#damn ads is a nightmare

[wystia]

my tumblr is so damn glitchy. why do i have five asks in my inbox but when i open it there’s nothing there 🤨

[sleepdeprivedlilbean]

ah yes my favorite duo 💃🕺 : centuries old eldridge horror and his ✨favorite man slut✨

close-ups and my ramblings under the cut (it’s a lot guys. i have a lot of feelings about them and i was just YAPPING 😫)

yall really ate up my last post with Nightmare which omg thank u guys so much for that 🥺

now here’s more 😈

anyway

slutty manservant isn’t the only outfit Killer has, but it’s definitely his favorite lmao (the amount of times he’s been asked if he’s a Lust variant is crazy 💀. don’t get me wrong tho they r besties 💅)

the trench coat vibe was also definitely the way to go with Nightmare and i just 😫

now what’s their dynamic?

i definitely feel like my version of Nightmare and Killer are very much a “talks and listens” duo like shown with the chibi little guys

honestly tho, at first their relationship was strictly business and transactional, but the more time they spent together, the more comfortable they got in each others company and eventually became friends and equals and maybe more

and i feel like during all of that it’s just the two of them. Murder and Horror don’t show up until waaay later once Killer and Nightmare’s relationship has already been established

and no their relationship (whatever it may be, romantic or not i’ll be honest i still haven’t decided 🥲) isn’t toxic, as how i c my Nightmare isn’t anything like cannon Nightmare if that wasn’t already clear

my Nightmare, once free from the rage fueled haze of his corruption, is actually rather calm, collected, and dare say kind in his own way (he is a man of action and very few words)

he doesn’t create negativity out of malicious intent, but rather out of necessity, and actively will comfort those who are greatly struggling, which is how he first came into contact with Killer, seeing him isolated in his dying world

Killer was the first person Nightmare had attempted to “comfort” per say, and was freshly free from his corrupted mentality, hence, y he wasn’t very good at it lol. also, the corruption was reason he hadn’t gotten to Killer sooner in the first place, as he as actively enjoying the suffering Killer was going through at the time. if that makes sense???

anyway, sure they might have been cold to each other at first, with a lack of comforting on Nightmare’s part which somehow turned into a partnership?? but nothing was ever abusive within their relationship

i feel like the turning point for them would be that Nightmare admits to Killer in a moment of vulnerability that he was the first and only person to treat him like he wasn’t some, abomination. monster. freak

he’s never judged him based on his poor past actions, nor is role/duty

he accepts him. and all of him. fully and with all of his flaws not that he has any

(god i love them)

i do feel like if they were in a romantic relationship it’d be rather casual in a way that makes it clear there’s something going on between them, but they’re definitely not the type for pda (veeerrry rarely and only in front of people the trust. it’s a different story when they’re in bed tho 😏)

they’re the old married couple that banters and teases each other but with much more sexual tension lol

ok that’s enough yapping from me haha

if you’ve made it this far genuinely ur the best like wow 🥹

this was a looooot of nonsense so thanks for taking the time to read it all

i’ll be honest i still have more to say but like 💀 nah im cut off-

maybe someday tho…

alright bye 😘

[beastsovrevelation]

I had another Good Omens fanfiction dream this morning.

Basically, Crowley was due to give birth. You might ask, Pestilence, what's with you and Crowley being pregnant?.. The answer is, I don't know, and neither does my therapist.

So, Crowley's due to give birth, he's scared and in pain. Beelzebub shows up, along with a few other demons (I guess I'll look through the Key of Solomon, I remember a few have to do with healing). She told him they'll support him. I have a feeling, the dream adhered to my idea that Crowley and Beelzebub are siblings (in spite Beelzebub looking like she does in S2, so Indian).

Crowley had to change to his snake form, because while his human form was male (so he couldn't give birth without surgery, which was too dangerous), his snake form was female. The demons put him in a whelping box (genius idea). Crowley gave birth to either 4 or 6 baby snakes (apparently, they're called snakelets). It was a live birth, which, fun fact, some snakes do give (i think boa constrictors, and snake Crowley kind of looks like one, aside from the colouring). The baby snakes then morphed to human form. I don't think Crowley nearly died, but he lost a lot of blood, and got extremely exhausted. No, it probably wasn't realistic to how snakes actually give birth.

(They were far larger, though)

Oh, and at some point, Aziraphale found out, but someone (possibly Beelzebub) forbade him from coming, because an angel's presence would distress the babies, and they wouldn't take human form. They could also die.

No, I don't think Aziraphale was the "father". The babies were demons, while, according to my headcanons, when an angel procreates with a demon, the baby's an angel, as it's the original form (though, they do retain some demonic features). Maybe, Crowley mated with an actual snake, or something... It would be very Greek and Norse god of him, but what the Heaven, dude... I guess, Beelzebub could act as the litter's she-father, once the two had reconciled. Which, is a word I use for maternal figures who, traditionally, would be considered more paternal. You know, kind of emotionally detached, more provider than carer, often absent, that sort of deal.

This is incoherent, but I only remember fragments. I guess, I will put it down in my notes for the future. I already did. (I'm kind of tempted to write the birth scene, I like writing birth scenes, they're brutal).

Don't you just have a love/hate relationship with when you are already swamped with WIPs, but the Fanfiction Gods send you another vision?..

Also, don't you just hate it when you give birth to a litter of snakelets, with the help of your coworkers, and your estranged sister.

What the Hell do you even name that many damn whelps...

[irenic-raccoon]

British Yaoi 👍

[blueheartedmayor]

OOC:

[iscratchdoors]

man fuck temu ads i wanna see more ads for shit like a leopard trying to convert me to christianity or a single hat

[emotargaryen]

went to get a 4th margarita (i know) and realized while pouring that i finished off the tequila and then i heard my stepdad in the downstairs freezer getting his nightly ice cream treat even though he was KNOCKED on the couch literally a half hour ago and on my way downstairs i knocked over the basket of keys on the stairs which ruined all attempts of being stealthy trying not to be sent by it happy new year to me

[isenkus]

mha reactions to their kid being disrespectful towards their mom ?

mom! reader, girl dads! tdbkdk, inspired by the newest scenes i had to witness of my little cousin this holiday season. i can't use my childhood because i met 'mr belt' and i never misbehaved since.

IZUKU MIDORIYA as . . . the nice cop.

— izuku would probably be gentle with his parenting, and that's why he's in this situation in the first place. he's the type of parent that tries to reason with his child with a very nice voice, which ends up accidentally raising a manipulative child. even so, he'll never raise his voice towards his child, but he'll definitely get more serious. especially if she's being disrespectful towards his wife.

it was a tranquil sunday afternoon, where you and your family had visited izuku's mother for lunch. excited for the community pool, your daughter went dressed in her green sundress and her little mermaid swimsuit underneath. her smile dropped when she heard the news.

"i'm sorry, sweetie, the pool is closed!" you frowned, to which your daughter started crying. trying to comfort her, you guided her towards the bathroom to change clothes. what you weren't expecting though, was...

"don't touch me! leave me alone, you witch!"

izuku had never sprinted towards you faster in his life, eyes widened in disbelief. he lowered down to his daughter's height, as he called her attention. "hey kiddo, you didn't really mean that, right?"

your daughter nodded, "mommy won't let me go to the pool" she cried. "she's mean and a witch!"

izuku sighed as he patted his daughter's head, ruffling her hair. "the pool is closed, baby. we can come back tomorrow when it opens, okay? but never call mommy that again, yeah? you hurt her and my feelings that way. now, apologize to your mom."

"'m sorry mommy."

"and you'll never go to the pool again" you whispered to your husband, to which he nodded. "and then, maybe, we won't take you to the pool because you weren't nice to mommy. you have to love your mommy and treat her well" he added.

your daughter cried some more because she would never go to the pool again.

KATSUKI BAKUGO as . . . the restrained cop.

— katsuki would try to be gentle, but with his tone of voice, it would come out horribly. and if. his daughter is an exact copy of him? he would be pissed off and would probably ask you to reason with her first, because fighting fire with fire is horrible. when he finds out your daughter is disrespectful to you, though, he has to control himself not to scream at his child.

trying to teach your daughter to eat different foods was hard. and during the holidays? it was a nightmare.

when you sat beside her trying to spoon-feed her a small piece of turkey, she gagged. "gross! i'm not hungry. mommy made gross food! ew, ew, ew!"

katsuki's head quickly turned to the table where you sat, trying to reason with your daughter. as you fed her the food, she chewed it, and then opened her mouth. she spit. the food. on her hand.

katsuki had a face that read 'i know damn well she didn't, as he stepped closer. when you asked your daughter to please eat and to not waste any food, she snapped.

"shut up mommy!"

"who do ya think yer talking to, kid? huh? that's your mom" katsuki snaps, which earned a sob from his daughter. he realized he should've used a softer tone, but tough love, right? he was raised like that and he turned out fine.

"kid, do you know that mommy's hurt by the way you talked to her? see how ya started cryin' when i yelled? momma feels that way when ya don't treat her well. apologize."

your kid had never apologized quicker.

muttering a soft 'thank you', you turned to your daughter and helped her clean up her hand. katsuki, in the meantime, started wondering.

was the turkey he baked really that gross?

SHOTO TODOROKI as . . . the traumatized cop?

— shoto would try to do everything he can to not resemble his father. and if he ended up with a troubled kid, he would be very patient. if his daughter is disrespectful to his wife, he'd definitely be upset. he would also try to reason with her. he would pull the 'you wanna know how i got this scar' if things get really serious.

when you and your daughter were arguing upstairs, as you tried to dress her up for another todoroki family reunion. when she didn't want to get dressed, she cried.

"i'm going to tell daddy you hit me."

"sweetheart, please listen to me—"

bang.

your daughter threw herself onto the desk to her right, and started weeping more tears as she wailed, "daddy, mommy hit me!"

shoto ran up the stairs to find your weeping daughter and you with the most distressed look on your face. "did you?" he asked, to which you scoffed. "do you really think—"

"—i know you'd never" shoto cut you off, "but i had to ask. she needs to learn about trust, and not to lie."

your husband turned to her daughter, picking her up and cradling her on his arms. "where does it hurt?" he asked, as your daughter pointed at her forehead. his lips placed quick, caring kisses on your daughter's forehead as his expression turned more serious. "i want you to tell me the truth, (daughter's name). did mommy really hit you?"

your daughter looked around, her gaze finally fixating on the ground as she muttered a quiet 'no'.

"then why did you say that?"

she cried some more as she muttered nonsense into your husband's shoulders. shoto's hand cupped her cheek so she would look at him. "do you know how i got this scar?", he asked, to which she shook her head.

"my family was not very nice, and i ended up hurt" he stated, "and mommy is doing everything she can for you to feel loved. is this how we should be with mommy?"

your daughter shook her head.

"your mommy is very caring and nice with you, and we should be the same way with her. now, what do we say to her?"

"...sorry mommy."

"that's much better, my love. let's not do this again."

[writeriguess]

Can you do Katsuki x female reader where reader's daughter (who she had with another man years ago, her ex turned out to be abusive) finally warms up to Katsuki enough to start calling him her dad? The girl has traumas about her dad so it's a big step.

author's note: never mind about the GIF library—it only seems to work with certain tags. Katsuki's tag takes 5 minutes to load before throwing me with an error. I'll try adding GIFs to posts that actually load for me.

Piece by Piece

Katsuki had always been patient, in his own rough-edged way. He knew better than to force anything, especially when it came to your daughter, Aimi. She had every reason to be wary of men, of father figures, and he never blamed her for keeping her distance. He had seen the haunted look in her eyes when she flinched at loud voices, how she hesitated before speaking, always gauging if she was safe.

At first, she barely acknowledged him, only ever referring to him as "Mom’s boyfriend" or simply "Katsuki." It stung a little, but he never let it show. Instead, he showed up—again and again. Helping her with homework, cooking meals when you were busy, staying up with her when she had nightmares, and never pushing when she needed space. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He just wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

There were tough days. Days where she barely spoke a word to him, locking herself in her room, the old memories dragging her down. On those nights, he’d stay up, making sure she knew he was around if she needed anything. Some nights she had nightmares. He heard her muffled cries through the door but never forced his way in. Instead, he left a cup of tea outside her door, a small note scrawled on it: "You’re safe. We’ve got you."

Slowly, she started warming up. Small things—like watching TV in the same room as him instead of avoiding him altogether. Asking him to pass the salt at dinner instead of pretending he didn’t exist. He took every small win, knowing trust took time.

