soul. Nobody else can take it out for you. It's a simple spell but you have to remove it for yourself, on your own. You have to decide that you're better off not having one rather then having one. You have to make the choice yourself, that you'd rather be empty.

People without souls aren't some sort of shocking monster like how scifi movies and philosophers texts predicted. They are simply people, except they are entirely without any want or desire. They just passively exist without wanting anything, still doing what they have to do, but not yearning for anything more then what they have. The only physical difference that we've found is that those without souls are ever so slightly desaturated.

There are many people who remove their souls. About 0.2 percent of the population, which is small but not that small for a major curse that one has to inflict on themselves. There are a lot of people in this world who don't want to have wants.

Someone out there there's a worker in a coal mine, her lungs filled with ash, the skin of her feet and hands hardened by labor. She has decided to remove her soul, it was too painful for her to want a better life, so now she doesn't. She used to dream of finally getting out of her poor mining town, of going to university on the emerald coast, of seeing a wyvern with her own two eyes, of being a singer in some shining city, and now she dreams of nothing. She has no desire for a world beyond the mines, though the black air still scratches at her lungs, she doesn't have the feeling that she wants a better life. She still eats little more food then what her father can shoot, but she doesn't let her hunger for more be anything but physical sensation. When the miners form a union her soulless body is the first scab to side with the company. She is satisfied with the pay that she has.

There's a preist out there whose removed his soul and considered it enlightment. He tells the small fringe church that this is enlightenment and hopes to show the rest of them what he's found one day. He is finally what he considers pure and without desires. But the people who know him the most closely are the most disturbed. The other preists say that he no longer bothers to sing songs, or watch the sunrise over the mountains. The children complain that he doesn't take time to read stories to them like he used to. He tells them he no longer has the pain of even the most basic desires, that he has finally reached a calm, but nobody really has seen him happy since the transformation, calm and peaceful, but without any of the things that make him happy anymore.

There is a nobleman living on the shores of the emerald coast, who ripped out his soul waiting for a lover who will never return. He fell in love with a boy when he was young, and stayed with him for nearly a decade. But now the nobleman is being forced to marry some woman his father selected for him, and the man he loved is off somewhere he'll never know. He could have had that grief of mourning, could have remembered that smile, those shining eyes, those flowing locks of hair reaching like the arms of the sea across his chest. But he chose not to cry. Chose not to have happy memories. To be something empty that his father would be proud of.

Some say you shouldn't rip out your soul because some wants can be fulfilled, because the slave can find the freedom they yearn for, for the artist can finish their great works, for there is happiness to be had...

I think there's a simpler reason to not want to rip out your soul, I think it's better to be sad then to be empty. Within yearning for what cannot be there is some comfort, regardless of if the darkest of fates can be escaped or not. When there is only emptiness it the pain my become quiet and calm, but it's not like you won't be hurt, just that the despair surrounds you so much, and the pain is so deep inside you, it doesn't look like pain anymore.

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namgoonerr · 2 days ago

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ɪ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴄᴇ~ɴᴀᴍɢʏᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

tw: smut, oral (m!recieving), mentions of drug use, swearing, mdni

You don’t know why you took them. To pretend you were someone you weren’t? To feel more or to feel less or just not feel at all. You don’t know why you made most the choices you did, yet you made them anyway.

To say you weren’t totally shocked when the games you entered turned out to be games of death would be the truth. You were a addict in extreme debt who could only keep a job for a bit over a month maximum, so when a man in a suit playing ddakji in a subway offered you a way to pay off all your debts you thought ‘what’s the worst that could happen.’

You somehow managed to make it through the first game with somewhat ease. When you were back in the bunk room you looked around, observed the others there with you. The people who stuck out the most to you were player 456 the guy who supposedly had played the games before though you thought he was full of shit, player 149 an older lady who seemed to know player 007, you could only assume they were related, and lastly player 230 and 124-230 being a ‘rapper’ but he just seemed stupid and 124 following him around like a toddler.

