#he blames Avery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apheliia · 5 months ago

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READ THIS EARLIER WHILE I WAS STANDING IN LINE AT A PHARMACY AND. OUGH. AVERY. AVERY. YOU.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ FLESH AND BLOOD — platonic douma & reader !

synopsis. douma’s child knows there is only one way to truly escape: killing their father. warnings. kny-typical blood, death & yknow... eating people. knives, threats of violence. unhealthy family dynamics. douma is his own warning tbh. notes. PLATONIC. (terrible) father figure!douma. gn!reader. they/them used. angst. 3.6k words. read warnings pls! @romaritimeharbor you were right, i couldn't write a happy ending. this man was made for horror, not fluff.

Every step [Name] takes is heavy.

There’s a knife strapped to their belt, hidden under several layers of clothing. They swiped in from the kitchens one night on a whim, sneaking behind two chefs who were too engrossed in an argument about spices to notice them. Once they left—with neither chef noticing them at all—they took to work fashioning a strap to attach it to their belt, and tucked it under their clothes. When they were finished, it swung on their hip, occasionally bumping against their thigh if they ran too quickly. Secure, but still accessible; exactly how they wanted it.

It isn’t the most ideal weapon. They haven’t had enough experience wielding it to even know what to do with it if their situation called for a fight, but it hangs by their side like an anchor. The slight pressure, with the glint of metal separated from their skin by a single layer of fabric, grounds them.

Every night, they make sure the edge is sharpened, before tucking it under their pillow with one hand slotted underneath. Idly, their fingers trace the edge of the handle, prepared to close around it should they wake up to an attack.

And yet, even with the care they have to make sure the knife is always close to their side, they have never once used it. It’s a safeguard more than anything else; a reminder that no matter what happens in the lion’s den they call a home, they are ready and prepared to fight their way out to safety. It didn’t need to be withdrawn; a simple pat to their side to make sure the weapon was still safely attached to their belt was enough to steady their nerves.

As they walk through the halls with feather-light footsteps, their heartbeat pounds with the wings of a hummingbird. They force their breath to even out into a steady pattern, squeezing their hands into fists to stop them from shaking. They were not the apex predator in this place, but they’d be damned if they were reduced to mere prey.

Through the halls of their home, they pass countless faces that greet them with big smiles and waves. They don’t stop for a single one, only nodding slightly and murmuring a greeting for each. One woman in particular gasps as she sees them, peeling away from her group to catch their arm as they walk by.

“Ah, [Name]! I was speaking with Lord Douma earlier, and he requested that you join him for dinner tonight!” The woman smiles brightly at them. They bite back a sharp retort, instead forcing a smile.

“If you see him again, tell my father that I might be late,” they say smoothly. The words feel like poison on their tongue, but they spit them out anyway.

Father was once a word they used with pride. It was babbled through lips that barely knew the sounds they were making, but the title was met with a blinding smile. Douma seemed to take pride in the word as well, if the way he scooped them into his arms every time they called him it was any indication. He’d press his cheek to their hair, squeezing them against his chest like they were a stuffed toy. A laugh, brimming with almost childlike glee, and an excited, “Yes, yes, that’s it! I’m your father, and you’re my darling little child.”

They were happy as his child, for a long time. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t their family by blood; he was the one to take them in when they were only a baby, giving them all they could ever want or need and spoiling them beyond comprehension. He adored them, more than anything. That was what he promised, at least.

Their childhood was happy, as happy one can be when raised in a cult. The followers loved them as much as they loved Douma himself, showering them with attention and gifts when he wasn’t there to give them it instead. [Name] learned to look past the smiles, to not get attached to the voices that spoke their name with reverence, because it was almost never the same face that greeted them twice. It didn’t matter too much, because Douma was always there to fill the gaps with his warm embraces.

But they grew older, as children do, and the haze of paradise slowly cleared. The mysteries of their youth that once felt like exciting secrets to unearth began to weigh on them, and they found themself pestering Douma with endless questions. Questions like ‘Why do people keep disappearing?’ and ‘What’s beyond the Eternal Paradise?’

To their frustration, his responses were vague and dismissive, never leaving them satisfied. The only answers they received were ‘They’ve achieved Paradise.’ and ‘Nothing. There is nothing worth seeing beyond here.’

Douma always said they were naturally inquisitive, but that burning desire for answers only brewed a frustration in their chest that never seemed to be quelled by his distant answers. He was hiding things, they could see it on his face. There were too many things that he kept secret to be coincidence, too many details that didn’t add up.

Their fervent pursuit of answers led to one place: the door at the end of main hall. It was locked at all times, the only place they were forbidden from entering. Douma was especially serious when he informed them the room was off limits, his eyes turning sharp when he questioned him about it.

“This is my home and yours, and you are free to roam everywhere else, but that place isn’t for you, little one.”

The words might have deterred them as a child, but they couldn’t let their curiosity fester any longer.

There was one key that opened every lock in the cult, hidden in a secret compartment in the main room that Douma didn’t think they knew about. One night as slipped through the door and locked it behind him, they stole the key, slipping it in the lock and turning the handle.

The first thing they noticed was red. It covered the room, spilling across his table, dripping steadily on his tiled floors and splattering across the walls in an angry scarlet. The second thing they noticed was that their father was covered in it. The colour was smeared across his face, trickling from his lips and down his chin. It stained his robes and coated his hands, but he barely noticed; he was too busy swiping his tongue across his lips to soak up the excess droplets.

Among the carnage was the lifeless figure of a woman, her body mangled and thrown carelessly at his feet. Douma himself was lounging on a chair, his legs crossed, unbothered by the nightmarish scene surrounding him. One of his hands clasped a severed arm, bringing it to his teeth and tearing off a chunk of flesh. He hummed as he ate, licking his lips like he was savouring the taste.

In all their years of growing up by his side, they’d watched as Douma had ignored the gifts of food his followers brought him, yet now, now he seemed to find his appetite. Their skin crawled, memories of rejected meals and his claims of already eating echoing in their ears. When he locked himself in the room, was this what he was doing? Was this where their missing followers ended up?

They clutched their arm, pressing their nails hard enough to leave marks against their skin. The sight was something out of their worst nightmares, yet the sting of pain was a sharp reminder that it was reality. Nausea bubbled up in their stomach, but they forced it down long enough to close the door with a quiet click and lock it again.

They never confronted him after that day. They could barely look him in the eye long enough to do so. But one thing was clear: as long as he lived, they and all of the followers of the Eternal Paradise faith were in danger.

Their hand brushed against their hip. The cold press of metal through their clothes eased their nerves.