Tonight was no different. You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day, leaving Aimi and Katsuki alone in the kitchen. She sat at the table, lazily pushing around the remains of her dinner while Katsuki stood at the sink, washing dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aimi mumbled, staring at the soapy water. “Mom’ll do it in the morning.”

Katsuki huffed, rinsing off a plate. “Tch. Ain’t lettin’ her wake up to a mess. She does enough as it is.”

Aimi was quiet for a moment, watching him. He knew that look—like she was debating something, turning it over in her mind. “You always help,” she said finally, almost accusingly.

Katsuki dried his hands and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah. So?”

She fidgeted, picking at the edge of her sleeve. “My real dad never did.”

His chest tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just let her talk.

“He used to yell at Mom a lot. At me, too.” Her voice was small, but steady. “I used to wish he’d just leave us alone. But when he finally did, I still felt…wrong. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. The urge to track down that bastard and make him regret every word, every bruise, every scar he’d left on them—it burned hot inside him. But this moment wasn’t about his anger. It was about Aimi.

He forced himself to take a slow breath. “That asshole had nothin’ to do with your worth, kid. He was just a piece of shit who didn’t deserve you or your mom.”

Aimi looked up at him then, really looked at him. “You’re different.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was hammering. “Damn right, I am.”

She gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Katsuki froze. The plate in his hand nearly slipped. He turned to her slowly, his throat tight. “What’d you just say?”

She shifted, suddenly nervous. “I mean—only if you want me to call you that—”

He was across the room before she could finish, pulling her into a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, but then she melted into him, clutching his shirt with small hands.

“You’re damn right I do,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion. “You’re my kid now, got it?”

Aimi sniffled against his chest. “Okay…Dad.”

Katsuki held her tighter, pressing his chin against her head. He stayed like that, letting her feel the steady strength of his arms. After a few moments, she let out a small laugh, muffled against his chest.

“You’re squishing me.”

He grunted but loosened his grip slightly. “Tch. You’ll live.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression softer than he’d ever seen. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Katsuki’s throat tightened again, and he ruffled her hair roughly to hide the way his eyes burned. “Damn right you are. Best damn dad you coulda picked.”

She giggled, a sound so rare it made his heart ache. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Yeah, he’d never let her or you go. Not for anything.

[kiyawritesforf1]

Love in the Blind Spot

Pairing : Lando Norris x Sainz!Reader

Summary : Y/N spent a year hiding her identity as Carlos Sainz’s sister while dating Lando Norris, but when the truth finally comes out, chaos—and a very protective older brother—ensues.

Y/N had spent years keeping her life separate from Formula 1.

She loved her brother, but she hated the attention that came with being Carlos Sainz’s sister. The cameras, the headlines, the way people treated her differently once they knew her last name—she wanted none of it.

So when she met Lando Norris outside of the F1 world, she saw an opportunity.

He didn’t know who she was.

And she didn’t tell him.

For a year, she let herself be just Y/N. No paddock, no press, no constant questions about Carlos. Just her and Lando, existing in their own little world.

But secrets don’t stay hidden forever.

And this one was about to come crashing down.

Carlos Realizes

Carlos Sainz was a patient man. But something wasn’t adding up.

Over the past year, he had noticed the changes in Lando. The hushed phone calls, the unexplained grins after texting someone, the way he sometimes disappeared on off-weekends without telling anyone where he was going.

Carlos wasn’t stupid. Lando was obviously dating someone.

But when he caught Lando FaceTiming someone late at night, smiling in that dopey, affectionate way Carlos had never seen before, a strange feeling settled in his stomach.

Then, one day, while scrolling through Instagram, a picture caught his attention.

A group shot from a café in Monaco. A familiar café.

And right there, barely noticeable in the background, was his sister.

Carlos frowned. She had never mentioned going there. She never mentioned anything about her personal life these days.

But what made his heart stop was the way Lando’s hand was resting on hers under the table—small, subtle, but undeniably intimate.

Carlos stared at the photo. His brain refused to accept it.

No. No way.

But once the thought was in his head, he couldn’t ignore it.

The little things started making sense. The secretive smiles. The way Lando had accidentally called him “bro” one too many times recently. The way Y/N had been avoiding family gatherings, always with a vague excuse.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

His teammate.

His friend.

Had been dating his little sister.

And never told him.

Carlos was already dialing Y/N’s number before he could think twice.

The Confrontation

“You have two seconds to explain,” Carlos said the moment Y/N picked up.

Y/N froze. “…Explain what?”

Carlos let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Don’t play dumb, hermana. You and Lando.”

Silence.

Then, a quiet sigh. “…How did you find out?”

Carlos clenched his jaw. “So it’s true?”

Y/N hesitated before whispering, “Yes.”

Carlos closed his eyes. He didn’t even know what to feel. Anger? Betrayal? Confusion?

“How long?” he asked, voice tight.

“…A year.”

Carlos nearly dropped his phone.

“A YEAR?!”

Y/N winced. “Carlos, please—”

“A whole damn YEAR, Y/N?” Carlos’s voice was rising now. “And neither of you thought to tell me?!”

“I wanted to,” she admitted. “But I knew how you’d react.”

Carlos scoffed. “Oh, you knew? So you just decided to keep me in the dark?”

“I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of it.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “Of course it’s a big deal! You’re my sister!”

“I know,” Y/N said softly. “But that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I wanted to be just me, not ‘Carlos Sainz’s little sister.’”

Carlos sighed heavily. He understood, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“Does he—” Carlos swallowed. “Does he treat you right?”

Y/N smiled a little. “He makes me happy, Carlos.”

Carlos groaned. “That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, he treats me right. He loves me.”

Carlos let out a long breath. He still wanted to strangle Lando. But more than that, he wanted to hear it from him directly.

Because if Lando Norris had been secretly dating his sister for a year?

Then the next conversation was going to be a lot worse.

Lando’s Worst Nightmare

Lando had faced high-pressure situations before. Last-lap battles, tricky tire strategies, press conferences filled with impossible questions.

None of them compared to this.

Carlos had asked to “have a chat” after the team meeting, and Lando had never felt his stomach drop so fast in his life.

Now, here he was, standing in the McLaren motorhome, watching as Carlos crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.

Lando swallowed hard. “Hey, mate.”

Carlos didn’t return the greeting. He just tilted his head slightly. “You’re dating my sister.”

Lando forced a nervous chuckle. “So, you’ve heard.”

Carlos blinked slowly. “I heard it directly from her. You, on the other hand, never thought to mention it?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck. “In my defense… I didn’t know.”

Carlos arched a brow. “For a year?”

Lando sighed. “I swear, if I had known, I wouldn’t have kept it from you.”

Carlos exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Lando, do you have any idea how weird this is for me?”

Lando grimaced. “I can imagine.”

Carlos took a step closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Tell me something, Lando.”

Lando tensed. “Yeah?”

Carlos held his gaze. “Are you serious about her?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly at the directness of the question.

This wasn’t just a teammate talking. This was an older brother who loved his sister more than anything.

And Lando had only one answer.

“Yes,” he said, no hesitation. “I love her.”

Carlos stared at him for a long moment, reading him, weighing his words.

Then, finally, he sighed. “Good.”

Lando blinked. “Good?”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “You think I’d let you off that easy?”

Lando gulped. “Uh—”

Carlos smirked, but it wasn’t comforting. “Just know, if you ever hurt her…”

Lando nodded quickly. “Yeah. Got it. Loud and clear.”

Carlos clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard. “Welcome to the family, Norris.”

Lando wasn’t sure if he had just won or signed his own death sentence.

The Paddock Chaos

Y/N had successfully avoided the F1 paddock for years.

But now, she was walking through it hand-in-hand with Lando Norris.

And everyone was staring.

Charles smirked. “So, you’re real.”

Daniel slung an arm around Lando. “When’s the wedding?”

Y/N and Lando nearly choked.

Carlos’s eyes darkened. “Absolutely not.”

Lando held up his hands. “Let’s get through today first, yeah?”

The teasing continued all day, and Y/N quickly realized that dating an F1 driver—while also being related to another—meant there was no escape.

But that night, curled up with Lando, she knew one thing for sure.

She wouldn’t trade this for anything.

[natsaffection]

Code Red. pt 2 | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha × Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24) hospital atmosphere, panic, bones braking, Death

word count: 6,5k

A/n: New part! I mixed in 4 requests again, so I hope it works out well! Redline will have its moment tomorrow!!

Part 1

The cafeteria was a chaotic blend of frantic energy and the thick scent of overcooked food. Interns and residents buzzed around, trays piled high with something that was probably meant to resemble meatloaf and salad. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a break. A moment to breathe.

You sat at one of the corner tables, squeezed in between Levi and Taryn, your tray untouched as you poked at a sad excuse for lasagna. Your nerves were still fried from the OR. The way Natasha had let you struggle, the pressure, the thrill of finally getting it right..it was all still tangled up inside you.

“God, I feel like I haven’t sat down in days..” Taryn groaned, slumping into her chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Welcome to the glamorous life of a surgeon.” Levi muttered, shoving a forkful of something vaguely green into his mouth. “No sleep, no social life, just patients and cafeteria food that will probably kill us before residency even ends.”

“You can say that again..” Helm mumbled, her eyes half-closed as she stirred her soup absently.

You tried to relax, but your mind kept circling back to the surgery, the look Natasha had given you when you’d finally gotten your shit together, the words that still echoed in your mind.

“I picked you because you were the best.”

You had barely let yourself believe it. But the way Natasha had said it..it sounded real. And then she had walked away with that other woman like nothing had happened-

“So, how’s it feel to be the golden child? First day and you get to assist in the OR with Dr. Romanoff? That’s like, a fast-pass to success.” Levi said, nudging your elbow, snapping you out of your spiral.

You felt your stomach twist. “I-I wouldn’t call it that..” you muttered, trying not to sound so defensive. “I was just…in the right place at the right time.”

Levi snorted. “More like the right place under the right person, from what I’ve heard.”

Your fork clattered to your tray. “What?”

Taryn laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, come on. You seriously don’t know?”

“Know what?” Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

Helm looked up from her soup, eyes wide. “You don’t know about Dr. Romanoff? The hospital’s very own predator?”

Your blood chilled. “Predator??”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Not like that. Just…you know. Romanoff’s reputation.”

“I’m…I’m new. I don’t know anything.” And you felt stupid admitting it. But the truth was, you’d been too focused on your work to care about hospital gossip.

“Let’s just say,” Helm said, lowering her voice, “she’s got a habit of screwing her way through half the staff. Nurses, residents, other attendings..doesn’t matter. She’s…ambitious.”

“She’s a damn heartbreaker.” Taryn added. “Uses people for fun, then drops them like they never existed.”

“Like last week!” Levi piped up, his voice dripping with intrigue. “That poor nurse..Jessica, I think? Came out of the on-call room crying. And then there’s-”

“Definitely Romanoff’s doing.” Taryn said, shoving her salad around her plate. “I mean, we’ve all seen her. She’s hot, yeah, but she’s a goddamn nightmare. The woman’s probably slept with more people than we’ve met in our entire lives.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat felt too tight. Your chest ached, and you hated yourself for it. Because why should you care? You didn’t want Natasha Romanoff. You didn’t want the trouble, the games, the constant battle for control. And yet…

The idea that Natasha had only taken you to bed because you were just another notch in her belt… because you had been convenient..because you were just another one-night distraction…it made something in your chest feel painfully hollow.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t want anything from Natasha. But that didn’t make the bitter, unwanted sting of rejection feel any less sharp. Levi kept rambling, but the words were just a blur of white noise.

Your eyes dropped to your tray, your appetite completely gone. Was that all it had been? Just fun? Just something Natasha would toss aside, like she did with everyone else? And why did that thought make you feel so stupidly worthless?

You clenched your fork until your knuckles turned white. You needed to forget this morning. Forget Natasha. Forget everything. But the words kept repeating in your head, over and over.

——

You threw yourself into your work. It was the only thing that made sense, the only thing that kept your head above water when everything else felt like it was dragging you down. The whispers in the cafeteria, the rumors about Natasha, the doubt, it all needed to be buried under something real.

So you worked. And for the most part, you were good at it. You were making rounds, running small procedures, and interacting with patients with a calm that felt like a miracle after your complete breakdown in the OR.

“Ah, Dr. Y/l/n, good to see you again!” your current patient beamed, a sweet elderly woman recovering from a hip replacement.

“Mrs. Hernandez.” you greeted her with a genuine smile, pulling up her chart. “And how are you feeling today? Any pain?”