During the second game you somehow found yourself on a team with that “rapper” and toddler. While waiting for your teams turn you were sandwiched between players 380 and 124 who’s names you learned were Se-mi and nam-gyu. You were watching the other players who were up though you really were lost in thought, about what? You didn’t remember. Though you did remember glancing over and noticing colorful pills inside 230 or thanos cross. He was offering Nam-su some before you decided to speak up.

“Give me one.” You reach your hand over nam-gyu waiting for thanos to hand you one “Señorita I-" You roll your eyes not caring for the rest of his sentence and wanting the colorful pill "Look you either give me the pill or I freak out and get all of us killed" He stares at you before saying something and handing you one of the pills. You didnt know what he had said nor did you care.

after that you hung around them, not that you wanted allies or felt comfort in numbers, you felt comfort in drugs, which thanos provided. You also found the whole place boring without some conversation. After the third game se-mi and minsu voted to leave which clearly angered nam-gyu and thanos was annoyed but no where near as upset as nam-gyu. You voted to stay not for the fact nam-gyu was pressuring your whole group to vote stay, but because you had nothing to go to outside of the games expect the possibility of an eviction notice.

After the voting everything was truly a blur to you, granted you were tired and high, all you know is by the next day both thanos and se-mi were dead. You didn’t know what minsu or nam-gyu were doing and you truly didn’t care but you did care for the cross, which you had no clue of it’s where abouts.

“y/n, psst” you could hear someone talking to you but all you could think was where the cross might be. A high chance that it went with where ever the hell thanos body went, but there was a possibility somebody took it but who? Definitely not mi- “y/n.” your thoughts were interrupted and you turn to see nam-gyu standing beside your bunk, you noticed the little things but especially his dilated pupil-which could only mean he had the cross. “You have it?” you draw out and he raises a brow before laughing “Oh you mean the cross? Yeah, I have it, but I don’t plan on giving you anything out of it” he adds and that’s when you fully pay attention to him. Thanos had pills like none of the others you’d ever had, they were super strong and made everything better “W-what, no, come on nam-gyu I’ve done nothing to you” you whine, you didn’t want to have to beg him for them, but you were in the slightest tempted too “see you were the one of the group who really stood out, I almost found you interesting” you wondered what he meant but didn’t care enough to ask since you were more focused on the refusal to give you a pill. “Nam-gyu, please, I-I voted stay like you wanted, so come on” he rolls his eyes “you did that for yourself bitch” you turn your full body to face him. “Nam-gyu please I’ll do anything” that seemed to work, he thinks for a minute before his voice got lower “While everyone lines up for food, come to the bathroom” you were confused, taken back a bit before realizing what he meant as he walked off

You weren’t into nam-gyu though you didn’t find him ugly by no means, and without one of those pills before the game you were done for, so was fucking nam-gyu in the bathroom in exchange for a pill really so bad? As you walk past the lines for food you walk to the bathroom, not thinking about what was about to happen but about the cross and what was in it.

After entering the bathroom it was a matter of seconds before you found yourself on your knees taking his tip in his mouth and in one swift thrust you’re gagging on his length. “Who would’ve thought of all people you’d be on the bathroom floor taking me” you roll your eyes before gagging a bit as he sets his pace. You glance up at him seeing the cross around his neck. He quickens the pace tossing his head back and grunting before he glances down at you. “Fuck-” you feel the tears forming in your eyes as you take his length down your throat before hearing his groan before feeling the warm white liquid fill your mouth before he slowly pulls his dick from your mouth before you hesitantly swallow every drop and watch as he pulls up his boxers and the green tracksuit pants before you speak up “uh the pill?” he looks at you before opening the cross and handing the pill over and walking out.

a/n: first time writing smut not my proudest work and lowk rushed

#nam-gyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game 3 #roh jae won #squid game x reader #smut #squid game season 2 #squid game season 3 #squid game s3 #thanos x reader #su bong x reader #namgyu x you #namgyu squid game #squid game fanfic #namgyu x reader #squid game x you

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torchwood-99 · 20 hours ago

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Downton: The Grand Finale Spoilers,

From previews found on Barnes and Noble

(First things first, Edith in stripes! Edith in stripes! Sorry, I just adore stripes, so I love this look on Edith.)