A proper fighter would have a sword, and use it to slice his head clean off, but they would have to make do with a simple kitchen knife. Eventually the moment would present itself, eventually he would be off his guard, and they would have the chance to ambush him. The edge of the blade was sharp, all it would take is one slice across his throat and his life would be snuffed out.

They ignored the nagging part of them that told them it wouldn’t be enough, that Douma had to be something inhuman, something powerful, something that took more than a slit throat to kill. It whispered that a creature so heartless that it would slaughter and consume innocent humans couldn’t possibly be an ordinary mortal being.

They especially ignored the part of them that blanched at even the thought of harming him, the man that brought them in and doted on them every day of their life. That was the part that wished they could go back and never look through the door, maintaining a fragile bliss that wasn’t wrought with fear and uncertainty; the part that urged them to forget, to close their eyes and let him be their adoring father again.

Their footsteps haltered as they approached the open doorway that led to the main room of the building. Even the entrance was ornately decorated, with delicately painted screens separating it from the rest of the rooms.

“Is someone there?” A voice called out sharply. Their breath caught in their throat, and they patted their side instinctively. With a careful glance around the door, they saw him, sitting in the centre of the elaborate room on his usual cushioned seat.

“Are you hiding?” Douma asks, his eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable. He leans his head on his hand, smiling at where they are half-concealed behind the doorway. “My child, is that you? Come on out, don’t be shy.”

There was no point trying to pretend they weren’t there. With a deep breath, they step into the light.

“It is my child!” He laughs, in a voice that could be mistaken for delight. If they were a little younger they would have beamed at the sound, but their maturity had earned them the skill of seeing right through his cheery demeanour. “[Name], have you come to visit me?”

“Yes.” They say stiffly, forcing a neutral expression. They ignored the way his smile softened; it was a lie, it had to be.

“Aren’t I a lucky father?” Douma pauses to wipe away a fake tear, the sight making something curl uncomfortably in their gut. He pats the area beside his chair. “Come, sit down.”

When they were a baby—back when the brightness of his smile felt genuine—he would sit them on his lap, letting them play with his fans while he spoke to his followers. They were too old for that now, so instead they tiptoe inside and settle beside the chair, sitting with their knees tucked to their chest.

“How are you today, [Name]? It feels like forever since we’ve caught up.” Douma asks them as they sit, smiling over at them. They pick at the edge of their clothing, not meeting his eye.

“What does the writing in your eyes mean?” They suddenly ask, instead of answering.

“Curious today, are we?” Douma chuckles. He taps his nail just below his right eye. “I’m sure you know what this one is.”

They nod, recognizing the numeral. “It’s… two, right?”

“Yes, it is! Such a smart child I have.” Douma’s grin widens, and he points the other one. “What about this one?”

They squint at his eye, observing the thin brushstrokes over the rainbow-coloured iris. It wasn’t a character they recognized, even after their studies. “I don’t know.”

“This one—” Douma tapped his nail against his skin. “Is a combination of two characters. Together it means Upper Rank.”

“Upper Rank…?” They echo. “Upper Rank Two? What does that mean?”

“It’s my ranking.” Douma hums, not bothering to explain further. “Is it my turn to ask a question now?”

Their posture stiffens. “If you want.”

Douma clapped his hands together. “Oh, how fun! What to ask… what to ask…”

He pauses to think, tapping his finger on his chin. “Oh, I have one! What have you been doing with your days?” Douma leans his head on his hand with a smile. “I’ve barely seen you recently. You used to spend so much time with me.”

They swallow down the anxiety that bubbled up at his question. The truthful answer was that they had been carefully avoiding his room, not bothering to stop by unless they were called specifically. The rest of their days were spent sneaking around, scoping out potential escape routes, or making sure their knife was sharp and ready to kill.

“Just… things.” They say vaguely.

Douma stares at them with a pleasantly puzzled expression. “Things…?”

“Yes.”

“How fascinatingly mundane!”

“I guess I’m just a boring person.” They shrug.

“And what about that knife you’ve been carrying around, hm?” Douma asks, his smile not faltering, even as their heart stopped. “I would love to know what you’re planning with that one!”

His eyes are crinkling with the force of his smile, but there is no warmth behind it. They narrow their own eyes, quickly rising to their feet and taking a step backwards. His gaze tracks their every movement, following their hand as they fumble at their belt to pull out the knife from their makeshift sheath.

“Guess.” Their hands shake, but the ready the weapon anyway. “Take a guess as to what I’m planning with it.”

One slice at his throat. One slit, and he’s dead. One cut, and this whole nightmare will end, and he will never be able to hurt anyone again. This was what they'd been preparing for.

“Are you going to kill me?” Douma coos, standing from his chair and grinning. “How adorable!”

“Sh-Shut up!” They hiss, gripping the handle tighter. “I know what you did! I know about that poor woman, the one you murdered and devoured! How many followers have you killed, huh? Was I next? Have you just been raising me like a pig for slaughter?”

“Oh.” A tilt of his head, and a saddened expression that looked… almost real. Almost. They tighten their grip on the blade, reprimanding themself for nearly falling for his act. It wasn’t real, none of it was. They couldn’t forget that, no matter how hurt his expression looked. “I don’t want to kill you, my child.”

“I don’t believe you!” They yell back.

Douma tilts his head to look at them, his face still twisted in that same mask of pity. He took one step towards them, then another, until they were face to face. Before they could blink, his hand was gripping their wrist tight enough to bruise.

“I’m not going to kill you, [Name].” He says sadly, twisting their wrist to seize the knife and holding it up out of their reach. “I am not going to hurt you, nor am I going to let anything else hurt you. It makes me sad that you can’t see that.”

“You’re a monster.” They hiss, their eyes filled with tears. They stumble a few steps back, putting some semblance of distance between them.

Douma chuckles slightly. “And you’re my child. What does that make you?”

They flinch as if he had struck them, stumbling back even further at his words. “I am nothing like you!”

“Aren’t you?” Douma says, his voice thick and sweet like honey. “Oh, we aren’t related by blood but I raised you from birth. Why do you think I would spare such a frail creature like yourself, if I didn’t see a part of myself in you? We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. You’re my child, through and through.”

“I’m nothing like you!” They cry out. “You’re a murderer!”

“Yet you’re the one who was plotting my death.” He waves the kitchen knife in front of their face with amusement dancing on his lips. “That sounds an awful lot like the work of a murderer to me.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it though? It’s still homicide.”

“It was self-defence!”

Douma chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Killing me isn’t self-defence if I haven’t laid a hand on you. I’m afraid that’s just called murder.”

“You’re—” Their words died in their throat. No matter how cruel he sounded saying them, he was right. They were planning to kill him. Maybe they were no better than him after all. “You’re… you’re a monster… I had to kill you. Before… you killed me. That was why I had the knife.”