“Oh, always pain, honey. That’s just getting old for you.” the woman laughed, eyes crinkling warmly. “But it’s better. You were right about moving around. Took a little walk with the physical therapist this morning.”

“That’s amazing.” you said, your eyes brightening. “That’s exactly what we want. I told you, you’re stronger than you think.”

“I don’t know if I believe you..” Mrs. Hernandez chuckled, “but you’re pretty enough that I’ll pretend I do.”

You laughed, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be out of here before you know it.”

You made a few more notes on the chart, gave Mrs. Hernandez some updated pain management tips, and left the room with a little more confidence in your step. For the next couple of hours, things were…good. You changed dressings, assessed post-op patients, gave instructions to nurses, all with a focused clarity that you desperately clung to.

Because as long as you were working, as long as your hands were moving, your mind couldn’t drift back to what had happened. Or who you had overheard. But of course, the universe had other plans.

“Can you check on Mr. McCarthy in Bay 4? He’s complaining of shortness of breath.” A nurse called as you passed by.

“On it.” you replied, tucking your clipboard under your arm and heading down the hall. You were reviewing his chart as you pushed open the door, already running through possible complications in your mind.

“Mr. McCarthy, good morning. I hear you’ve been having a little trouble breathing?”

“Yeah..” the man grunted, his voice raspy. “Feels like someone’s sitting on my chest.”

“Let’s have a look.” you said, moving closer to examine him. You placed your stethoscope against his chest, listening intently, your brows furrowing. “Breath sounds are diminished on the left side. You’re post-op for a pneumothorax repair, right?”

“Yeah. Feels like it’s getting worse.”

“We’ll get you sorted out.” you promised, forcing yourself to remain calm. “Let’s get a chest X-ray ordered. And I want another set of vitals.”

“Look at you, all professional and bossy.”

The voice sliced through your concentration, deep and undeniably amused. Your spine went rigid. Of course..

The older woman strolled into the room like she owned the place, eyes already locked on you like this was her personal entertainment. Your pulse spiked. Your fingers fumbled as you tried to scribble down notes, your handwriting coming out as little more than a tangled mess.

“Need me to hold your hand, Dr. Y/l/n?” Natasha asked, her voice like silk wrapped around steel.

Your jaw clenched. “No. I’m fine.”

But the way Natasha looked at you made you feel anything but. You tried to focus on the chart, tried to ignore the heat of Natasha’s gaze boring into you, tried to pretend you were still in control.

But your body betrayed you. Your hands were shaking, your grip on the pen clumsy. You went to place it on the counter but missed, the pen clattering to the floor.

“Smooth.” Natasha commented, one eyebrow arched, her smirk sharpening.

You bent down to grab it, your cheeks burning. “It’s…it’s nothing.”

“If nothing means sweating like you just ran a marathon, then sure.”

“Dr. Romanoff.” you said, your voice coming out weaker than you intended, “I’ve got this handled.”

“Oh, really?” Natasha’s eyes gleamed with something like amusement, but also something else. Something more unsettling. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”

Your lips tightened. “He needs a chest X-ray to check for recurrence. His vitals are all over the place and I was just about to order a blood gas to make sure we’re not missing something.”

Natasha’s gaze lingered on you, almost like she was daring you to break. But instead of commenting, Natasha turned her attention to the patient. “Shortness of breath, pressure on the chest, pain radiating anywhere?”

“No, just feels like I can’t breathe.” Mr. McCarthy croaked.

Natasha’s fingers moved to the man’s side, pressing gently but firmly. “Pain when I do this?”

“Yeah. Right there.”

“Sounds like your lung’s reinflated poorly or you’ve got fluid building up.” Natasha said smoothly. “Dr. Y/l/n, what’s your plan?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing to catch up. “I…I think we need a thoracentesis to relieve the pressure.”

Natasha’s eyebrow arched, her smirk returning. “Good. And who’s going to do it?”

You blinked. “I-uhm-”

“Exactly, you.”

Your heart stuttered. “Me?”

“Yes. Now, not later. Unless you want him to crash before we get him upstairs.”

You forced your body to move, your hands still trembling as you prepared the procedure. Natasha’s gaze remained on you the entire time, scrutinizing every movement, her presence unrelenting.

“Your grip’s too tight.” Natasha commented. “Loosen up or you’ll miss the right spot.”

You did as instructed, your pulse hammering in your ears, your breathing shallow. “Better.” Natasha said softly. “See? Not that hard when you stop freaking out.”

The procedure went smoothly. The patient’s breathing eased, his color slowly returning to something resembling normal. But your nerves were still frayed, your hands clammy, your heartbeat still erratic. And Natasha just kept smiling.

The morning after was a whirlwind of chaos. You had barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, the image of Natasha Romanoff’s smirk haunted you, her taunting voice echoing in your head, telling you that you were falling apart, sweating like a sinner in church, unable to keep up.

But you had gotten through the day so far. Kept yourself busy with routine cases, kept your hands steady, kept your thoughts away from the mess you had walked into when you arrived at Grey Sloan Memorial. Everything was going fine. Until it wasn’t.

“Dr. Y/l/n!” a nurse called out, hurrying over to you. “We’ve got a situation. Ambulance just brought in a trauma patient. Gunshot wound to the chest. Low pressure, shallow breathing. Trauma bays are full and the OR is prepping for him now.”

Your pulse quickened. You were still only an intern, barely starting to find your footing. And now they were trusting you with a gunshot wound? But then the nurse’s words replayed in your head. “The OR is prepping.”

That meant Natasha would be there. Of course. Of course, she would be. And if you walked in there, stumbling over yourself, hands trembling like you were about to collapse…

No. You couldn’t think about that. This was about the patient. “Where is he?” you asked, your voice slightly strained but functional.

“Coming in through the west entrance. Bay’s prepped. You’re taking him up.”

“Right.” You adjusted your gloves, swallowing your nerves as you hurried to the entrance where they were rolling in a bloodied, unconscious man strapped to a stretcher.

“Brian cooper, gunshot wound to the left side of the chest.” the paramedic called out as they wheeled the stretcher in. “Through and through. BP’s dropping fast. Systolic’s down to 80. Breath sounds diminished on the left side.”

The man’s chest was soaked in blood, the shirt shredded where the bullet had torn through. His skin was cold, clammy.

“We’ve got to get him up to the OR.” you said, your voice growing steadier with each word. “Page Dr. Romanoff. She should expecting him.”

“Already on it.”

They transferred him to a gurney and started pushing him toward the elevator. You held onto the rail, your mind running through the necessary steps, clinging to the structure of the routine like it was your only lifeline.

“Come on Brian, stay with me.” you murmured as the doors slid shut and the elevator jerked into motion. But the progress was slow. The patient’s blood pressure continued to drop, his breathing growing more labored. And the elevator wasn’t moving fast enough.

Too slow. Way too slow. The numbers blinked sluggishly above the door. Three. Four. Five-

A horrible lurch. The lights flickered. The soft hum of the elevator motor stuttered. And everything stopped.

“No. No, no, no, no…”

You stabbed the button for the surgical floor, your fingers frantic. You hit the emergency button, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“Come on, come on!” You slammed your palm against the control panel, your other hand reaching for the emergency button. “Is anyone out there?! The elevator’s stuck, and I have a critical patient! I need help!”

The only response was the shrieking of the heart monitor. “Oh god. No, no, no… Stay with me, Brian. We’re almost there. They’re gonna fix this! You just need to hang on a little longer!”

But his breathing was barely a gasp now, his chest heaving shallowly, each breath a struggle. His lips were starting to turn blue.

“Hey! Can anyone hear me?!” Your voice cracked, the panic strangling you, your fingers still jabbing the buttons like it would somehow force the elevator back into motion.

Suddenly the door opened a crack “Hold on, here is-” The voice cut through the fear like a razor. “Natasha!” you gasped, hope was evident in your face.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Natasha’s voice was thick with irritation, and something else, something sharper, almost panicked. “The patient was supposed to be brought straight to the OR.”

“I was- He-” Your words stumbled over each other, your throat tightening. “It…it just stopped! I can’t get it moving. He’s crashing, Natasha.. His blood pressure’s bottoming out, his pulse is through the roof, and I…I can’t-”

“Stop. Breathe.” The tone shifted, a blade honed to precision. “Tell me what you see.”

You glanced down at the gurney. Blood soaked through the man’s shirt, the makeshift bandages drenched, the cloth useless against the bleeding. His chest barely rose with each strained breath.

“Gunshot wound. Through and through. Entry point near the left collarbone, exit just above the lower ribs-“

“He’s bleeding internally. He’s going to be dead before the elevator even moves.”

“Okay, but..I can’t just…what do I do?” Your voice came out as a desperate whimper.

“What you do is not panic.” Natasha’s tone was brutal, unrelenting, and somehow, exactly what you needed. “Listen carefully. I’m right here. I’ve got the tools you need, but I need you to be ready to use them. Understand?”

“I- Yes. I understand.”

“Good. I’m pushing the surgical kit through the gap. You need to grab it. His heart’s already struggling to beat.”

You shoved your fingers into the narrow space between the elevator doors. Through the crack, a metal case was shoved toward you, the scraping sound making your teeth clench.

You dragged it inside, your breath coming out in harsh, shallow bursts. “Okay, I’ve got it.”

“Open it. You need to access his chest. And I don’t mean some tiny needle procedure. I mean a thoracotomy. You need to get your hands in there.”

“Wait, what?! No- no, I can’t. Not alone! There should-”

“Yes, you can. Because if you don’t, Brian’s going to die, and you’re going to have to live with the fact that you could’ve saved him. Now, do you want to be a surgeon, or not?”

Your fingers trembled as you flipped open the case. Inside, the scalpel gleamed, the bone spreader gleamed dully next to it, and there were clamps, gauze, suture kits. Everything you needed.

Except for confidence.

“What…what do I do?”

“First, you cut.” Natasha’s voice was low, brutal, and it forced you to move. “You need to make an incision. Anterolateral thoracotomy. Start at the sternum, follow the ribcage down to the mid-axillary line. You know the drill.”

“Okay…” Your fingers tightened around the scalpel.

“Now, cut. Clean, deep, and fast. Don’t half-ass it.”

Your fingers trembled, but you pressed the scalpel against Brian’s skin and sliced. The blade bit deep, a sickening give of tissue parting beneath your hand. Blood welled up immediately, a dark river pouring over his chest.

“Good. Deeper. You need to get to the ribcage. His heart’s being compressed by blood. You have to relieve the pressure.”

You swallowed, your stomach lurching, but your hands moved. You cut down, deeper, following the curvature of his ribs. Your gloves were soaked, sticky and warm with blood. The wound was wide, gaping.

“Okay…Okay, now what?”

“Bone spreader. You need to break open the ribcage. It’s the only way you’ll reach his heart.”

“Break-”

“Yes. Now.” Your hands shook as you picked up the bone spreader. You slid it into the incision, your fingers clenching so hard your knuckles ached. You began to crank the handle, metal forcing bone apart with a series of wet, horrible cracks.

The sound was nauseating. But there it was- the heart. Flickering weakly, struggling to beat against the pressure.

“Blood’s compressing his heart. You need to get your hands in there. Find the source of the bleeding and clamp it off.”

Your hands hovered uselessly.

“Listen. If you don’t do this right now, he’s dead. Your hands. In his chest. Now.”

You forced your fingers forward, sliding them through the gaping incision, your entire arm sinking into the wound. The heat of blood and muscle engulfed your hand. Your fingers scrambled, searching for the bleeder.

“Feel around the heart. You’re looking for the artery that’s been nicked. It’s like trying to find a crack in a dam. Small but deadly,”

There was an edge of urgency to Natasha’s words, her earlier anger now replaced with something sharper. Focus. Determination.

“I-I’m trying..!” your voice trembled, your breath coming out in ragged gasps. “I can’t- I can’t feel—”

“Yes, you can. Slow down. The artery will be hot, pulsing. Blood will be gushing out like a broken pipe. Just..move your fingers. And do it now.”

You swallowed the panic clawing at your throat and forced your fingers deeper. Your muscles strained, your shoulder aching from the angle. But then.. There. A horrifying gush of warmth poured over your fingers, thick and relentless, coating your hand in a surge of fresh blood.

“I-I found it! It’s…it’s torn. Oh god, it’s torn..”

“Good. Now, you need to stop the bleeding. You’re going to press your fingers around the tear. Pinch it. Like you’re clamping a hose. Do not let go. Understood?”