So it seems like the big drama with Harold and money is going to revolve around there no longer being money to repair some cottages, and turn a library into a music room to honour Violet and Martha (who is now confirmed to be dead).

I always suspected that the selling Downton hints in the trailer were misdirection, and as the family is considering a sentimental (as opposed to practical) measure like making a music room, it suggests that the family, although banking on Cora's family's money, does not start of in grave financial peril

Mary is given a particularly bold and confident look for a very exclusive ball, which she wears unaware that her world is about to come "crashing down", so it seems like this happens in the early days of her divorce, and she's just beginning to realise what the consequences are.

Mary will buy that dress while on a shopping trip with Edith. Will never say no to a shipping montage. Will be fun to see these two out shopping together. We saw they were already on good terms by last movie (Edith helped Mary with initial negotiations over the film). I wouldn't be surprised if this is the opening sequence. Mary and Edith swanning about shops, looking glamorous, feels like a fun way of opening things. Then that tea shot will be used for exposition. That's my betting anyway.

I called it that the hostess is hurrying Mary out of the room because there is royalty on the way. There's no way Mary's divorcee status wouldn't otherwise be known, and the hostess would have known Mary was present until now, so the arrival of royalty makes sense for the hostess trying to hastily get her out of the way.

We've got confirmation that Henry had an affair, which I suspected it must be, as adultery was really the only way of getting a divorce back then, and it was Mary filing for divorce. It'll be interesting to see if Henry still wanted to stay with Mary or not.

I'm very interested in that line about Henry "hiring and naming someone else in court", does that mean he hired someone to pretend to be his affair partner? I hope this means we get a look at the legal technicalities of getting divorced back then.

The winning back the county through "special guests" makes me believe they use their celebrity ties through Thomas and Guy to have a celebrity party. This will be the dinner party we see at the beginning of the trailer, where Robert does the toast for Mary. We see Mary and Edith wearing the same dresses at that dinner, later on as they're clapping Guy and random hot guy (who was making eyes at Mary because of course she would have another love interest) playing piano (Thomas is at that party too). So I think that the social scandal in Yorkshire will be resolved that way.

Going downstairs, we've also got confirmation that Mrs Patmore and Daisy are separating.

My bet is that Daisy will be taking over the kitchens, while Mrs Patmore retires to her Bed and Breakfast with Mr Mason.

There's going to be Ascot drama, which will be fun! I speculated early on that Mary's exclusion from the Royal enclosure will be brought up, and some sharp eyed fans noticed that everyone except Mary is wearing name tags for the Royal Enclosure (including Tom, which is...something)

A big cheer for Bertie, who has arranged a lunch for the Granthams in White's Marquee, where Mary is watching the race. Lovely, lovely Bertie, sorting out lunch for everyone. I'm expecting (demanding) some close ups of the food.

Here we get plot hints for Tom and Edith! Yay! I wasn't really expecting them to have a "plot", so much as just watching them react to the drama going on with Downton while generally vibing. Edith having a "showdown" with a "trickster", new character Gus Sambrook, sounds fun, and Tom meets an old friend. The reference to America makes me think this friend is someone he knew when he was in Boston with Sybbie. Whoever this Gus is, it sounds like he is seeking introductions at the race. I don't know how much screentime this plotline will have, but if Edith is to have a specific reasons for being the one to have a showdown, then it might be because she and Bertie, as the Marquess and Marchioness, might be particular targets of his. I hope Edith gets to have fun with her showdown, and I'm looking forward to Tom meeting an old pal. I also hope that the business Tom shared with Henry gets brought up, so it isn't entirely forgotten. Considering Henry has been travelling, Tom will have been the one running it anyway.

And the movie will end with Robert and Cora moving to the Dower House, where Violet used to live. I'm sure that Robert will have bittersweet feelings about this, and that Hugh will bring all the pathos.