“Oh, I’m afraid this little thing wouldn’t do much,” Douma laughs as he waves the weapon. With a smile, he drew back the sleeve of his robe and pressed the edge of the knife to the back of his arm. He drags the blade across it, smiling serenely as a line of bright red blood drips down his skin. In seconds the cut is knitting itself back together, leaving only a stain of scarlet over his fully healed skin. “It’s adorable that you thought you could hurt me, but simple weapons like these don’t leave a scratch on me.”

Their heart stopped, watching the mark smooth out and fade into nothing.

It… didn’t matter. All the nights of cutting their fingers of the edge in their haste to make sure it was still under their pillow didn’t matter. The comforting weight at their side wasn't worth anything; it never would have achieved a thing in the first place.

They were a sheep wandering around the den of a wolf, confidently thinking their blunt hooves would be enough to pierce its hide. A painful feeling washed over them—powerlessness.

Their eyes began to burn, along with their chest. As quickly as the rush of adrenaline filled their body, it left, knocking all the air out of their lungs. Tears slowly started dripping down their cheeks, quietly at first, before they were followed by heaving sobs.

“I do love you, my child.” Douma sighs. Lie, it was a lie. “I wish you wouldn’t have done something like this. I was so happy to watch you grow up, content keeping you alive and human. Now what am I to do?”

Their shoulders hitch, hands scrubbing desperately at their eyes. There was a calculating glint in his eyes, before Douma stepped forward again and pulled them into a cold embrace.

“What am I to do with you…” Douma muses, holding them against his chest as they sobbed. The front of his robes were covered in tears and snot but he paid it no mind, just sighing softly and running his fingers through their hair. “My poor child…”

The feeling of his fingers through their hair made them shiver. Were his nails always so sharp, or was his touch just soft enough to hide it?

“What was your plan?” Douma pulls them away to look at their face properly, a sparkle of amusement in his eye. “Where were you going to go, after you killed me, hm? You know there’s nothing out there for you. No one would want to take in a murderer, especially one who killed their own father in cold blood.”

“I would have found somewhere.” They mumble, slowing their sobs to quiet sniffles.

Douma shook his head fondly, like they were discussing something trivial. “Oh, my sweet child, who put such an idea in your head? There is nowhere you can go. Here, it is safe. Here is happy. Why would you ever leave?”

They wanted to scream their anguish, kicking and clawing at him until his face was red and bloody. This man—no, this monster masqueraded as a loving father for years, all while blood spilled behind his gilded doors. But the saccharine sweetness that his voice carried wormed its way into their ears, poisoning their thoughts and—

Such a disappointing, ungrateful child they must be. He welcomed them into his arms, and they were planning to—

Their mind was split. All of their instincts screamed at them to run, run until their lungs burned and their feet bled, but there was a gnawing part of them that clung to his honeyed words. At least when they were in his favour they were safe; they could turn away from the truth and cling to their fractured picture of family. Maybe if they fell to their knees and begged him for forgiveness, he would forget all about their betrayal and welcome them as his child again.

They weren’t anywhere near strong enough to kill him. The least they could do was survive.

“What do you have to say for yourself, [Name]?” Douma asks gently, and something in them snaps.

They fall forward, burying their face in his chest and clutching onto the back of his robes with a wail. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“That’s what I thought…” Douma sighs in almost amusement. He places his hand on the top of their head, ruffling their hair gently.

“I’m sorry… I’ll never do it again, I promise. Please… please don’t leave me! I don’t know what I would be without you,” they cry, the words spilling out so easily they can’t tell if they’re a lie or not.

It wasn’t the end. One day his guard would drop and they would seize the chance, taking everything they own and running away into the night. They will run, not knowing where they will end up but knowing they need to be anywhere but there. Even if it means spending the rest of their life shying away from dark corners and patting their side to check on their weapon, they will escape.

For now, they weep in the arms of their father.

#✧— aphe's recommendations.#NO WORDS.#fact that he doesn't kill them goes SO hard. avery you cooked here. you get him. this is the douma fic ever #i feel like people often forget that about douma. like. he was never going to kill kotoha. he was perfectly content with her alive #he probably *still* wouldn't have killed her if she didn't absolutely FREAK when she found out what douma was doing #(not that i blame her bc girl i would lose my shit too... absolutely terrifying)#makes me want to keep writing my douma fic grrrr #maybe i'll split mine into 2 chapters so i feel less overwhelmed & intimidated by it HAHAH #BUT ANYWAYS #DUDE.... AVERY.........#they are so so so pathetic to him and you captured that perfectly #like he's so mocking and belittling towards them in that overly saccharine and fond way #like you NAILED that!!!!#“Douma chuckles slightly. “And you’re my child. What does that make you?””#GAGGED. SILENCED. I HAVE BEEN QUIETED.#[name] is so cooked dude..... they are so done for. that's it. argument over. douma got them. No coming back from that one fr #douma is so perfect for psychological horror. like he doesn't even have to do anything physically harmful ever +#+ to feel intimidating. he's so perfect for this style of fic.#“Please… please don’t leave me! I don’t know what I would be without you”#nothing. unspoken answer to that is *nothing.*#fuck douma all my homies hate douma!!!!! (<- me and the homies are writing so many fics about him)

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y3sterdaysproblem · 1 month ago

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in my head - m.s.

part two of avery’s playlist series

pairing: reader x matt sturniolo

cw: alcohol, smut (unprotected sex, f!receiving oral, fingering), explicit language

wc: 6k

in my head, i see you all over me

in my head, you fulfill my fantasy

It was like a sixth sense, really, the way you could feel when anybody was staring at you when you weren’t looking. It was something you’d always had a feeling for since you were young, like any time a pair of eyes landed on you, you could feel it burning into your skin.

It was also something you had learned to ignore when you were around your friends, always feeling a constant stare when your head was turned, blue eyes unable to tear themselves away from your frame. You were used to it at this point, the way he looked over at you any chance he got. You were also used to him refusing to admit that he was looking at you, no matter how many times you caught him staring, he’d always deny it, say he was just spaced out or looking past you. You never believed him.

Today was no different, even in the crowded house with music blaring and your mind fuzzy from the alcohol you’d consumed, you could still feel Matt staring at you from where he was leaned against the wall, a fruity seltzer held in his hand as he peered your way. The two of you have been friends for years, but lately it felt like you’ve drifted apart due to how weird he’s gotten around you, and now when you came over, you mostly just talked to his brothers, Nick and Chris, since Matt had always excused himself after you caught him staring.

Matt was always a little bit odd, but he’d gotten more so over the last few months, and you’d gotten sick of trying to reel him back in, finally just deciding to let him pull away from the friendship if that’s what he really wanted.