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” Your hand adjusted, your thumb and forefinger squeezing around the torn artery. The sudden pressure made the bleeding slow, the frantic beeping of the monitors easing just slightly.

“Okay…okay, I think…I think I got it..” you whispered, your voice hoarse and strained.

“Check. Don’t think, just do. Is the bleeding stopped or not?” Natasha snapped, her words a whip cracking through your panic.

Your gaze locked onto the open chest, your fingers still pressing against the clamp. The pulsing of blood had slowed, the river reduced to a mere trickle.

“Yeah…It’s stopped. Oh, my god, it’s stopped-“

“Uh, this is Maintenance. We’re here to get the elevator moving. We’re gonna need you to stay clear of the doors and just hang tight while we-”

“Definitely not!” Natasha turned to the voice. The sudden change in tone sent a chill down your spine.

“What?” The maintenance guy sounded startled. “Ma’am, we need to get the elevator moving. Just give us a few minutes and-”

“No.” Natasha’s voice was icy, each word dripping with authority. “You are not touching this elevator until I say so.”

“But, Dr. Romanoff, we were told-”

“I don’t care what you were told. What I’m telling you is to stay the hell away from that control panel. I have a terrified intern inside performing an open-chest procedure with nothing but emergency supplies and pure adrenaline. You interrupt her, you so much as make the lights flicker, and I swear to God, I will have you scrubbing bedpans for the rest of your life. Got it?”

There was a long, agonizing pause. “Uh…Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

“Good. Now shut up, stand back, and don’t touch a goddamn thing until I tell you to. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Clear.”

“Natasha?” you managed, your voice trembling. “What do I do now?” Your voice cracked, your entire body burning from holding your position, your arm cramping from the effort.

“You keep doing exactly what you’re doing,” Natasha said calmly. “Hold pressure. Keep him alive. Because now, I need him stable enough to actually save him once you’re out of that damn elevator.”

“But-”

“No buts. You keep holding on. They’re fixing the elevator now. You’ve bought him time. Now all you have to do is keep him from bleeding out before they can get you up here.”

Your entire arm was numb, the muscles cramping, your shoulder throbbing with pain. But your fingers stayed clamped around the artery, refusing to let go.

“Now.” Natasha continued, her voice lighter, almost teasing. “You need to stay exactly like that. Don’t even think about moving. When the elevator doors open, I’ll be right there. And I’ll take over. But until then, he’s yours. Understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good girl.” Something about the praise made your entire body flush, but you had no time to think about it. Not when your arm was buried in a man’s chest.

There was a shuffling noise outside the elevator. And then a distant voice, Maintenance. The idiots who had nearly interrupted you.

“Dr. Romanoff? We’re ready to get the elevator moving. Just need your go-ahead.”

“Give me a second, Y/n.” She moved away from the door, her tone dropping to a sharp, commanding whisper. “Listen to me carefully. The intern inside is holding a man’s life in her hands, literally. If you make that elevator jolt, so much as sneeze near it, and she loses her grip, you’ll have his blood on your hands. You’re going to lift this elevator gently. Smooth. No hiccups. No sudden movements. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am. Got it. Gentle. We’ll be careful.”

“Good. Start moving it. Now.”

There was a faint groan of metal, the hum of the elevator finally coming back to life. It started to rise, slowly, carefully. But even that subtle motion made your fingers clench tighter around the torn artery, panic flaring in your chest.

“I’m still here.” Natasha’s voice came through the gap. “Just keep holding pressure. You’re almost there. And when you get here, I’ll take over.”

“Okay. Okay..”

“You’re not going to let go.” The elevator continued to climb, the seconds stretching into eternities. The tension in your muscles was agonizing, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Not when Natasha’s voice was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. The elevator gave a gentle, final lurch. Your eyes stung from the sterile lights of the hallway, your vision swimming as the faces of nurses, doctors, and maintenance workers blurred together.

But your eyes only locked onto one person. Natasha. She was standing right there, her scrubs spotless, eyes sharp and glittering with a mix of intensity and something else. Something almost like…pride.

“Don’t you dare let go.” Natasha warned, her gaze glued to the blood-soaked scene before her. Before you could respond, Natasha was inside the elevator, a presence so commanding that the rest of the hospital staff instinctively backed away, making space for her.

And then Natasha’s hands were on him. Replacing your fingers with practiced precision, checking your grip, making sure your frantic attempt to save him hadn’t been for nothing.

“Good.” Natasha’s voice was low, approval sliding through the harshness. “You’ve done well. He’s alive because you didn’t let go.”

The words sent a rush of heat through you, but it was overshadowed by the sheer relief of having Natasha there.

“What do I do now?” you asked, your own voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. Weak. Trembling.

“Now?” Natasha’s smirk returned, her eyes gleaming with something unsettlingly like amusement. “You keep holding pressure. Just like that. Because if you let go now, he’s going to crash before we even get him into the OR.”

“But… I thought you were-”

“Oh, I’ll take over. But you’ve already got your hands on the bleeder. Moving you out of the way would just make things worse. So…” Natasha’s gaze flickered down to her own hands as she adjusted one of the clamps. “You’re coming with me.”

Your throat tightened. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re not done yet.” Natasha’s voice was steady, assured, the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed. “We’re wheeling this guy into the OR, and you’re going to keep your fingers exactly where they are the whole way. If you let go, he dies. And I really don’t feel like losing a patient today. So hold on.”

“Okay… okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” Natasha leaned a little closer, her voice dropping to a silky purr. “And Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You just proved you can handle more pressure than most of the idiots working under me. So don’t blow it now.”

There it was again. That stupid, ridiculous warmth blossoming in your chest, the way Natasha’s words somehow made you feel like you were capable of doing this. Like you weren’t just some scared intern with your hands buried in a dying man’s chest.

Natasha’s gaze flicked to the maintenance workers standing by, their faces pale with shock. “Alright, get this damn elevator moving. And do it smoothly. If I feel so much as a bump, you’ll all be applying for janitorial positions tomorrow. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, Dr. Romanoff. We’ll, uh, we’ll be careful.”

They were terrified of her. And somehow, you couldn’t blame them. The elevator hummed to life, the movement almost imperceptible. But you felt it. Your entire body tensed as the machinery groaned and lurched.

“Easy.” Natasha’s eyes never left you. “Keep your grip. Focus on his heartbeat, not your own.”

“I can do that.”

The elevator crawled upward, each passing second stretching into an eternity. Your arm throbbed, your muscles burning with the strain of keeping your fingers wrapped around the torn artery, holding life in your hand like it was something fragile and easily lost.

The doors finally opened to the OR floor, the sterile white hallway waiting for you like some cold, indifferent maw. But Natasha was already in motion.

“Move! Get him into the OR! You, stay exactly where you are. Hands still on the artery. You’ll let go when I say so. Not a second before.”

The gurney lurched forward, Natasha steering it with a ferocity that left everyone else scrambling to keep up. You stumbled along, your hand still buried inside Brian’s chest, the elevator and its nightmare feeling like some distant memory.

“Natasha, I-”

“Not now. Talk later. Right now, you hold on and keep doing exactly what you’re doing. You got this far. Don’t fall apart now.”

The OR doors swung open, the flood of light and frantic movement swallowing you both. Nurses, residents, everyone was waiting, their voices a blur of medical terms and questions.

But your focus was only on Natasha. “On my count.” Natasha ordered. “One. Two. Three. Let go. I’m taking over.”

Your fingers released, your arm finally jerking free of the gaping wound. Natasha’s hands replaced yours in a matter of seconds, her gaze never once breaking from the surgical field.

“Now get out of my OR before you collapse on my patient.” Natasha snapped, but her voice lacked the usual bite. She sounded almost…proud.

You stumbled backward, your own heartbeat roaring in your ears, your legs trembling as you practically fell out of the OR, your own blood-smeared hands shaking uncontrollably.

You felt like you were vibrating. Every nerve in your body was thrumming with an energy you had never experienced before. Your fingers still twitched, phantom sensations of blood and torn flesh still echoing through your nerves.

But you had done it. You had actually done it. Brian had been alive when they wheeled him into the OR. His pulse had been weak, thready, but there. Because of you. Because you had kept your hand buried in his chest, holding a torn artery together like your life depended on it.

And when Natasha had finally taken over, her movements swift, confident, unyielding, it had felt like the culmination of something impossible. Now, you paced the corridor outside the OR, your hands trembling, your chest tight from the adrenaline still pounding through your veins. Nurses and residents moved around you, but they were just shapes, voices blurring into nothing.

You couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t let go of the electric rush coursing through you. A few of your fellow interns gawked at your blood-soaked scrubs, whispering to each other with a mix of awe and horror. But you barely noticed.

All you could think about was what had just happened. Your pulse was still racing when the OR doors finally swung open. Natasha strode out, her scrubs stained with blood, hair a mess, eyes glinting with something hard and sharp and deeply satisfying.

She looked like she had just fought a war and won. You practically launched yourself forward. “Natasha! Oh my god. That was…I don’t even have words. That was insane!!”

Natasha’s gaze flicked over you, eyebrows arched in mild surprise. “You’re still here?”

“Yes, I- Are you kidding? That was the most intense thing I’ve ever done. I-” Your words tumbled out, uncontrolled, your voice pitching high and fast. “I had my hand in his chest, literally holding his heart. And I didn’t screw it up. You were right there, talking me through it, and I…I actually did it..”

Your hands made wild, frantic gestures, your eyes gleaming with something like triumph. “I mean, I was terrified, but it was incredible. And the way you took over? God, you were like a machine. Just..perfect.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. “You sound like you just won the lottery.”

“Because I did! Well, not really, but…I mean, you were there, right? I kept him alive. I kept him stable. I..I saved him..”

You could barely contain yourself. The rush was still thundering through you, a chaotic mix of pride, excitement, and something that felt dangerously like pure euphoria.

“I mean, I literally had a man’s heart in my hands..” you continued, your voice breathless. “And I didn’t panic. Not really. I did it.”

Natasha’s expression remained unreadable, her gaze flicking toward the OR doors, then back to you. “Yeah. You did.”

The words were slow, careful. But there was something in Natasha’s eyes- something not quite right. “What’s wrong?” Your smile faltered, the excitement thrumming through your veins suddenly too loud, too frantic.

Natasha took a slow breath, her shoulders sagging just a little. “Brian didn’t make it.”

The world seemed to lurch sideways. “What?” you whispered, the word feeling like broken glass in your mouth. “No…No, he was stable. He was alive when you took over. I did everything right. You said-”

“I said you kept him alive long enough to give him a chance. And you did.” Natasha’s voice was firm, her words precise. “But it wasn’t enough. His heart was too weak. By the time we started repairing the artery, it gave out.”

“No…” Your head shook violently, your mind refusing to process what you were hearing. “But…I-I held him together. I did everything right..?”

“And you did.” Natasha agreed, her gaze sharp, unwavering. “You kept him alive in that elevator. You kept his heart beating long enough for us to try. That’s more than most surgeons could’ve done.”

“But he’s…dead?”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes.”

All that adrenaline, that frantic energy, that surge of confidence-it all crashed down at once. Your knees felt weak, your entire body sagging as if someone had pulled the strings out of you. Your hands still shook, stained red from the life you thought you had saved.

“I…I really thought…”

“Welcome to surgery.” Natasha’s voice was blunt, but not unkind. “Sometimes, you do everything right and it’s still not enough. That’s just how it is.”

The rush of adrenaline was gone, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. The realization that you hadn’t saved him. That your first miracle had been nothing more than a temporary delay.

You had left the OR corridor as if in a trance, your legs moving purely out of instinct. Your hands still trembled, even after you had scrubbed them clean three times. The hot, sticky blood was gone, but you could still feel it.

Still feel the heat of Brian’s heart pulsing against your palm. Still hear the weak, desperate beats struggling to survive.

And then, nothing. You had failed. Your first real test, your first real moment to prove you were worth all the praise and expectation Natasha had thrown at you. And you had still lost him.

The days that followed were a blur. You pushed through your rounds with a mechanical precision, your movements robotic, your voice hollow. The other interns watched you like you were some kind of tragic legend already forming. The intern who had been buried up to her elbows in a man’s chest and still couldn’t save him.

Every time you passed Natasha in the hallway, the woman’s eyes followed you. Watching. Assessing. Like she was waiting for something to snap. But you didn’t snap. You just…shut down.

Days later, you sat at the far end of the cafeteria, a half-eaten sandwich lying forgotten on your tray.

“Y/l/n”

The voice startled you. You glanced up, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. “Natasha.”