#Downton Abbey #Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale #Spoilers #Downton Abbey Spoilers #Mary Crawley #Edith Crawley #Tom Branson #Bertie Pelham #Mrs Patmore #Daisy Mason #Robert Crawley #Cora Crawley

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farfromharry · 2 days ago

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Summary: A late night swim with Lando ends up in an admission of feelings that were a long time coming

lando norris x reader

w/c 1565

A vacation with friends were usually some of your favourite moments. You didn’t always get to see them as often as you would have liked. So when someone suggested a group trip to some island somewhere, you were up for it. But tonight, things just didn’t feel right. The first couple days had been nice, fun and relaxing. By day 4 you were burnt out. The constant presence of other people has drained you in a way you should have really anticipated. Maybe leaving your safe cocoon of your bedroom had been a bad idea after all. You just needed a little ‘you’ time.

At some point, when no one was looking and everyone was laughing, you slipped out. There was a pool outside that you had found yourself drawn to for the last few days. It was nice out there, with the view and the peace.

You didn’t end up being alone for long.

“Thought I might find you out here.”

You smiled into your knees. If there was one person that was going to find you out here, it was always going to be him. Some of your friends had mentioned the possibility of Lando joining at some point when the race weekend was over. Max didn’t think he would, what with how busy his schedule was. He would probably want to relax on his own. And then he’d seen the pictures, saw you there smiling and knew he couldn’t stay away. He didn’t see you anywhere near as much as he would like to.

He came and sat beside you without a word. Any normal person would have asked if you wanted company. Sitting out here surely meant you wanted to be alone. Lando’s company was different. It didn’t feel like you were trying to put on an act. You could be yourself with him and there was no judgement. He knew things worked both ways.

For a while you both sat quietly. Simply being.

It was you who ended up being the first to break the silence. “Everything was just getting a little too loud in there. Needed to breathe.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He got it. A little too well actually. His whole life was a little too loud. He knew what it was like to be forced to socialise when it was the very last thing he wanted to do. Sometimes it’s important to take a break for yourself.

A sigh. He could tell it was one of relief. You didn’t need to pretend now.

It was so nice to be around someone that just got you. “Missed you.” You remembered a time when you used to go to all his races. Back when he first started in F1 you were his number one cheerleader. Then life and work got in the way. Now it just wasn’t realistic. You wished you got to spend more time with him, but he was far too busy living his crazy lifestyle. And you would never make him feel bad for living his life.

Your words created a flutter of something in his chest. “Missed you more.” That was the complete truth. There was something he felt when hanging out with you that he didn’t ever feel with someone else. You completed a part of him he was unaware was incomplete.

Eventually Lando got tired of sitting still, something he did often. He got to his feet, pulling his hoodie over his head. Your brow furrowed. It wasn’t exactly boiling, so you had no idea why he was taking off his layers. It didn’t stop where you thought it was going to. Next came his shirt, then his joggers and finally his socks. Only when he stood there in nothing but his underwear did you have some idea what he was about to do.

He noticed you eyeing him. Obviously he couldn’t just let it go. “What, you want the boxers off as well?”

You managed a laugh, a very nervous one at that, but your cheeks burned nonetheless. It wasn’t exactly something you hadn’t ever thought about. His flirting caught you off guard a lot though. He enjoyed every second of it.

With a yell, he took off running, taking a dive into the crystal clear water below.

“What are you doing?” The laugh that slipped out was completely involuntary. All your previous emotions were quickly replaced by bubbling laughter.

He emerged from the water with a cheeky grin, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. You rolled your eyes, splashing him back. It didn’t phase him. He simply shoved his hair out of his eyes and continued looking at you with a menacing look. He was up to something.

In response to your question, he shrugged his shoulders. “Taking a dip. It’s nice in here. You should join me.” He waved his arms in the water, keeping himself afloat, but his eyes were permanently locked on you.

Considering you had come out here to get away from the chaos inside, you didn’t seem to hesitate when he wanted you to join him. He was transfixed when you pulled off your shirt. It filled you with a sense of power you didn’t know you could feel. With anyone else you would have hated the attention, but you were hopelessly gone for this one. You didn’t want him to ever stop looking at you.

Your shorts came off next. He whistled. You rolled your eyes.

A split second was all it took for you to make the decision to go through with it. Your choice of dive was a cannonball. Something to make the biggest splash possible just to bother him.