Alcohol had always made you a little bit bolder, though, and today was no exception, so when you caught Matt’s eye across the room and he actually held your gaze, you couldn’t help yourself from marching over until you were right in front of him, your eyes determined as you approached him. He kept his eyes locked on you, an almost amused smirk playing on his lips at your attempt to be serious.

“Matt,” you start sternly, crossing your arms once you’re in front of him. He’s thoroughly enjoying the way you try to act bigger than you are, though he can tell by the glazed over look in your eyes that it wasn’t raw confidence that had you running up on him, but more of a liquid courage influence. He didn’t mind, in fact, he thought it was amusing. He stays silent, only raising his eyebrows as he peers at you over his can, waiting for you to continue. “We need to talk.”

Matt finishes his drink and sets it down on a nearby table before crossing his arms to match your stance, chest puffing out as his eyes narrowed. “About what?” He inquires, head tilting like a dog.

You weren’t deterred by his attempts to be dominating, though. “About your fucking staring problem.”

He raises an eyebrow like he’s at a complete loss. “What staring problem?”

“Are you kidding?” You laugh, dropping your arms to your sides in disbelief. “You think I don’t see you staring at me all the time? I can feel your eyes burning a hole in the back of my head!”

Matt is fully smirking at you now, his expression teasing. “I never stare at you. I look at you sometimes, like now when you’re talking, but I’m never staring at you.”

The distinct presence of alcohol makes your eyes feel heavy and your brain moves slower, only able to process his words a few seconds after he said them, but you refused to be gaslit into thinking that you were wrong, that you didn’t see what you know you saw.

“Don’t lie to me,” you say loudly, reaching up to point a finger in his face. “You can’t take advantage of me just because I’m drunk.”

The next words that he said are what really throw you off guard, to the point where you almost blamed the alcohol for it, and if you were even one drink further into your night you would’ve, but your comprehension levels were still sharp enough to catch the weight of his words as he leans in close to your ear.

“If I wanted to take advantage of you while you were drunk, lying isn’t the way I’d do it.”

It felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, like an unspoken boundary had been crossed and you had no idea how to react to it. Except your mouth moved faster than your brain, and you spoke before you could even think to stop yourself.

“What?!” You shriek, narrowing your eyes at the boy in front of you. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?!”

Matt rolls his eyes at your volume before he swiftly forces your body in the other direction with his hands and swings an arm over your shoulder. “It means we need to get some water in you.”

You’re offended at his suggestion, scoffing loudly as he led you into the kitchen, keeping a strong grip on you. “I am not that drunk, Matt. Could pass a sobriety test with ease.”

“You’re drunk enough to get confrontational, that’s how I know you need to slow down,” Matt retorts, grabbing an unopened water bottle from the counter and handing it to you.

You want to refuse, to shake your head and push his hand away, but when you turn your head to look up at him, the room spins a little bit, and you know it’s probably for the better that you have some water. Once you do grab it from his hands, you drank almost half of the bottle in one go before handing it back to Matt, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “There, happy now?” You sass.

Matt sets the bottle down on the counter, his other arm still swung over your shoulders. “Sure, now go dance with Nick or something,” he comments, nodding his head in his brother’s direction.

Your confrontational behavior hasn’t dissipated, though, in fact it only feels spurred on by the way Matt is staring down at you, like it’s funny the way you tried to talk to him, like he thinks your attempts at calling him out are adorable. It’s not adorable, you’re serious, and the fact that he doesn’t think you are has you heating up all over again.

In a quick motion, you grab his hand from your shoulder and start walking away, your grip on him tight as you drag him through the crowds of people and into his room. With all the strength you can muster, you pull him in through the doorway and push him in front of you, slamming the door after you’re both in the room.

“I am done dealing with you staring at me all the time and acting like you’re not!” You snap loudly at him, arms crossing over your chest once again. “I may be drunk and confrontational, but you’re drunk, too, so let’s just get this conversation over with so we can go back to being like we were before.”

Matt rolls his eyes at you, huffing like a child. “I’m not as drunk as you,” is all he says.

“Oh, please, like you weren’t just leaning up against the wall out there, or using your arm around me to keep your balance.” You point a finger at him accusatorially. “You’re leaning on your desk right now!”

“Yeah, because my ankle hurts,” Matt shrugged it off, but the way his eyes closed as he spoke made it all the more obvious what the truth was.

By the time his eyes reopen, you’ve marched over to him, your bodies only a couple feet apart now. “Enough. Stop fucking staring all the time or tell me why you do it.” You demand.

He’s getting frustrated again, and you can see it in the way he sucks in a deep breath, like he’s trying to stop himself from getting angry, or maybe he’s trying to stop himself from telling you the truth, trying to fight against the alcohol swimming through his bloodstream. He’s close to cracking, and all you need to do is push a little harder.

“Did I do something to make you mad? You barely talk to me anymore, and every time you do it’s like someone’s twisting your arm behind your back to do it.” Your voice is a bit quieter now, back to a normal speaking volume with a hint of sadness seeping in. “I used to be the closest to you and now it’s a chore to even get you to talk to me.”

Matt groans and leans his head back on his shoulders for a moment before picking it back up and meeting your gaze again. “You didn’t make me mad,” he replies.

“Then what?!” You push, hands flopping to your sides in annoyance. “Why are you so weird now?! You never talk to me, you’re always fucking looking at me and pretending you’re not, you’re always trying to avoid being in the same room as me alone and I am so fucking sick of-“

“What do you want me to say?!” Matt interrupts loudly, pushing himself off the desk and one step closer to you. Your eyes widen in shock as the distance starts to close between you, not expecting him to be so loud. Though the next words out of his mouth had your mind reeling and wondering if maybe you both were a little too intoxicated to be having this conversation. But maybe it was perfect.

“Do you want me to say that every fucking time I look at you, all I can think about is how much better you’d look underneath me? On top of me?” He starts lowly, taking another step closer. “Do you want me to say that I get carried away looking at you because I’m fantasizing about what I want to do to you? That I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want to make you feel good and hear your pretty voice moaning my name?”

Your heart feels like it’s stuck in your throat as you listen to him, pounding away and making your hands shaky, adrenaline running through you at his admission. It was the last thing you expected him to say, a confession of desire, the words ripping all of the air from your lungs.

You’re brought back when the backs of your knees hit his bed, causing you to fall backwards on it, hands catching you and resting behind you. The switch in angle has you staring upwards at Matt, the man that was your best friend, lashes fluttering as he gazed down at you, eyes darkening at the sight of you.

“Matt…” you whisper, shaking your head, unsure of what to say.

“You feel fucking stupid pushing so hard now, don’t you?” Matt sneers, leaning over so he’s hovering above you, faces inches apart. “Should’ve just left it the fuck alone.”