The woman’s name tasted bitter on your tongue. Like something you’d lost the right to say. Natasha slid into the seat across from you, her expression calm but her eyes intensely sharp. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit.”

The word hit you like a slap. You stiffened, your fingers clenching around the edge of your tray. “Excuse me?”

“I said, bullshit.” Natasha repeated, her voice low, harsh. “You’ve been shutting down. Avoiding everyone. Burying yourself in mindless work like it’s going to make the guilt go away.”

“Why do you even care?” you shot back. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To push me so hard I’d fall apart? Congratulations, mission accomplished.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “You think that’s what I wanted?”

“I don’t know. You threw me into the deep end and told me to swim, and I still-”

“No. You weren’t supposed to save him.” Natasha interrupted. “You were supposed to give him a chance. And you did. Sometimes, even when you do everything right, it’s not enough. That’s part of the job.”

The truth hurt. Because it was exactly what you had been refusing to accept. “I should have saved him..” you whispered.

“Maybe. Maybe not. What matters is you did everything you could. And most interns wouldn’t have even tried.” Natasha’s gaze held yours like a lifeline. “And you’re going to pull yourself out of this. Because you don’t have a choice.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll make sure you do. I pushed you because I know you can handle it.”

And for the first time in days, you felt something other than crushing guilt. You felt something almost like… hope.

Part 3

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[artaxlivs]

Which came first? The chicken or the scrambled eggs?

Rated E: Smut below the line, link to the Ao3 is here.

"Boy, you know I love you, right?" Uncle Wayne says gruffly over his favorite Garfield mug.

Oh jeez.

Eddie wracks his brain trying to figure out what Wayne's figured out this time. The drug deals? He'd thought they were both silently agreeing that they knew but wouldn't speak of those. The Upside Down? Nah, Eddie covered that pretty well, gave the same bullshit story the Feds did. Maybe something mundane like Eddie not doing his dishes?

That's an age-old argument right there.

Damn it.

"I know you do, old man," Eddie sighs, finally just deciding to take whatever it is on the chin. "Say what you wanna say."

There's a brief pause while Uncle Wayne must gather his thoughts - and the irrational swoop of Eddie's stomach over that is gonna give him nightmares because his abandonment issues are wide and deep - then Wayne clears his throat and says, "Whoever it is that you been leaving in your bedroom to sneak out after I fall asleep every morning...you can just invite him out for breakfast with us."

Eddie chokes on his own coffee. Well, sort of coffee - it's a lot of sugar and milk with a splash of coffee.

Not her. Him. They've never talked about it but Eddie knows Wayne has always had his suspicions. But he wasn't ready to have this conversation before the sun was even all the way up.

Before Eddie can finish coughing down his throatful of coffee, though, Wayne is shouting, "Eddie's boyfriend - you can come out and have some eggs if you want!"

A loud thump and the sound of someone obviously scrambling up from a bed comes from Eddie's room. "Yes, sir."  A muffled voice calls back.

Staring down the short hallway in horror, Eddie has a minor freak out. Okay - major freak out. But silently and quickly because...ohhhh this tangled web he’s woven for himself....

"Jesus Christ, Wayne." Eddie shakes his head before dropping it on the formica tabletop. He doesn't have to look up to know that Wayne is smiling that little smile that he gets when he proves that he's still smarter than Eddie is sneaky.

Wayne pulls open the fridge and gets the eggs back out, adding three more to the mixing bowl to whisk up.

Eddie still doesn't lift his head when Steve comes out of the bedroom because he just cannot bear to meet Steve's eyes. He eventually does look up, though, when he hears Wayne swear under his breath and nearly drop the frying pan.

"Ain't you the Harrington boy?" Wayne asks, looking a little dazed, obviously not expecting Steve Harrington to be standing barefoot, wearing one of Eddie's band T-shirts and a pair of his own sweats, in their tiny trailer kitchen, hastily shaping his hair into order as he reaches his hand out to shake.

"Yes, sir. And, um, I'd appreciate it if you kept that between us," Steve suddenly looks smaller, "for now, at least. I'm not sure what my dad...um, well." He worries his bottom lip and crosses his arms over his chest protectively, tucking his hands tight against his body. "I just - I don't think he'd approve. My - my dad."

Approve of what? Slumming it in a trailer park with a petty drug dealer? Because contrary to what Wayne thinks, Steve is not Eddie's boyfriend. They sleep together but not together. It's just for the nightmares. Sleeping alone sucks.

Wayne is nodding, though, the crease between his eyebrows the only thing giving away that he's upset about what he's hearing. Eddie's really not sure what he's thinking but he doesn't ask because maybe - just maybe - if no one asks anything specific, they can get out of this breakfast without Eddie being outed or any of them being embarrassed.

Because, contrary to Wayne’s assumption, Steve does not know that Eddie is gay. Or that the all night spooning they've been doing for weeks now is not as platonic for Eddie as it is for Steve. Eddie's not crossing any boundaries or anything creepy or anything, he's just...pining. It's fine. He'll get over it.

If they get through this breakfast without Eddie being outed, at least.

Steve, of course, offers to help but Wayne turns him down, nudges him toward the coffee pot to pour himself a mug instead. Which he does. Scoffing incredulously, Eddie gets up and swipes the mug from him, pouring it’s contents into Wayne's almost empty mug before setting it in the sink and taking out a clean plastic cup with a faded Charlie Brown & Linus on it.

"Sit." He tells Steve and reaches into the fridge for the orange juice he knows Steve prefers. He ignores the arched eyebrow Wayne aims at him. Mind your business, old man.

Breakfast is just scrambled eggs and toast. It's quick and not too heavy so Wayne can go to sleep after. It's always been the one meal they're guaranteed to have together. Even when most teenagers were sleeping in until ten am or noon, Eddie has always gotten up around 6:30 because Wayne's shift ends at six and he comes straight home and takes a shower, then they have breakfast together.

"So...Mr. Munson-" Steve starts after he swallows a drink of his juice and settles into one of the cracked vinyl chairs.

"Just Wayne, kid," Wayne insists gruffly, setting the pan of eggs down on a pot holder on the table.

"Oh - sorry," Steve says, letting his eyes fall away. It's weird, seeing him cowed by Wayne. Steve doesn't normally do that with adults. He's a charmer. He charms them all. Mrs. Wheeler would force Nancy to marry Steve if she could and Mrs. Henderson thinks that Steve is the second coming.

"Don't gotta be sorry...Steve. Just - call me Wayne." He comes back with a plate of toast. The butter and jam are already on the table. Eddie loads up his plate knowing Steve will do the polite thing and take less than him.

Clearing his throat, Steve nods, "Yes sir - W-Wayne." He stumbles over the first name but then keeps going - "I was just wondering...about the hats? And the mugs?" He looks around like he's taking them all in for the first time.

With a little smile, Wayne looks from the rows of hats and mugs to Steve and then back again. "Those are all Eddie." He doesn't elaborate but Steve's already nodding with a warm smile.

"I had a feeling." Steve nods again, slathering jam on a slice of toast. "Let me guess - this is him taking the joke way too far?"

The sound that comes out of Wayne can really only be called a chortle. There's nothing else that fits. Eddie is so glad his mouth was empty because it's like nothing he's ever heard from Wayne and he would have choked on his food. As it is, he makes a little offended squawk that they both ignore.

"Yup. You know him well I see." Wayne nods at Eddie but looks at Steve. "He got me this Garfield mug and a matching hat for his first Christmas here and I didn't want to disappoint him so I went a little overboard about how much I loved them. Wore the hat and used the mug religiously." He lifts the Garfield mug up for a sip and lifts an eyebrow at Eddie.

Steve knocks his knee against Eddie's under the table and when Eddie looks over at him, he’s smiling a fond smile at Eddie. He ducks his head to hide what he knows is a blush on his cheeks, letting Wayne and Steve steer the conversation where they want for the rest of the meal.

It’s not until they’re washing up and Wayne’s waved goodnight to them both, that Eddie speaks again. He bumps his hip into Steve’s as Steve finishes washing and rinsing the plastic cup and hands it over for Eddie to dry. “Sorry about that.”

Sliding the egg pan into the soapy water, Steve dries his hands off on a towel, leaving the pan to soak and turns to Eddie, hip propped against the counter. ‘For what?” Steve asks, confusion evident on his face.

He flounders for a moment, trying to find a way to steer Steve away from the flashing neon arrow pointing to Eddie that screams “GAY” without giving himself away if Steve hasn’t gotten that idea. “Um, just Wayne and your dad and - you know, all of this.” He waves his hand around in a general all encompassing circle to include the trailer, his life and Eddie himself.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Eddie is pretty sure Steve asks but it’s so unexpected that his brain almost comes to a screeching halt.

“W-what?”

“I asked,” Steve says, removing the scant foot of space between them by sliding along the edge of the counter, “if you wanted to kiss me?”

Eddie swallows, a lifetime of fear balled up in his throat. It has long since threatened to choke him but this time he pushes through it. Because dammit - he’s jumped into a lake and swam after 3 other teenagers he barely knew, he’s tromped through an alternate dimension, he’s played Metallica in hell and outran a horde of demon bats. He’s faced a fucking Lich with nothing but handmade weapons. He can do this. He can.

“Yes,” it’s barely a whisper and made through trembling lips but Steve hears it because he smiles, warm and soft and the next thing Eddie knows, their lips are pressed together and yes, yes, yes. Steve’s lips are just as warm and soft as his smile and just a little demanding as he pushes past Eddie’s and slips his tongue into Eddie’s mouth. 

Steve Harrington tastes like orange juice and possibilities. And before Eddie can decide what to do with that, Steve is dragging him down the hallway and back into his messy, unmade too small bed. He’s pressing Eddie down on his back and leaning over him to kiss him again. He’s rolling his hips against Eddie’s, brushing their hard cocks together in a way that makes Eddie’s toes curl.

And it feels like every night they laid here together, whispering into each other’s shoulders, every night they spent cocooned in safety, every brush of skin on skin was foreplay, was flirting, was courting - that all of it was a lead up to this moment where they could slip easily from friendship to something more.

Eager and keyed up, Eddie pushes Steve’s sweats down to his thighs, follows by shoving his own down as well. Copying Steve’s movement when he yanks off his shirt and then they’re skin to skin, dicks rubbing against each other as they both grind and chase their pleasure together. Steve shifts, putting his thigh between Eddie’s and cupping his ass to pull him forward and there it is, they’re slotted together just right. 

Eddie feels a little zing of pleasure up his back as he ruts against Steve. They haven’t stopped kissing long enough for Eddie to even moan Steve’s name but it’s fine, it’s great, he’s so close already, just a bit more, he’s almost there. He thrusts up and Steve squeezes his ass again, pushing their bodies together. His hand slips around, dipping  between Eddie’s cheeks, sliding one finger down his cleft until it presses against his hole where, sure, he has touched, but no one else has. Steve slipping just the tip of one finger into Eddie is enough to send him tumbling over the edge with a muffled shout.

Eddie’s still twitching through the aftershocks when Steve moves his hand back to Eddie’s hip, Steve holds him still so he can thrust into the sticky mess that Eddie’s made between them. “That was, fuck, so hot,” Steve swears before he clamps his mouth to Eddie’s again, pulling a whine from him just before Steve comes with his own shout swallowed up by Eddie’s mouth.

Slowly, their breathing returns to normal, the sweat cools on their skin and Steve languidly traces one finger through the mess as it starts to stick to Eddie’s treasure trail. Finally, when Eddie can think clearly again, he asks, “So I guess this means you’re not worried that Wayne thinks you’re my boyfriend?”

“Worried?” Steve grins up at him from where he’s resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I think we should make him dinner before he goes to work as a thank you.” He rolls up, propping a hand on either side of Eddie’s chest to look down at him with a fond smile, “I mean, how long would we have lain next to each other in the dark waiting for the other one to make the first move?”

Going up on his elbows brings Eddie’s lips close enough to Steve for a kiss but he doesn't yet, he just stares up at him for a moment, then, with complete honesty, he tells Steve, “I’d have lain next to you for forever if I had to.”

Check it out on Ao3

[delirious-donna]

While You Were Sleeping [Blue Lock]

an: it’s been a hot minute since I did a multi character drabble, but here we are in 2025 and I love too many Blue Lock characters just to write about one at a time 🤭

premise: a good night’s sleep is not always a given, so how do they react when their sleep is interrupted?

featuring: Barou Shouei, Itoshi Sae, Nagi Seishiro, Oliver Aiku & Tokimitsu Aoshi

warnings: female reader, pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie, woman (it’s affectionate I swear)), lots of fluff, hurt/comfort, a lil angst, not full NSFW but suggestive in places, mentions of nightmares, fear of infidelity, confused feelings, Sae being emotionally constipated, lots of cuteness (I hope 🥹)

Shouei grunted.