Swimming in your underwear with the man you were in love with was freeing in a way you didn’t expect. There was more laughter from you in the past 10 minutes than you’d had all holiday. It was the effect he had on you.

At some point he’d stopped messing around, his eyes softening when he looked at you. The look he was giving you was too inviting to turn down.

You were the one to swim into his arms.

There had always been some kind of unspoken thing between you. Things were easy with him. They felt right. But it was unclear to both of them why they had never acted on it. Maybe he didn’t want to drag you into his crazy world, the one that included hate and expectations, not to mention the lack of privacy. Maybe you didn’t feel like you belonged in his world. You weren’t a celebrity, or someone who wanted all that attention. You were just you and you liked it like that. But you also like Lando. And you like Lando a whole lot more than any of those other things.

With your arms around his neck, his own took your waist, keeping you pressed close to him. His head tucked into your neck allowing you to card your fingers through his soggy curls. You felt his breath against your skin as he sighed with content. For a short period of time, you just held each other.

The first kiss to your skin caught you by surprise. His lips against your neck. It was a foreign feeling, though one you could get used to; would rather like to get used to. When you didn’t immediately push him away or react with disgust, he kept going. Another kiss to your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Then he wanted your permission.

His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, silently asking the question. It was a wonder he couldn’t hear your heartbeat. His nose brushed against yours, thumb tracing your cheekbone. He wanted you to know this was more than just a random act of lust. “I think I love you,” he whispered. There was no ‘think’ about it really. He was just scared of rejection if he bared his heart.

A breath left your lips. Your heart was pounding. Oddly, you were still at ease. Where you thought a million and one things would be running around in your head, it was quiet up there. You had been unknowingly waiting for this admission. “I know I do. Now, please kiss me.”

Who was he to say no?

Your lips met in a kiss that had been coming for years. 6 years worth of affection poured into one single act. It was overwhelming. It was almost enough to bring you to tears. You never knew you needed Lando like this. Now that you had him, you didn’t think you could ever go back to the unspoken feelings from before.

If it weren’t for oxygen, you would have kissed him for hours on end. He couldn’t resist stealing one more kiss though.

The kiss had been coming for so long that it didn’t need to be addressed. So neither of you spoke about it. He focused on something else instead. “They’re totally watching us, right now,” he muttered. How he knew, you had no idea. Maybe he felt their eyes on them.

Your head turned, looking right at the sliding glass doors where your friends were in fact all standing there, watching. They scattered as soon as they knew they’d been caught, pretending they hadn’t done anything. You laughed. Nothing was going to spoil the bubble you were in.

#lando norris #formula one #lando norris x reader #formula 1 x reader #mclaren #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #mclaren x reader

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commandershepardvasfuckit · 2 days ago

Text

Kingsguard part 7

M!Minotaur x f!reader (for this part, normally m!troll x f!reader)

2.9k words

While no longer completely ignoring you, Ba’tual still wasn’t really talking to you. The son of the grand huntsmaster from a local minotaur clan however is very interested in talking to you. And more.

————

Days past much the same. You had been spending more time in the city itself and not just the hold, taking time to speak with shopkeepers, artisans, and anyone else willing to answer your questions. It was a good change of pace to be able to explore more of the city, and for better or for worse it kept you mostly away from Ba’tual.

The few time you had crossed paths with him he just seemed to observe you, making no attempt to approach or really acknowledge you but at least he wasn’t flat out ignoring you like before. You supposed that was better. Mostly you only saw him when someone of importance visited the hold and he was either on guard duty or training recruits outside. Today was no different.

One of the other minotaur clans had detoured to speak with you, not wanting the other clan to be the only one you took note of. It was a good sized hunting party, including their grand huntsmaster. He was gray in the mane and muzzle, and an absolute well of information; correcting maps of the areas his clan hunted in, teaching you about their gods, and asking thoughtful questions about humans.

From time to time the other hunters jumped in and spoke, or they’d run to their camp just outside the city to fetch another member of their group. Tanners, cooks, fletchers, bowers, nearly a whole mobile village.