You swallow thickly, trying to ignore your nerves and the way the hair on your arms was standing straight up, goosebumps forming from how close he was to you.

“I don’t feel stupid,” you say quietly, pausing for a moment as you stare into his eyes, taking in his expression. His jaw is clenched tight, like he’s angry, but you know it’s his way of trying to hide the way he really feels; scared of how you feel. His eyes are searching yours for any sign of feeling the same, like he’s desperate for any sense of reciprocation. His chest is heaving as he leans over you, trying to breathe through the way his heart was racing, willing it to slow down in vain. You take a deep breath yourself, readying yourself for the shift.

“Just wish you told me sooner.”

Your hand comes up to grab onto his shirt to pull him in, closing the distance between you both, lips crashing together. He loses his balance when you pull him down, hands stopping himself on either side of you when he pushes you down flat on the bed, kissing you back like he’s waited his whole life for this moment.

His lips are molded to yours perfectly, only parting to let his tongue slip into your mouth and meet your own, tasting the drink he finished right as you walked up to him. His left arm shifted so he was resting on his elbow next to your head, right hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers splayed out in your hair as he used his grip to keep you close to him.

Even though you initiated the kiss, you’re still taken aback at how desperate his movements are, taking a moment to collect yourself and kiss him back just as enthusiastically, right hand keeping its grip in his shirt while your other one comes up to mirror his, tangling in his hair.

“Matt,” you gasp in between kisses, whining softly when his lips trail over your cheek and down your neck, leaving soft but hungry kisses across your skin.

“Wanted you for so long,” he groans, teeth nipping softly before he continues his descent, pushing your shirt up until it’s bunched under your arms, moving his lips between the valley of your breasts. “You look so fucking good tonight, was like torture watching you walk around like I didn’t want to rip your clothes off.”

The giggle you let out is breathless, a mix of laughter and a whine, head tilted down as you watch him as he kisses down your stomach, hands moving to slide down your waist, gripping your hips when he reaches them. “You can take my clothes off if you want to,” you say nervously. His attention is immediately drawn back to your face, movements pausing at your words. “Yeah?” He rasps, voice low and quiet.

You nod, pushing yourself up on your elbows to watch him as he slides down your body and onto his knees between your legs, hands rubbing over your thighs. Your bottom half was adorned in a black mini skirt that already started riding up from the way he settled between your legs, your thong peeking out from underneath it, clinging to your skin from the way you were already getting soaked.

“This skirt looks so fucking good on you,” Matt praises, slipping off the end of the bed until he was on his knees, pulling you closer towards the edge until his face was only a few inches above your core. “Wondering why I’m looking at you when this shit barely covers your ass.”

“I wore it for you,” you admit shyly, watching as his hands slid up and down your skin, fingers gripping into your flesh every few seconds, like he couldn’t believe he was finally in this position, lips dragging up the skin of your inner thighs slowly.

“Oh, yeah?” He mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

“Mhm,” you reply, watching as his face gets closer and closer to where you want him. “Was hoping maybe if I dressed hot enough you’d finally crack, get the balls to shoot your shot.”

Matt drags his nose up your inner thighs, kissing occasionally until his face is right pressed into your panties, the thin fabric being the only barrier separating your bodies from what you both craved so badly. His tongue slips past his lips to flatten on your folds through your underwear, a small groan leaving his lips. “Was gonna shoot my shot anyway, just thought I’d have time for one more drink before you got all bitchy on me.”

A gasp leaves your lips at the feeling of his tongue on you, wanting nothing more than to rip the flimsy thong off and fling it across the room. “Calling me a bitch with your head between my legs is a little ridiculous, Matt,” you tease breathlessly, keeping your eyes locked on him. His hands move to push your skirt upwards before his fingers tuck themselves into the waistband of your panties, eyes shooting up to meet yours. “Sorry, next time I call you a bitch I’ll make sure I’m not about to eat you out.”

You scoff at his sarcastic response and roll your eyes, expecting nothing less than him making some snarky comment. His nose dips down and buries itself in the fabric again, his eyes fluttering shut as he sucked in a deep breath, moaning on the exhale. “Holy fuck.” He groans out before he tucks his fingers into the front of your underwear and ripped them apart, exposing your dripping pussy to him, drooling in anticipation.

“Are you…” you stare down at him incredulously, eyes wide. “Are you smelling me?”

Matt looks back up at you with an exasperated expression, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?” He replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you have any idea how good pussy smells? How good it tastes? God, I could get off on that alone.”

You shake your head in disbelief at him, to which he releases a small laugh, shooting you a wink before dipping his head back down and pressing his lips between your folds, planting a small kiss on your clit as his hands push your thighs apart, spreading you wide open to be used by him. “Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. His hands wrap around your thighs and his fingers dig into the skin on the inside of your legs, kneading them softly as his tongue starts to work between your folds, quiet moans leaving him as the taste of you flooded his senses.

The sounds you made weren’t as quiet, the volume of your whines starting to fill the room, grateful for the music blaring through the rest of the house to drown you out. Your head fell back on your shoulders as your eyes fluttered shut, focusing on his tongue on you and the way his hands never stopped moving, whether it was his thumbs stroking over your skin or his palms rubbing up and down.

“Fuck, Matt…” you whimper, dropping your elbows out from underneath you so your back was flat on the bed, body already reacting to the way his mouth was moving on you, thighs starting to shake on either side of him.

He was eating you out in a way you’ve never felt before, his actions hungry and fueled by lust, lips and tongue working in tandem as he practically made out with your drooling core, the squelching of his mouth meeting your heat filing your ears. “Matt,” you warn, reaching down to grab at his hair, pushing him off of you.

He pulls away reluctantly, staring down at you with glazed over eyes, his mouth and chin glistening from the mixture of his saliva and your arousal. “What?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, breathing heavily. “Just close ‘n I don’t wanna finish yet.”

Matt’s confused at your words, staring down at you like he doesn’t quite understand, head tilting slightly as his lips parts to speak. “That’s kind of the whole point of what I’m doing,” he states.

“But… I wanna have sex,” you reply like it’s obvious.

“I thought that’s what we were doing?” Matt lets go of your thighs and runs a hand through his hair, growing more puzzled. “Do you not want me to eat you out?”

Your cheeks are darkening in embarrassment the more this conversation drags on, your hands coming up to cover your face. “I do! You’re really good at it! I just don’t want to cum before you actually… fuck me.”