His brow scrunched as the sleep he had been luxuriating in began to recede. No matter how desperately he grasped at it, the threads slipped through his fingers until—thump!

An intense pain against his shin woke him.

The room was pitch black with no noise from passing traffic but there was a whimpering coming from the right of his body. Blinking, he twisted onto his side and the irritation that had been building in his chest dissipated almost immediately.

Your face greeted him.

A face he loved, cherished and adored above all others, but it was twisted into a grimace. He watched as your lips wobbled though your eyes were screwed tightly shut. Even with the limited light source he could make out the sheen of sweat covering your skin, and he reached out a hand to cup your cheek only to be kicked once more.

“Fuck! Christ… I’m meant to be the striker in this relationship,” he muttered vehemently from beneath his breath, palm furiously rubbing at the spot you had brutally attacked.

When you curled tighter into a ball, damn near trembling, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Shouei reached out for you once more. “Baby… wake up.”

Your body relaxed into his touch, cheek nuzzling his rough palm like it was a comfort to be sought out. The corner of his lips quirked at the adorable display, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew what was causing you such distress.

“C’mon, come back to me,” he coaxed and finally adding a please when you seemed intent on refusing to rouse for him.

“Shou’—wassamatter?”

Goddammit, that shouldn’t make his heart flutter.

The sleep laced confused tone of your voice tugged at his heartstrings until the man known as the villain of the pitch was practically twittering like a love sick songbird.

“—thought you might tell me. You’ve been kicking the shit outta me for the past ten minutes. What’s going on?” he asked, softening his tone when your face flushed.

You burrowed into the pillow, fingers pulling the covers up to your chin and he had to fight to pull them back again. “Don’t go getting shy on me, woman.”

Huffing and puffing, you bit your lip but relented.

“It’s silly,” you whispered, only to be met with one sleek black eyebrow raised in coercion. He wasn’t going to let this go. “… was dreaming that some girls were hitting on you after a match,” you admitted grumpily, pouting out your bottom lip.

Barou snorted. It was just like you to be having a bad dream where your reaction was to fight back. That was his girl. His precious treasure.

Without warning he wrapped you up with his thickly muscled arms, drawing you into the centre of his chest where his heart thundered like a drum.

“No girl would dare. Not when you’ve got that kinda kick on you,” he teased with a gruff chuckle.

All you could do was cling to him; fingers digging into the meat of his back and shoulders like he was an anchor you needed to keep you sane. Your eyes shut slowly, soothed by the rumbling laughter in his throat. You trusted him implicitly so why did tears prick your eyes?

“Y’know I’d never entertain that shit, yeah? Got the only girl worth a damn right here in my arms, in my bed, in my… heart.”

You hiccuped, smiling into his skin and drinking in the cedarwood scent of his soap. Your fingers combed through the luscious length of his hair, humming contentedly as your heart lightened.

“It’s a big game tomorrow; the King needs his sleep. Cuddle me and keep me from assaulting those dumb girls in my dreams again.”

Shouei was more than happy to oblige.

Sae was not accustomed to being unable to accomplish something once he set his mind to it.

He was driven, self-motivated—perhaps not always for the right reasons—but he worked diligently to improve himself in all aspects that he considered important.

So why then did he find himself wide awake and silently seething?

From his seated position in the bed, he glanced down at your sleeping form. Your face relaxed, eyes fluttering as dreams no doubt coloured behind your lids, and your lips… so soft and perfectly kissable. He would blame you, but he couldn’t.

You might be the reason he was unable to find rest, but it was his lack of ability to form suitable words that irked him endlessly.

Three little words and they were lodged in his throat like an anvil in some stupid Saturday morning cartoon. You knew. He knew that you knew. Except it wasn’t the same as actually saying it, was it?

A tic worked in his jaw and as if sensing his ire, you grumbled and stretched. Cute little hands sought him out, eyes still closed but brow now knitted together when you felt for him and discerned that he was not lying down as he should be.

“Sae?”

“Hm.”

You blinked, rubbing at your eyes and shuffling closer until your head was lying in his lap. “It’s late, you should sleep.”

He agreed—wholeheartedly.

Sae looked upon you and felt the words rush through his brain at an alarming rate. Words that he couldn’t possibly voice, not yet, maybe not ever if he feared the worst.

Vulnerable was not an emotion he was used to, yet it beat against his brain. Licking across his suddenly parched lips, he mustered the ghost of a smile. It only resulted in your worried little mewl.

“It’s okay, I’m just thinking. Go back to sleep,” he said matter-of-factly.

His eyes cooled when you refused, choosing to continue the conversation he didn’t wish to engage with right now. “About what?”

A rogue thought of him grabbing you by the shoulders until your face was nose to nose with him struck across his temples like lightning. His every thought was centered on you, how could you not know?

At training.

In the shower.

When you were cuddled into his side and happily yapping about your day.

When you were chanting his name like a personal prayer, face twisted into bliss.

When he should be sleeping.

“It… it doesn’t matter. It can wait ‘til the morning.” Sae gave you no room to argue, scooting down the bed and drawing you beneath his arm. “Sleep.”

You yawned. Pretty eyes blinking up at him with that adorable little smile that only wrapped him further around your pinky finger.

“‘m gonna hold you to that, Sae.”

He made a noise in his throat and closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself for not having the strength to be completely honest with you.

Maybe tomorrow… he thought. Gods, he hoped.

Seishiro liked his sleep. Everyone knew that, and they also knew that once he was asleep it was almost impossible to wake him until he was good and ready.

That was why it was so odd that he found himself staring at the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet as it flashed a neon 3am message at him. For a moment, he simply blinked at the glow, wondering if he did it enough times that it would eventually make sense or he’d fall over again, but it was no use.

Did he need to pee? Was he thirsty? Too hot? Too cold? Need an extra pillow?

The answer to each was no, and that only made his brow furrow deeper in confusion. He moved to turn over, expecting to find your sleeping form by his side so he could drag you backwards into the embrace of his body, but he stopped short.

His fingers met only cold sheets where you should be and his heart lurched. It was three in the morning, why weren’t you in bed? And if you weren’t in bed where the hell were you?

Only now did he realise that your absence had been the catalyst to his waking. Like a comfort blanket, Nagi had long known that he slept best when he was touching some part of you and it wasn’t like you seemed to mind either. An arm over your waist. A leg between yours. His palm anchored at your chest.

Sleepily, hands rubbing at his fatigued eyes, he made his way from the bedroom to search for you. It didn’t take him long when the soft glow from beneath the living room door beckoned him forward, and he found you huddled in a blanket on the couch.

“Whatchu doing up?” he asked blearily, ignoring the little jump you gave at his sudden appearance.

“Oh—‘shiro. What are you doing up?”

Nagi frowned, rounding the couch and settling by your side until his head rested on your shoulder. “I asked you first.”

Your fingers raked through the pure snow of his hair, humming at how to word it so he wouldn’t worry but ultimately deciding on honesty.

“Nightmare,” you admitted with a subtle shrug.

“And you didn’t wake me?”

Silly man… he was like a rock once he was out. Plus, why would you want to worry him with a silly nightmare that now you were awake you could reason out it was total nonsense?

“You sleep deep, pookie… and it was silly nonsense.”

Seishiro puffed loudly through his nose, clearly unamused. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, hand raised to turn your head to fix you with those pretty, drowsy eyes. “It’s not silly or nonsense if it bothered you enough that you had to get up. Next time you have permission to dump a glass of water on me.”

Your laughter came out like a bark, and even he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

“I’m serious, sweetie. It’s my job to make sure you’re happy and I refuse to be caught slacking cause I’m fast asleep,” he scolded, but mostly to himself.

His arms wound around your body, lifting you so you were cradled on his lap with your head on his shoulder this time. “Wanna talk about it or do you want me to tell you exactly how I would defeat all those nightmare monsters?”

“Oh ho, this I’ve got to hear. Go on gamer boy, tell me how you’d slay my nightmares.”

And he did, until you were both laughing and yawning, and tired enough to fall asleep entwined on the couch.

For as many nights as you had spent in Oliver’s bed, it still didn’t quite feel like you belonged. Despite your best efforts, something always kept you on guard and tonight was no different, except it was… and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Sure, things weren’t serious between you two, but the past few encounters had led you to believe that he was being even more cagey than normal.

Your gaze wandered to the dozing profile beside you, eyes lingering on the scruff along his jaw and the pretty hair that fell in that perfectly ruffled way against the pillow.

Why were you here?

The question refused to leave you alone.

When had Aiku ever invited you over and you hadn’t ended up fucking like animals? It wasn’t like you had reached out to him, oh no, you knew better than to have your hand bitten in situationships like these. He set the terms, and you were happy to follow until you got bored… or at least that had been the case with other lovers in the past.

It felt odd to be lying here in nothing but one of his match shirts and for there not to be an ache between your thighs. You weren’t exactly complaining. The movie had been one you had been meaning to watch for months, and the conversation had been easy and full of laughter, but what did it mean?

You weren’t going to lie here awake all night.

“Uhh… Aiku?” You tapped his shoulder as gently as possible, not that he even moved an inch. For a moment you simply listened to his breathing which was even and deep. Damn heavy sleeper.

Clearing your throat, you half yelled. “We need to talk.” Four words that would strike fear into the hearts of men worldwide, and it seemed that Oliver was no exception.

His alluring heterochromatic eyes blinked wide, and you smothered your laughter behind a palm. “Did you…?” He started, but you hushed him just as quickly.

You snuggled down the bed so that you were face to face, his warm breath caressing your throat and you hated how badly you wanted to kiss away that suspicious look on his stupidly handsome face.

It was impossible to resist the temptation to touch him completely, so you let your hand wander until it traced the width of his bottom lip and tickled the patch of scruff just below. You canted your head as much as the pillow would allow and blew out a breath—it was now or never.

“Why am I here?”

Aiku scrunched up his face as if you had asked the most stupid question possible. It warmed your skin, your free hand twisting into the sheets to stop yourself from visibly squirming.

He chuffed after a long moment. “The fuck you think? I like your company… that so bad?”

Oh. Well…

“Look, Aiku—this has strictly been a physical thing until tonight. You can forgive me for being a little miffed,” you huffed petulantly, mainly to cover your embarrassment.

The smug smile that stretched across his plush lips was one you were either gonna smack sideways or kiss stupid. Right now it was a 50/50 split on which way it would go.

He stretched, sleepily, lazy and all sleek strength. Goddamn him.

“Is that the problem? You didn’t get off so now you can’t sleep. Y’know I can fix that real quick, darlin’” he purred, a strong thigh forcing its way between your legs until you yipped and fixed him with a stern scowl.

“Don’t—ah—don’t deflect, Oliver!”

Throwing his hands up in surrender, Aiku flopped backwards and just as quickly he anchored those strong hands at your waist and hauled on top of him. He chuckled when you gasped and smacked at the wall of his chest.

“Hey! Alright alright…” he conceded, schooling his features into sincerity.

In the blink of two mismatched eyes your stomach dropped into your toes. His fingers traced the curve of your shoulder, collarbone, jaw. There was something different behind the teasing and you didn’t want to admit it.

“Can we… not always fuck? I like having you around, and I might sleep better when you’re here.” The last part was a near whispered admission, and it had you folding forward to drape yourself across his chest, if only to hide your face.

Your head fit perfectly beneath his chin whilst his fingers worked soothing patterns along your spine, wrinkling the shirt on your body.

“Yeah. I think we can do that.”

Panic was what woke him. The familiar thrill of terror that shot through his heart and filled his veins with adrenaline.

Sweat dripped from his hairline whilst he looked around wildly for the source of the panic. Frowning, Tokimitsu scanned the dark bedroom one more time and found nothing out of place, so why did it feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest?

A wail akin to the noise of a wounded animal sounded next to him and his skin prickled with goosebumps. This was what he had shaken him awake with an almighty start; he knew it.

Where his girlfriend should be, his eyes landed on a twisted lump of sheets and tangled hair. It sounded like the quivering mass was crying and without hesitation, he leapt into action.

On his knees, the mattress dipped as he worked to free you from the sheets that were coiled around your arms and legs like snakes. He couldn’t quite fathom how you had ended up like this and why the cold of having no blanket at all hadn’t woken him earlier, but it hardly mattered.