The only person who didn’t seem to interested in everything was the grand huntsmaster’s son, Suna, who mostly just sat in the corner and twiddled his thumbs or whittled. Many times he tried to slip out to explore the city, only to be caught and chastised by his father on the importance of building relations with allies and understanding others.

“Sorry my dad is so boring” Suna playfully snorted as the group left for the day.

“He’s not boring, he’s knowledgeable and it’s been interesting to be able to compare your clan to the last clan that came through.”

“So you really like this sort of stuff?”

“Yeah? It’s my job.”

“But you actually like like it? You find this fun?”

“I do.”

“Huh” he gave you a look up and down.

“And what about you? Do you like being a hunter?”

“It’s not bad, I like being on the move. I feel restless being somewhere for too long and I like the challenge of tracking things. How long have you been here anyways?”

“A few months.”

“Good, you should know somewhere good to eat then.”

The two of you ended up in a little tavern you frequented close to the inn you were staying at. Suna was playful, teasing you over being an archivist, but asking you just as many questions about humans as you asked about minotaurs.

“I’ll be here a few more days, I’d like chat with you some more if you have the time” Suna said as you parted ways for the evening.

“Dinner again tomorrow?” you asked.

“I’d like that.”

The next day went much the same, though Suna actually listened along a bit while you spoke to the elders and occasionally chimed in between whittling in the corner.

“So whittling?” you asked Suna while the two of you walked to the same tavern as the day before for dinner again.

“Anything to keep awake. I think my dad would kill me if I fell asleep in there” he laughed.

“So what where you making?”

“Just this, but I’m not too great at it” he pulled a small carved deer from his bag. It was a bit wonky and wobbly, and the legs weren’t the same length, but it was still recognizably a deer and charming.

“It’s better than I can do, and it’s still cute.”

“Here, take it then if you like it.”

“Really? Thanks” you smiled as you took it from him.

You sat together at the tavern just chatting. Suna was easy to talk to, there was something warm and inviting about him. It also help that you found him quite striking. He was tall, taller than an orc but shorter than a troll, with a broad chest and shoulders and well built arms and back from years of drawing a bow.

“I haven’t been here since I was little, hid behind my mom’s legs every time someone walked past us. First time I had seen orcs or trolls, I didn’t know any orcish, and I was terrified” Suna laughed, “But that was twenty? Twenty-five years ago maybe.”

“You were that scared of some orcs and trolls?” you couldn’t hold back a bit of a giggle.

“I was like 5! Do you know how big an orc is when you’re only 5?” he defended, but was laughing too.

“They’re still pretty big to me!”

“And what are your thoughts on minotaur? Too big for you?” he was giving you quite the smirk, looking you up and down, gauging your reaction.

“Depends on who’s asking” you leaned into it.

“Well, I’m asking, if you happen to be interested in trying anything, because I am. No pressure, it’s also just nice talking to someone I’m not spending months at a time camping with” he laughed again, though a bit nervously.

It had been pure academic curiosity that made you jump at the opportunity to travel here, but a new sort of curiosity had quickly popped up once you settled in. Even before Ba’tual had ever approached you, you found yourself looking a little too long at sparring guards or while passing the blacksmith’s shop. There weren’t many minotaurs in the city, and it would be a lie to say you didn’t look up excitedly at the clicking of hooves.

Now Suna sat across from you, swishing tail giving away that maybe he wasn’t as collected and nonchalant as he’d like you to think he was over his question. He was charming though. Forward but not pushy, genuinely pleasant to talk to, and definitely going to keep casual since his hunting party would be leaving in a few days.

“If you want to think about it that’s fine” he broke the silence, “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

You looked him over again. He was handsome, light glinted off his impressive horns and fur, he seemed sweet and you could definitely do worse.

“The inn I’m staying at is just down the road” you smiled and leaned in a bit farther to tease him before leaning back.

“Lead the way.”

The walk to the inn was a bit awkward, though several times Suna tried to make small talk.

“So, have you been with anyone who wasn’t human before?” he asked.

Was honesty the best policy? You debated just saying you hadn’t before to avoid any more awkward conversations, but decided against it.