“Why?” Matt snorts out a laugh, crawling onto the bed and hooking his hands under your thighs again, dragging you up the bed until your head was almost at the headboard, his own body moving to hover over yours. “I’ll just make you cum again. And again…” he leans down until his lips are touching your ear, one hand moving to rub over your clit gently, his two middle fingers rubbing through your slit. “And again, til you can’t even think straight.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he manhandles you, the way he pushed your body up the bed like it was nothing creating a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach. “Really?” You questioned quietly, not used to men even really caring about getting you off even once.

“Mhm,” Matt hums into your ear, lips trailing down over your neck. “That okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod your head quickly, nervously. “Just never came more than once before.”

Matt snorts against your collarbone, dipping his two fingers inside of you, your pussy putting up no resistance to him, sucking him in greedily. “Probably because you sleep with a bunch of fucking losers.” He comments, following up his words by sucking a mark into the fleshy mound on your chest barely covered by your bra anymore.

Your back arches off the mattress when his fingers curl inside you, a loud whimper leaving your lips as your hands grip the sheets on either side of you. “Oh my god,” you moan out, ignoring the comment he made. You’ll have to remember to scold him later.

“How ‘bout you just lay there and keep making those pretty noises, yeah?” Matt smirks, sliding down the bed again until his mouth is back on your soaked heat, groaning against your clit when the taste hits his tongue again.

Obsessed doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what he’s feeling, how his mind is absolutely reeling from the way he’s got you coming apart underneath him. The way you taste, the way you sound, it’s all making his mind fuzzy, the buzz from the alcohol fading into the distance as he becomes more pussy drunk than anything in the moment. He’s trying to keep himself from losing control and fucking you into oblivion, grounding himself by listening to the sweet sounds you made.

“So good, Matt, right there,” you cry out, chest heaving as he brings you back to the brink of your orgasm, knuckles turning white against his black sheets. “Fuck, if you don’t stop I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, one of your hands coming down to thread in his hair, this time holding him against you instead of pulling him off.

“Mhmm,” he moans into your skin, tongue lapping up your juices fervently, fingers keeping pace inside of you.

The way his voice rumbled against your clit was all you needed to send you over the edge, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth as you moaned loudly, thighs trembling around Matt’s head.

He coaxed you through it, fingers and tongue unrelenting until you were lax and whimpering against the bed, legs twitching from overstimulation with every movement. Matt pulled his lips away, placing one more small kiss on your clit before looking up at you, smiling at how spent you looked, hair sticking to your forehead and your teeth buried in your hand from trying to keep quiet. “You covered up your pretty mouth,” he fake pouts, crawling back up the bed so his face is above yours. “Now I gotta make you cum again.”

You stare up at him breathlessly, watching as his face comes back into view, his expression dark as he stares at you. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Didn’t wanna be too loud.”

“No such thing,” Matt smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips softly. You melt into the kiss, instantly returning it and tasting yourself on his mouth, something you’d hated in the past but felt immensely turned on by in this situation. He only kisses you for a few moments before he pulls away and gazes down at you again. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

You nod excitedly, agreeing instantly. He climbs off the bed and pulls his shirt over his head before walking to his bedside table to grab a condom out of the drawer, throwing it next to you on the bed. Your eyes watch the small foil pack as it lands next to you, feeling your heart rate pick up at the realization that this was actually happening. You were about to let your best friend have his way with you in his room during a fucking party, not caring who would hear, and especially not caring about what this would do to your relationship in the moment. Those were consequences you’ll face later, but right now all you could think about was having Matt buried deep inside you.

“Matt?” You sit up slowly and look up from the condom, letting your eyes trail over him, landing on his hands that were working on the button on his jeans, then slowly dragging his zipper down. He hums in response, urging you to continue. You clear your throat nervously, reaching out to pick up the condom. “I haven’t been on birth control for years just for you to not fuck me raw.”

Matt’s lips part as he sucks in a small breath, watching as you tossed the condom back onto the bedside table before smiling up at him. “You serious?” He asks, pushing his jeans down until they fall on their own, stepping out of them before kneeling back over you, his hand coming up to hold onto the back of your neck. You nod again, just as enthusiastic as the first. “Yeah,” you respond softly. “Wanna feel you inside me.”

Matt groans and grabs your shirt to finally pull it fully off, throwing it across the room before he helps you out of your bra as well. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he grumbles, shoving you back down onto the bed. A small giggle leaves your lips as he throws you down, hair fanning out over the pillow. The only thing you were left in was the black mini skirt that Matt was obsessed with, the material shoved up and bunched around your hips. It was completely out of the way of what was important, and Matt had no intentions of removing it from you.

Your folds and inner thighs were completely soaked when you spread your legs open for Matt to settle between, the wet skin glimmering in the dim lights of his room, a sight that Matt had to force himself to tear his eyes from so he wouldn’t finish too quickly. “You have no idea how pretty your pussy is, do you?” He mumbled, pushing his briefs just low enough for his dick to spring out, so hard it almost hurt when the cool air hit it. Your ears burned hot at his words, shaking your head gently. “No, I don’t. Wanna tell me how pretty it is?” You reach down to grab the backs of your knees, pulling your legs up and apart to expose yourself to him even more.

“Fuck,” he groans, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry but I’m already about to bust in my pants, can I just…” he clears his throat and reopens his eyes, looking down at the glorious sight below him; you staring up at him as you pull your legs wide open for him, pussy on display and glistening just for him, patiently waiting to pull him into your walls. His hand comes down to wrap around his aching cock and you watch as he starts to jerk himself off, small moans and whimpers leaving his lips, jaw slack from the pleasure.

It takes him less than a minute to stroke himself to his climax, hips stuttering as he coaxed out his load all over your stomach and added to the mess adorning your lower half, your own jaw dropping as you watch him cum all over you. “That was fucking hot,” you praise, a sinister smile forming on your lips.

He laughs, taking a few deep breaths before he situates his hips against yours, resting his tip against your entrance. “Thanks. I was not going to last at all and I’ve always wondered what you’d look like covered in my cum, so.. two birds.” He joked.

You’re about to laugh with him when he shoves himself inside you, bottoming out in one thrust. The movement rips a gasp from your lips, face contorting in a mix of pleasure and pain from the sudden stretch. “Oh!” You squeak out, locking eyes with Matt as he drags his own gaze up your body to stare down into your eyes. “My fucking god,” he groaned, slowly dragging his cock out of you before pushing back in, pulling a soft whine out of your lips. “Holding that pussy wide open for me, hm?”

You bite your lip harshly as your head drops back onto the pillow, eyes rolling back as Matt starts up a quick rhythm, his cock deliciously dragging through your walls. The angle of your legs being pushed up had him hitting every sweet spot inside of you, your voice growing hoarse from how much you were whining and moaning, hands starting to lose your grip on your legs. “C’mon, baby, don’t let up now, show me how pretty you look taking my cock so well.”