Finally, your hot, flustered face appeared with your eyes squeezed shut and tears streaking your cheeks.

“Honey, wake up. It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here. Hey… hey,” he babbled, grasping at your shoulders whilst still trying to be as gentle as possible.

“Ao-shi!” You gulped through tears, blinking away the remnants of sleep that tried valiantly to claw you back under its control.

He could die from heartbreak at how you clung to him, at how you launched yourself upright and into his arms. Your head tucked down to your chest beneath his chin, body trembling and wet with cold sweat. The t-shirt you had borrowed earlier that night bagged on your body, but it was slick and sticking to your skin in places.

Tokimitsu was the one who was used to feeling scared, nervous, anxious… but right now the tables were flipped and how he wished he could take those emotions from you and carry the burden. At least he was used to it.

“It’s alright, just breathe for me,” he coaxed gently, rubbing your back in circular patterns. Aoshi kissed the crown of your head over and over, giving you a chance to control your breathing and regulate yourself whilst he grounded himself with the familiar scent of you.

After a moment or two, your fingers loosened from where they were dug into his biceps. He knew there would be little crescent moon indentations, but he didn’t care, he’d wear them as badges of honour.

You sniffled, bleary eyed and embarrassed. “… ‘m sorry, Aoshi. Bad dream. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Aoshi cupped your face in both hands and brought your face up gently to the same level as his own, thumbs wiping over the watery tracks on your soft, perfect cheeks. His smile was gentle, reassuring, everything he saw in you when you were the one comforting him.

“Don’t be silly and never apologise for feeling scared or worried. Isn’t that what you tell me?”

You nodded once, still a little shaken from images that no longer formed full pictures but were now only snippets of the fear that had gripped you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, grateful that he let you lean forward and rest your forehead against his shoulder. The citrusy scent of his favourite bodywash tickled your nose and coaxed a smile upon your lips.

“I love you.”

Tokimitsu flushed scarlet. It wasn’t the first time you had proclaimed your love and he returned it eagerly and sincerely, but it still took him by surprise to hear it and to know he had been so lucky.

He laughed, nervous and adorable. “Isn’t that usually my line?”

“Maybe… but not tonight.”

[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part two of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it. only, you had some very perceptive friends.

↬ sfw; mostly fluff; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor! reader

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( masterlist )

“Be careful,” you whispered to him, words leaving your lips and being breathed in by Theo’s, just a fraction of an inch apart from yours. “Someone might already be up,” you said worriedly, pushing lightly at his chest. “Go!”

Theo didn't want to go. In moments like these, having you pressed up against your dorm door, hair disheveled from sleep, looking just about ready to be devoured, it was hard to keep being the sensible one. But you were right. Stealing one last kiss, full of morning breath and murmured Italian endearments, Theo parted from you. “See you later, principessa,” he promised seductively, relishing in the little blush that took over your cheeks.

“If you aren't taken apart by a stray griffindor on your way back,” you retorted in a hushed tone and Theo chuckled carelessly. Sparing you one last glance, heavy with something undefined, he took the stairs down. The wooden steps of the griffindor tower creaked faintly under his careful steps, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of the early morning.

The griffindor common room was empty, save for the dying embers in the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. In a few steps, he had crossed the length of the room and paused near the portrait hole, his sharp eyes scanning the room one last time before pushing the frame open, scrunching together his eyebrows when the fat lady stirred and muttered something in her sleep.

He stepped into the cool corridor, reminiscing in the memories of last night. A particularly haunting nightmare had made him restless, so restless, in fact, that he couldn't resist to grab his broom and fly a few rounds around the quiddditch pitch. Only, that hadn't helped the images popping up in his head any time he closed his eyes. So he flew up to your window daringly, knocking and damn near giving you a heart attack.

Luckily, your fellow dormitory students were already fast asleep when you opened the window for him. After some exchanged hushes of worry and excitement, you had pulled him into your bed, letting him engulf you in a hug as you rested against his chest. Which was how you awoke the next morning, with you getting him out of your dormitory before your friends woke up.

Theo congratulated himself on sneaking out of enemy territory unseen. Enemy, of course, except for you. A smile tugged at his lips in spite of himself as his mind vividly recounted your hands in his hair, soothing him to sleep. There was no other person who he could trust this unconditionally, not just with his body, but with his soul. Soul. Unbelievable, that he was starting to lament over such sentimental crap. But looking into your eyes, it was a challenge not to become one of the lovesick, sappy idiots he used to sneer at.

“What are you doing here?”

Theo was ripped out of his reminiscent haze by a shrude voice and he cursed himself for letting down his guard and deviating from his usual vigilance. Ron Weasley stood in front of him, panting in his quidditch attire with a broom clutched in his hand. Tensely, he stared at Theo, looking just about ready to jump him.

“I didn't know borrowing books was a reasonable offense now,” Theo remarked with a disparaging smile, brushing past the ginger without a second glance to avoid further questioning.

The boy opened his mouth in protest and shot around in the direction Nott had taken off, but the corridor was empty, save for the portraits who had watched the exchange with mild interest. Some of them sniggered and Ron threw a nasty scowl their way, pushing open the portrait hole. Strange. But he shrugged it off, opting to catch a few minutes of sleep before breakfast.

“Have you slept a single hour last night?” Hermoine asked pointedly when you yawned for the third time since breakfast. Propping up her book so Slughorn wouldn't catch the two of you whispering, she raised a brow. “You look really tired, maybe you should-”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off with a reassuring smile, copying down the ingredients for an amortentia potion. Indeed, you had been a little caught up with staring at your sleeping boyfriend's face last night other than sleeping. But how were you supposed to rest when your heart beat like a jackhammer at his arm around your waist. “You’ll just have to coordinate the brewing, I’m afraid, or I’ll release a biochemical weapon onto the class.” Hermoine laughed.

Just then, Slughorn demanded the class’s attention, waving a sheet of parchment in his hands. “For this lesson, I thought we would switch things up a bit.” A loud groan echoed through the class and Hermoine and you exchanged exasperated glances. Only Slughorn seemed truly delighted by the idea as he flattened the parchment, reading out the assigned pairs.

Hermoine got paired up with Malfoy, to her great displeasure, but when Slughorn got to the letter ‘P’, he paired up Harry with Dean and you with- “Mr Nott,” Slughorn announced, rolling up the parchment. “Please, get together in your assigned pairs. You have one hour to brew an amortentia potion. Start … now!”

“Poor us,” Hermoine sighed, packing her things. Oh, yes. Poor you. Sneaking a glance at Theo, you saw him hoist his quill, parchment and books into his arms to come over. The bags under his eyes were a little more pronounced than usual, and you knew why. Looking at him made your heart beat louder once more. “It’s just one hour,” you attempted to comfort Hermoine who took off, steering towards a very displeased looking Malfoy.

“May I sit here?” a grave voice whispered way too close to your ear. Flinching, you jerked your head back and made room for Theo to sit, sending him a firm look. But no movement disturbed the perfect symmetry of his features as he sat down, collecting the ingredients on the table before you. Shyly, you dared brush your hand with his and saw his perfect lips twitch in the corner of your eye.

His hand fell under the table as if by chance, and he hooked his pinkie finger around yours, squeezing it gently. A silent exchange. Releasing your hand, Theo opened his book and propped it up, igniting the fire beneath your cauldron with a simple flick of his wand. If you hadn't known better, you’d have been deeply intimidated by the irked glance he spared you. “Focus, Potter. I don't want to fail this lesson because of you.”

“Are your skills so poor they deflate in the presence of my humble self?” you retorted, attempting to suppress a grin. He was better at this, at controlling his expression to a tee, masking his true feelings with indifference and disdain. You, on the other hand, were faced with the challenge of not breaking out into a bright smile any time you two locked eyes, if you didn't want to blow your cover.

Without another comment, Theo assigned the task of cutting up the ingredients to you, giving you exasperated looks any time you didn't chop them up fast enough. But when your half-finished potion let out a loud hiss and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke, as described in the instructions, he leaned over, a tender smile on his lips. “You’re doing very good, tesoro,” he whispered and left you scrambling to hide your gleeful smile once the smoke had subsided.

Catching Zabini staring at the two of you, you kicked Theo under the table who understood immediately and gave you a slighting glare. "Careful, Potter. If you don't chop those properly, Slughorn's going to lecture both of us."

You gave him an equally dirty look, pointing the cutting knife at him. "Why don't you do it, then? Afraid you'll ruin those perfectly manicured nails?" Theo's eyes glinted, lingering in the knife until they flickered up at your eyes and you recognized the expression. Of course Theo liked knifes, you thought to yourself sarcastically and went back to chopping the ingredients, with Theo still looming over you, the sole focus of his attention.

"Didn't notice you fancied my hands so much, Potter." Yes, he did. Only a week ago had he teased you about it when your gaze lingered on them for a second too long. Long enough to catch his attentive eye and earn you a string of teasing comments and insinuations that had left you as a flustered mess. Feeling someone's eyes on you, you glanced up and met Hermoine's, so you turned to Theo sharply and glared as convincingly as possible.

"You're a distracting batard, you know? And if I get caught making mistakes because of you, I'm blaming you in front of Slughorn." The amused expression in his eyes revealed to you just how entertaining this was for him, this throwing around backhanded insults, flirting just subtly enough to avoid suspicion, teetering the edge with every sentence and challenging himself to absolute composure and self control. And you found yourself growing quite excited in expectation of his retort, eyes lingering on the dangerous curl of his perfect lips.

"Oh no," Theo remarked with faux distress. "Anything but the wrath of a Griffindor with hurt feelings." You'd have loved it to shove your elbow into his side, but settled for a cold glower. "One of these days, I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face, Nott."

Theo sure wasn't lying when he chuckled: "Looking forward to it, Potter." Casually, his gaze brushed over the ingredients you had chopped increasingly unevenly over the course of your banter. "If you're trying to sabotage this potion, you're doing an excellent job."

Caught red handed, you pouted at him defiantly, knowing it would rile him up. "I don't need your approval, Nott." When he replied, his voice was much closer to your ear than expected. "That's funny, considering how much time you spend trying to impress me."

Jolting back in your seat, you looked around the room frantically, but for once, your classmates seemed to mind their own business. But still, you turned back to Theo with fake fury laced into your tone. "Impress you? Please. You'd be lucky if I even noticed you existed outside of this table."

A delighted little smile made its way to Theo's stone cold expression, soon replaced by a mocking expression. "Oh, I think you notice plenty, Potter."

Every single one of his snide comments and remarks, eagerly returned by you, were accompanied by a glint of amusement in his eyes, and if he was feeling particularly bold, a soft squeeze of your thigh under the table. The first time he did it, you flinched and caught a weird look from Hermoine. When you frowned at Theo, he simply smiled indesipherably.

Slowly, your potion started taking on it’s signature smell. Breathing in, you could've rolled your eyes when the smell of smoke penetrated your nose, paired with that of parchment and mint. When you looked up, you found Theo already looking at you with an unmistakably hungry expression that had you blink meekly in your seat before burying your flushed face in your potions book.

At the end of the lesson, your potion was as pinkish as described in the instructions and Slughorn smiled at you both with a pleased expression. “Amortentia indeed. Miss Potter, Mr Nott, you make a rather fine pair, this is just right. Not that I would have expected anything less from either of you…”

You resisted the urge to look at Theo, because you knew whatever expression graced his face, it would surely make you smile traitorously. With an extra O on your wrap sheet, you left the classroom for lunch with Hermoine, Harry and Ron, eager to meet with Theo later that day. But your plans were cut short when Hermoine asked: “Will you be in the common room tonight? I heard the library is closing early.”

“Really?” you exclaimed in surprise. The library had been your common excuse for dates with Theo, and you also sensed that Hermoine was watching your reaction closely. “Well,” you said, feeling it would be suspicious if you didn't agree, “I guess so, yeah.”

“Good,” Hermoine said heartily as you strolled past the Slytherins and you resisted the urge to look at Theo. “Because Harry, Ron and I-” Both boys violently shook their heads at her and she rolled her eyes. “Fine, because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Already suspicious about what that ‘something’ might be, you forced an unasuming smile upon your face. “Great, just great.”

Hermoines eyes bored themselves into your back as you excused yourself to go to the toilet, watching your frame diasappear behind a corner. Ron raised his brows as he stilled in his step. “You coming, or what?” Shooting him a nasty look, she trailed along, but before she could scold Ron, he raised his voice once more, in a blatant attempt to distract her. “Hey, guess who I ran into this morning leaving the Griffindor tower?”