“Just once or twice, casual stuff” you quickly told him.

“Any minotaurs?”

“Not yet.”

That seemed to please him, he stood up a bit straighter and puffed out his chest, “Well, at least your first time will be good then.”

“And what about you? Ever been with someone who wasn’t a minotaur?”

“No, I uh, figured I’d take the chance since I’m here though.”

“So you went right for a human?” you teased.

“Why not? You seemed pretty open to trying new things” he teased right back.

The rest of the short walk was in comfortable silence, though Suna purposefully bumped your shoulder and gave you a smirk several times. You kept looking around, looking for anyone who might recognize you, anyone who might mention anything to Ba’tual. It was stupid to be worried about what he might think, but it still weirdly weighed on you.

Back in your room at the inn though any thoughts about Ba’tual were quickly banished. Suna moved quickly, the door was barely closed and locked before he had you backed against it. When Ba’tual had backed you up against a wall it always felt like an intimidation tactic, Suna’s just felt passionate. He hunched down to kiss you, it was a bit clumsy but was genuine seeming. Looking back to when Ba’tual had kissed you, you were pretty sure it was just to drop your guard. All of his smiles, little niceties, the kiss, all fake. All just to make you trust him.

You pressed up against Suna, feeling his heart racing, how his hands wandered up and down you sides, how he moaned into your mouth, how you felt his throbbing cock against you.

There wasn’t any room between you, but it didn’t stop of from making some. Slipping you hand down between the two of you and giving him a few strokes, making him pause the kiss to groan and lean on to you more.

“Right to it, huh?” he sighed.

You just shrugged, honestly you had expected to just get “right to it” for a casual hookup, but you sure also weren’t going to complain if Suna wanted to drag things out. Instead you reached up to grab one of his horns and pull him back down and into the kiss. He nudged your legs apart, nestling his thigh between yours and grinding up against your center and making you weak in the knees.

You needed to touch him more. You released your grip on his horn to instead run your hand under his shirt and up his chest. His fur was short, dense and soft, covering a soft stomach and a strong chest, and he was so warm. He followed your lead and pulled his shirt up and over his head, letting you get at more of him. It was impossible to ignore how you felt his heart racing or how his chest heaved.

A smile crept across your lips mid kiss, it was fun. Getting handsy, making out, just not feeling rushed, you couldn’t help but smile.

He trailed the kiss to your neck, burying his face against you and peppering you in little kisses. His hands slipped under the bottom of your blouse and he took his time just exploring. Slow touches up your sides, a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer, the other moving up a bit farther to cup your breast. You leaned into his touch, sighing softly while he continued kissing your neck.

It surprised you when he picked you up, suddenly reaching both hands around to the back of your thighs, lifting you off your feet and wrapping your legs around his waist. You let out a startled squeak, which only seemed to amuse him.

“I won’t drop you” he promised.

He laid you down on you back on the bed and settled down next to you on his side. Without missing a beat he slipped a large hand into the waist of your skirt and into your panties, pausing to speak for a moment.

“Think you’ll be able to take all of me?” he teased.

“Depends on how good of a job you do now.”

His hands dipped lower and between your folds, gliding easily from your wetness, thick fingers brushing against your clit or entrance making you sigh and moan. Slowly he worked a finger into you, taking his time until his knuckle was pressed against you. Like trolls, minotaur had the same odd three-fingered hands, which meant even a single finger from Suna was a good stretch.

Automatically you rolled your hips up against him, searching for any friction you could on your clit. He flattened him palm for you and adjusted his angle, for all of his nervous tail flicking earlier he sure knew what to do.

You reached up to tangle your hand into his mane and pull his face down to yours. Happily he picked back up on the kiss, his broad tongue filling your mouth.

It didn’t take long for him to have you gasping, clenching around his finger while you came. You were shuddering as you breathed, trying to catch your breath while he was still palming at your clit a bit.

“Good to give it a shot?” he asked.

“Wha-?” it took a moment for your mouth and brain to catch up with each other to figure out what he meant.