You’re trying your best when you readjust your grip on the backs of your knees, but the mixture of sweat and how weak you felt made the task difficult, your hands sliding around and unable to get a good grip. “Can’t, Matt,” you whimper, opening your eyes again to look back up at him, silently begging for help. He notices your struggle and pushes your hands away with his own, spreading his fingers out on the backs of your thighs to push them against you, the new angle of his cock inside you making you cry out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there, please don’t stop, need you right there.” You babble on, staring up at Matt as his eyes stay trained on where your bodies meet.

“Touch yourself, princess,” Matt demands, forcing his gaze up to meet yours, admiring the way your eyes were glazed over and half covered by heavy eyelids. “If you can’t hold your legs up you gotta touch yourself for me, baby.”

You’re taken aback, not used to such demands. Normally the guys you slept with didn’t even care about if you finished or not, and now here Matt was making sure you came at least twice. It was a bit confusing at first, but you eventually processed his words, eyebrows furrowing. “But, Matt, I-,”

He cuts you off with a sharp dig into your thighs with his fingers, silencing you immediately. “Fucking touch yourself for me,” he says again, leaving no room for argument. “Wanna see you cum all over me, see your pretty face and hear how good you sound.”

Really, who were you to deny such a convincing statement? Especially when he asked so nicely.

“Fuck,” you whisper in defeat, bringing your hand between your legs and taking a deep breath before pressing your two middle fingers into your clit, whimpering softly as you drew small circles around it, the pleasure of that mixing with the way Matt still thrust into you making you clench your eyes shut again, moaning as your head dug back into the pillow, back arching into the pleasure. “Oh my god, so good, Matt.”

Once he saw your eyes close again, Matt looked down to where your hand was picking up speed on your sensitive nerves, your movements and his grinding matching up in pace until your legs were trembling again, still held in place by his rough grip. “That’s perfect, baby, shit, you’re fucking made for me, hm? Made to take me all the way like this?”

“Yes,” you choke out, throat starting to straight from how hard you were rubbing yourself, breath starting to catch in your throat. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, oh my god, Matt, I’m cumming again,” you gasp, whole body tensing up for a few seconds before your orgasm crashed over you, your whole body shaking and legs trying to close but unable to due to Matt holding them in place. He’s groaning loudly, thrusts becoming uncoordinated as he chased his own high, his mouth dropping in pleasure when he finally reached his peak, loud, attractive moans spilling from his lips.

Matt’s own eyes are screwed shut as he paints his release over your walls, breath shaky as he slows down, unaware of how hard he’s gripping into your skin until you whine his name out and push your legs out of his grip. When he lets go, his forearms come down to rest on either side of your head, his face burying in your neck.

“Fuuuck,” he groans tiredly, still buried inside you. “Y’have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like that.”

You laugh, running a clammy hand over his equally sweaty back, patting his skin in a teasing matter. “Glad you got it out of your system.” You reply.

His head pops up after you speak, staring down at you questioningly. “Oh, I didn’t. I’ve still got plenty of fantasies to run through.” Matt tells you, and though his tone is silly, you know he’s completely serious, so you raise your eyebrows at him inquisitively. “Did this not fulfill your fantasies?” You ask him.

He scoffs and sends you a classic Matt eye roll, like he couldn’t believe you were actually asking him that. “It did, but only some. I’ve got like a year’s worth of filthy shit I wanna do to you.” He tells you, dipping back down to nip at the soft skin on your neck, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before letting go, blowing over the wet spot to make you shiver. “Like mark you up, fuck you all over my house, in my car, in the shower, I wanna fuck you on your hands and knees, wanna watch you ride me, wanna fuck that pretty, pretty mouth of yours, wanna hear you beg for me…” his lips are moving down your skin as he speaks, leaving soft kisses along his route until he’s nestled between your breasts, pulling away to look down at your body. “Wanna be able to call you mine,” he confesses, leaning back in to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. The feeling made you whine softly, your core tingling in anticipation, even though you were spent and anymore contact might make you cry.

“Matt,” you huff, reaching up to grab his face and push him off, looking down at his pouty expression. “Everything is so sensitive, feels like my skin is on fire.”

He smiles down at you, like he’s taken your words in the complete opposite direction you meant, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Perfect, so you can give me one more, yeah?”

You’re still processing what he’s said by the time he’s scooted back down the bed and positioned his face between your legs once again, a big grin on his face. You’re about to push him away and tell him you can’t take anymore, you’re too overstimulated to give him anything else, but when his mouth comes forward and starts working on you again, you’re silenced aside from the loud groans and whines coming from your lips, deciding one more couldn’t hurt.

a/n: matt’s favorite adjective for you is pretty. clearly (:

also welcome to my playlist series! leave requests for songs you’d like me to write songs based off of

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@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah

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#ave’s library 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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just-aake · 2 years ago

Text

Widow’s Charm

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha finds herself falling for Tony’s new lab assistant and weapons technician.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 3322

Natasha walks down the hallway towards Tony’s lab, holding her widow bite gauntlets in her hand. Typically, she would have just sent them down to be repaired, but an unexpected mission came up which means she needs them fixed sooner rather than later. Reaching the entrance of the lab, the doors slide open for her as she enters.

“Hey Tony, can you fix–,” Natasha stops when she notices someone else working in the lab.

You look up from your work table at the new voice in the room and see the Black Widow staring at you curiously. You have been working at the Avenger’s Compound as the new weapons technician as well as Tony’s lab assistant for the past few months.

Since then, you’ve met all of the other Avengers already except for the mysterious Black Widow, though you have repaired some of her equipment that she had sent down previously.

Tony tells you that she prefers to keep to herself, which you can understand. You settled with the fact that you may never meet her in person, so it is a small shock to see her standing in front of you.

Putting down your tools, you wipe your hands on your apron and walk over to her. Extending your hand to her, you give her a polite smile as you introduce yourself.

“Hello, my name is Y/n L/n. I’m the new weapons technician and Mr. Stark’s assistant in the lab. How can I help, Ms. Romanoff?”

A small surprised smile forms on Natasha’s face at your words. Intrigued to learn more about you, she raises her hand to yours in greeting.

“Hi, you can just call me Nata–.”

“No, no, no!” A voice yells from down the halls outside of the lab.

Tony comes rushing into the lab, breathing heavily. Looking around frantically, his eyes widen at the two of you. He rushes over to you quickly, grabbing you by the shoulders, and pushing you away from Natasha and out into the hallway.

“I need you to go get the thing from Pepper,” he tells you.

“What thing?” you ask in confusion as you turn back around to him.

He gives you a brief wave before pressing the button on the side, shutting the lab doors in your face.