“Who?” Harry and Hermoine asked and Ron lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “Theodore Nott,” he revealed theatricly, clasping his hands together. “Said he was 'borrowing a book' but he looked like he was in quite a hurry, and pretty disheveled at that. And you know how prim and proper that bloke strolls around the halls. Hair like a bird’s nest, I tell you.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Bet that he planted some kind of trap there, maybe we should check the common room tonight.”

“Maybe,” Hermoine said, lost in thought, looking out of the window onto the grey sky.

“Maybe he was looking for our quidditch strategies,” Harry speculated, taking to steps at a time. “We're playing them this weekend, after all.”

“Yeah, that’ll be it!” Ron exclaimed, but Hermoine did not look convinced.

Neither of them brought the topic up again though, until it quite literally ran into them. As they walked around a corner, they saw Nott himself striding out of a corridor and disappearing in the direction of the great hall. “What was he doing in the corridor of the girl's toilets?” Ron laughed once he was out of earshot. As daring as he was, he was not stupid enough to challenge Nott to an altercation.

But the topic of lunch soon became the more pressing one as they entered the great hall, no one noticing your late arrival, disheveled hair or un-tucked shirt.

Theodore Nott would not describe himself as a romantic. In spite of his Italian heritage, he was everything but sappy. In fact, he thought he had a rather raw opinion of life and the world. Theo did not smile to himself while delving in memories, he did not savor touch or words, he didn't spend afternoons thinking of dates, he didn't believe in love as anything other than hormones. Until you came along and disrupted his whole worldview.

Relationships had always been transactions for him, mostly sexual, pushing people away before he had a chance to get attached. Theo didn't need love or pining or butterflies in his stomach, or daydreams of you, there was a damn war on the doorstep. And that it had to be you, specifically. But of course, he would fall for someone so far out of his reach that he had to go to truly ridiculous lengths to see you. And still, it was worth it a hundred times.

“Mate, you have been staring daggers at the Griffindor table for the last five minutes,” Blaise said, nudging him and making Theo blink in irritation. He had been watching you intently as you talked with your friends, trying to balance food, the conversation and the book you had to read for your next lesson. Cute. Utterly endearing, in fact.

“It’s scary. You haven't blinked once for at least five minutes,” Blaise continued, stealing the untouched food from Theo’s plate who couldn't care any less. You had just risen from your seat, almost tripping over the bench and laughing about your mistake as you threw your back over your shoulder and hurried out of the hall. When Theo showed no reaction to his comment, Blaise nudged him again and Theo begrudgingly took his eyes off you. “What's got your head in a wrap, you old grump?”

“Nothing,” Theo said, rubbing his eyes. Not only had he had a nightmare, he also had had a hard time sleeping last night when you were just inches from him, in your fucking bed in your cute pyjamas and those starry eyes, looking just about ripe to be devoured-

“Theo, how much did you sleep tonight?” Enzo asked worriedly, a spoonful of sauce halting its movement halfway to his mouth.

“And more importantly, where?” called Mattheo from next to him, flicking his fork at Theo that he dodged.

“Common room,” he muttered, but the boys glanced sceptically at each other. “You weren't on the quidditch pitch all night, were you?” Draco groaned and rolled his eyes when Theo didn't answer. “Hey, the team needs you at your best this weekend, if Potter wins I might actually have to throw myself off the Astronomy tower!”

“And what a loss for the world that would be,” Theo remarked sarcastically, prompting the others to laugh while Draco kicked him under the table.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” you asked expectantly, sitting down on the couch next to Hermoine who glanced at you wearily. It was almost midnight and the common room was empty, save for the four of you lounging by the fire, the sound of the cackling fire occasionally disrupted by a short conversation.

“You…,” Hermoine hesitated, “You’ve been a little distant lately and we were just wondering… is everything alright?” You were so stunned by the question which you really should have seen coming that you didn't answer for a few seconds. Blinking at the three frowning faces in varying stages of worry and suspicion, you smiled.

“That's really sweet of you, but I’m fine, really. Just… a lot of school,” you said, giving them a convincing smile.

But Hermoine didn't seem satisfied with your answer. “You told me you would visit the library last week. Well, I was there. You weren't.” Right. You hadn't been at the library because you had snuck out to the school grounds, making your way to the lake swiftly where Theo was already waiting for you.

Sometimes the two of you needed words and sometimes you didn't. That day, you didn't. Instead, he had guided you between his legs to sit down, his arms engulfing you from behind and shielding you against the cold. Lost in your individual trains of thought, you had watched the shimmering reflections of the enlightened windows decrease in number until there was only the cool light of the moon. That was when Theo had risen at last, pulling you up with him. He had taken your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and the two of you had walked back to the castle. Like the gentleman he was, he had even taken you to Griffindor tower and kissed you good night, dismissing the risk of Filch catching him.

The two of you had barely talked that evening, but it had left you so calm and fulfilled as if you had shared a heartfelt conversation. And maybe you had. Maybe you had discovered other means than words to convey your feelings to each other.

“It was kinda crowded in there,” you tried to talk your way out of the situation, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. Once more, you were reminded that nonchalance was not something you could simply pick up from somebody- or you’d have lied your way out of this one already.

“Oh, come on,” Ron groaned, shooting you an exasperated look. “You’re acting weird. You’re always off doing something, and when you’re with us you’re not really there because we gotta talk to you several times for you to notice it!”

“Now, that's a massive exaggeration!” you protested, folding your arms over your chest. Sure, maybe you’d gotten lost in thought a few times over the last months, but not remotely as often as Ron made it sound.

“You’re acting shifty,” Ron pressed, pointing an accusing finger at you. “And I know shifty!”

Hermoine rolled her eyes at him, looking like she was contemplating a crime. “I only wanted to say,” she sighed, “that we're a bit worried. Is there maybe… I mean,” - she raised her brow suggestively - “Are you … seeing someone?”

“What?” Harry exclaimed and splurted out a full mouth of butterbeer into the hissing fire, seeming utterly stunned by the possibility. “You mean-” He looked from Hermoine at you and back again. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well,” Hermoine interrupted him. “It's really none of our business. We just wanted to make sure.”

“Wait a second,” Harry chimed in and you couldn't help but laugh at the incredulous on his face. “This is serious, I need to know this, I’m your brother!” “When did you start getting all browy and overprotective?” you sneered, laughing at his expression. “What do you even care? Did I pry when you started dating Cho?”

Harry mumbled something under his breath, but Ron looked amused. “Assuming you won't reveal the identity of whatever bloke you’re dating-” “Hold up, when did I confirm I was dating anybody?” “-who might the mystery man be?” The topic seemed much more interesting to him than his potions homework which lay discarded worryingly close to the fire. Propping himself on one elbow, he scanned you up and down. “I bet you’re not dating Seamus or Dean or we would know. And you don't seem like the type to go for older guys.” He glanced at Hermoine. “Someone in Ravenclaw maybe?”

Hermoine’s glare had him growing quiet. “This is childish, Ron. And who says she isn't dating a girl?”

“You all seem pretty dead-set on the dating theory,” you remarked but it went unheard, or at least overheard.

“As long as it’s not a Slytherin,” Ron told you in a comforting tone, “It's fine and we’ll live with it.” As if it was a truly ridiculous idea, he began bellowing with laughter, but you only joined in half-heartedly. If you had needed any more confirmation that nobody could know about you and Theo, here it was, laughing you in the face.

taglist: @annaisabookworm [get added to the tag list by commenting]

[mariswxts]

maine coon

Summary: Dean initially hated your small touches. He used to feel weird with them on his skin. But now he craves them. He craves the high of feeling like a human, and you’re the best hit he’s ever had.

TW: Mentions of borderline dehumanisation (cause we hate John guys for making those two beautiful boys soldiers/mindless machines), two idiots in love, tooth rotting fluff! Thought up this little drabble :)

A/N - Maine coon because they’re a very friendly cat breed! Plus, a little comfort for Dean cause he needs it :) set in s1

Little touches.

It started like that. Just small brushes of your hand on his shoulder and ruffling of Sam’s hair. The younger Winchester would brush you off politely, fix his hair but wear an affectionate smile anyway.

Not Dean.

Dean would grumble, pout angrily, act as if he was wiping off the invisible trail your hands left and claim that he wasn’t a baby. All at first. But slowly, like an ice lolly in the sun, slowly melting, he found himself less inclined to brush you off. He’d get jumpy and irritable if you didn’t show him that affection for too long. He even found his nightmares appearing less frequently after being lulled to sleep with his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair because he couldn’t sleep.

You slept better too, knowing he was ok and he was able to turn to you, even though it was wordless. All it took was a flash of puppy eyes and you knew what he needed. The comfort that he deserved, after working himself to the bone protecting Sammy and you like his father taught him. Like a good soldier.

He didn’t feel like that with you.

Sleep was gently coaxed out of him by the sensation of nails on his scalp, a groan muffled by his face in his pillow as he instantly recognised the cool sensation of the ring on your finger as your hand smoothed down his hair. “Wake up, Dean.” You murmured softly, your thumb tracing his ear, and he almost smiled at the sensation. Almost.

The aroma of coffee hit his lungs, and when your hand ran down to gently press against his shoulders and massaging down to his shoulder blades, he didn’t feel so inclined to sleep further. So he sat up. He wanted to see you, your gorgeous face, with the eyes that told a thousand stories and those lips that were worth a thousand dollars when they were pursed in anger. Which only came out when someone hurt him or Sam.

He didn’t feel like he had a sword and shield in his hand in moments like these. Instead, he had a warm cup of coffee and your hand briefly petting his hair, which he leaned into before it even touched his head. “Mornin’.” He rasped out, voice crackly and hoarse from the morning, smacking his lips to get the morning taste off before taking the first heavenly hit of caffeine. And relishing in the aftershocks of the second euphoric high of your touch. “S’some damn good coffee, darlin’.”

“Black, two spoons o’ sugar, and a dash of beer.” You gave him a small smile as you stood up and moved to the kitchenette of your small motel room, looking beautiful to Dean even in your oversized shirt and sleep shorts, complete with black ankle socks. You had bed head that you were yet to sort out, but Dean was dazzled by the halo he could see over your head.

His mom said angels were watching over him. Maybe this is what she meant.

“Just how you like it.” You added, working to make some breakfast. The smell of cooking eggs and frying bacon filled the space, a small smile on your face as you contently cooked food for the man who was approaching you, coffee cup raising to his lips as his eyes followed you like a lost puppy. The cup clinked as it was set down on the counter, Dean’s tongue darting out to lick his lips before biting the bottom one as he tentatively made his way over to rest his chin on your shoulder from behind, his eyes closing slowly like a cat when your hand reached behind to gently play with his hair.

“Smells nice.” He murmured, almost like a purr as he leaned into your touch.

You chuckled, your fingers rubbing over the silky, spiky strands of his morning hedgehog hair. “That’s ‘cause I’m an amazing cook.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Dean added with a contented groan, wanting so badly to tell you how he felt. So much that it was threatening to burst out of his chest.

“What did I tell you about saying that?” You chastised, piling his plate with a bit extra of everything that he liked before sliding it closer to him. “C’mon, eat.”

“Thanks.” He cupped your cheeks, leaning in.

It was meant to be a simple kiss on the forehead. That’s all it was meant to be. But by some miracle (or maybe his eternal bad luck), his lips pressed against yours. Soft, slow, sweet. He puckered up, eyebrows raising in surprise, his eyelashes fluttering but staying closed before he decided to pull himself away, but it felt like yanking. Tugging. Practically peeling himself off, cause he didn’t want to let go.

His eyes didn’t open for at least a few second. But when he did, he saw yours. Your shining eyes, with a small, amused smile on your lips. Your gorgeous lips, that he just wanted to see swollen with all the kisses and love he could give you.

“What was that for?” Came your voice, quiet and docile as you looked at him in a way that only you could. Only you.

“I don’t know.” He murmured, eyes flicking to your lips again, itching for that high again. That hit. So he let himself taste you again, let himself lose his way in the labyrinth that came with your hand on the side of his neck and his cradling your cheek. The taste of coffee, the different ways you both liked it sweetening your palettes in a beautiful mix of sweet, sour and alcohol. The smell of old leather gracing you while the scent of your lavender body wash flooded him and sent him past cloud nine.

You pulled back slowly, because you also wanted to savour him. But when you saw the look on his face, his slightly swollen lips and the way they were parted in awe, you couldn’t help but melt and thumb his bottom lip.

“I think…” You paused to kiss his cheek softly, whispering against it, “I think I know.”

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[dusteryy]

kieran doodle

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