“I mean, humans are a lot smaller than minotaurs, and I don’t want to hurt you on accident or anything…”

“It’ll- it’ll be fine” you managed to spit out between deep breaths.

Suna nudged you over so he could lay next to you, laying on his back and then pulling you on top of his chest. His fur was warm and soft against your cheek and it felt nice to cuddle a bit. It was close and cozy, though you weren’t one to cuddle much with a hookup typically, but you could definitely make an exception for him.

A few long minutes passed and you sat up to start shimmying out of your skirt and panties. It wasn’t the most graceful thing you had ever done, but Suna was just looking up at you with a soft smile on his face. Without warning he swiftly lifted his hips up to take his pants off, but the sudden moment sent you toppling forward to bump heads with him.

He just laughed and patted the back of your head, “Hope you can stay on better when you’re riding me.”

“Behave then.”

“I’ll consider it.”

On slightly wobbly legs you sat up on your knees, positioning yourself over his hard cock. You wrapped your hand around him to get a better feel for what you were working with. He was thick, maybe not quite as thick as Ba’tual; but unlike Ba’tual, Suna wasn’t tapered at all. Tentatively you rocked your hip to let his tip glide along your folds.

“Take your time,” he cooed, “we have all night.”

You didn’t want it to take all night, and maybe that was silly of you, but still. Instead you stubbornly lined yourself up and took his first few inches. He might have not been as thick as Ba’tual, but it still stung a bit and left you panting since you couldn’t ease into it with his flared tip.

“Careful there” he cautioned, though his grip on your hip tightened.

“Just- just give me a minute” you stammered. You closed you eyes and drew deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, just steadying yourself.

“Tell me what to do” he said.

“Just hold still.”

You softly bounced on his cock, just sliding his tip in and out while you adjusted, a slow process but it was paying off as you took more of him. At least he looked just as undone as you. One hand still firmly gripping your hip and and the other balled into the sheets while he tried not to move.

“By the ancestors” he nearly hissed, “that’s a tight squeeze. Fuck.”

Finally you felt the back of your thighs meet his hips, he felt almost impossibly deep in you. Your legs were sore from holding yourself up for so long, you gave in and just flopped forward on to his chest.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already” he teased, but his voice was strained.

“Just really sore.”

“That’s alright. You did so good pretty girl, you worked so hard, so just let me take care of you now, ok?”

You just nodded into his chest.

Slowly he rolled his hips up against yours, not so much thrusting as much as he was just grinding, pushing just a bit deeper and making your toes curl. Doubled over like this your clit rubbed against his pelvis and a warmth pooled low in your belly while slick, lewd sounds filled the room.

“That’s a good girl, you take me so well.”

His grinding became shallow thrusts, rubbing right against your g-spot and making you whimper. He had one hand on your lower back to keep you held close and the other softly patting the back of your head.

“Cum for me. You squeezed my finger so tight earlier, I wanna feel that on my dick.”

You rocked your hips against him, setting your own pace that he happily followed, whispering a mix sweet nothings and filth that would have made you blush if all the blood in your body wasn’t already between your legs. With a few final whimpers you felt yourself gush around him, tensing up and relaxing several times before waves was pleasant tingles and good bumps danced along your skin.

Suna sped up, not lasting much longer than you and letting out a low groan while you felt his cock throb in you. His seed slowly dripped out of your sore cunt and mixed with your own fluids, though he didn’t seem bothered as it soaked the fur of his thighs.

You found yourself drifting off listening to his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“I should get up and get some washcloths so you can clean up and get going” you said, though you were comfortable and really didn’t want to move. Still, it was just a hookup and you knew he probably wasn’t interested in hanging around.

“Really going to toss me out into the dark and cold?” his tone was a playful.

“Oh! I just figured-”

“It’s late, and I’m tired. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like to cuddle after.”

“I like it too” you snuggled into his chest a bit, “though we still should probably clean up.”

“Clean up? It’s just cum, it’s fine. Leave it for the morning.”

For a moment you almost laughed. You couldn’t imagine Ba’tual ever saying the same.

#monster fucker #teratophillia #monster lover #terato #monster x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #minotaur #minotaur x reader

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