For a moment, Tony remains standing by the door, tensed as he purposely avoid looking at Natasha. Then, in the next second, his entire body suddenly relaxes, and he moves casually over to his workstation.

“FRIDAY, what’s the plan for today?” Tony asks.

“The parts for the new repulsors arrived today, sir,” the AI voice replies.

“Great, get those plans pulled up for me, will you?”

Natasha blinks at the lab doors as she tries to process what just happened. She turns to Tony, looking for an explanation.

“What the hell was that Tony?” she exclaims.

Tony looks at her with his eyebrows raised.

“What was what?”

“You just suddenly pushed Y/n out of the room.”

Tony's mouth presses into a tight line as he gives her a confused look. “Never heard of her. Was there somebody here FRIDAY?”

“No, sir.”

Tony nods back at her with a satisfied look.

Crossing her arms, Natasha was about to argue when the lab doors opened up again.

Pepper walks into the room towards Tony.

“Y/n said you told her to get a ‘thing’ from me?”

Tony lets out a groan as he hangs his head. Sighing, he gestures to Natasha.

“Y/n met Natasha.”

Pepper lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Really, Tony? We talked about this. You can’t place all the blame on her.”

Natasha raises her hands to get their attention. “Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on?”

Pepper turns to her, a small apologetic look on her face.

“Tony thinks you are the reason why his assistants keep quitting.”

Natasha frowns at the accusation. “How is that my fault?”

Tony scoffs in disbelief. “FRIDAY, pull up the timeline.”

A holographic screen pops up between them showing the past year with certain dates highlighted. Tony points to one of the earliest dates in the year.

“Avery Grayson. She met you on her second day on the job. A week later she asks you out but you decline. She turns in her resignation the following week.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows at the information.

“That doesn’t prove—“

Tony interrupts her, “Quinn Turner. She confesses to you a month after your first interaction. Gets turned down too and then quits three days later.”

Tony brings up the two most recent dates.

“Same thing with Riley and Harper. It’s a pattern. They meet you, fall for you, get rejected, and then quit.”

Natasha looks over at Pepper, silently asking if he was serious. In response, Pepper gives her a resigned nod as she rubs her head tiredly.

Tony gets her attention when he points at her accusingly.

“Do you know how hard it is to find competent people who know how to handle this level of equipment?”

Natasha lets out a huff of disbelief, crossing her arms. She remembers his previous assistants. To be honest, most of her interactions with them were completely professional. She didn’t get close to any of them personally or showed any romantic interest, which made each of the confessions surprising to her.

Still, this doesn’t explain what he was trying to do with you. She raises her eyebrow at him.

“So your plan was to what? Hide your new assistant from me forever?”

“Not forever. Just until I can find someone for her so that she doesn’t fall for you.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his ridiculousness. Focusing back on her original intention, she places her widow bite gauntlets on the work table.

“Can you just fix these for me? I have a mission in a few hours.”

“Fine, but you stay away from my assistant,” he warns.

Natasha heads toward the exit and waves her hand, dismissing his words. It’s not like she intends to make you fall for her, but she has to admit that she is interested to learn more about you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You look up from your sketches at the sound of the lab door opening and see the Black Widow stroll into the room. You give her a smile in greeting.

“Welcome back, Ms. Romanoff. Are you looking for Mr. Stark?”

She walks over to your workspace, leaning slightly against the table as she looks at you.

“Actually, I was coming to see you, and you can just call me Natasha. We got interrupted the last time we met.”

Nodding your head, you laugh softly at the memory.

“Pepper explained to me what that was about.” You give her a teasing suspicious look. “So are you here to make me fall for you?”

Natasha gives you an amused smile. Most people don’t usually get comfortable around her so quickly.

“Only if you want to,” she says nonchalantly.

You chuckle at her response.

“Unfortunately, you won’t be hearing a confession from me soon. I like my job here.”

Natasha feels a tinge of disappointment at your words, her smile dropping slightly. You don’t notice though since your attention had drifted to the widow bite gauntlets on her wrists.

“Speaking of, did you want me to take a look at that?” You can see that there was some damage from a fight probably during her recent mission.

Glancing down, Natasha shrugs. “I can do it later myself.”

“Well, that explains why I don’t see your stuff across my desk that often.” You raise your hand out to her anyway.

She stares at you curiously before slowly placing her hand in yours.

You let out a small laugh at her action. “This is nice, but I actually want the gauntlets.” You hold her hand gently in yours before turning it around to reach the clasp on the weapon.

Natasha tilts her head as she observes you. You were focused but gentle as you worked, and you didn’t show any signs that you were intimidated by who she was. In fact, you were pretty cute as you scrunch your face in concentration. She decides to tease you a little.

“You know, I don’t usually let people take things off my body until at least the second date.”

You remove the second gauntlet from her other wrist with a start before you see the teasing smirk on her face. You let out a small huff before refocusing your attention on your table.

“I see what Mr. Stark means when he said you were charming.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what else did he tell you about me?”

“That you didn’t like meeting new people, though now I think that may have been a lie.”

Natasha shrugs before leaning in a little closer to you.

“It’s sort of true. I just prefer to meet people that I’m interested in.”

You turn away from her to hide the smile on your face, pretending to look for some tools.

The lab doors slide open as Tony walks in while reading the tablet in his hand. Looking up, he sighs sadly when he sees Natasha next to you.

“Did she get to you already?”

You give him a reassuring look. “No confessions from me. Natasha just needed some things fixed.”

Tony stares at the two of you doubtfully before pointing to Natasha.

“Don’t you have reports to do or something?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha stands to leave. She turns to you with a soft smile.

“I’ll come visit more often now that I know you exist.”

You bite your lips to hide your smile as you watch her leave.

As Natasha exits the lab, she hears Tony’s voice call out.

“FRIDAY, can you restrict her access to the lab?”

“I’m afraid Ms. Potts has already denied that request, sir.”

Natasha smirks at the AI response. She should get something for Pepper later as thanks.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As she said, over the following weeks, Natasha visits you often in the lab. Sometimes with some equipment that needed to be fixed. Other times just to talk. Later, when she finds out that you usually eat your lunch in the lab, she would also join you if she had the time.

You look up when you hear the doors open, already knowing who to expect. Natasha walks in, waving the take-out bag in her hands.

You groan in relief at the sight of her. “You are a lifesaver.”

You stand and grab the food from her eagerly before moving it to an area where the two of you can eat.

Natasha sits on the edge of your work table as she watches you set out the food.

“Well, I know how you get absorbed into your work and forget to eat,” she tells you knowingly.

Her eyes glance at the papers on your desk that you were previously working on. Most of them had rough sketches of designs for some of the equipment of the other Avengers. Her name on one paper catches her attention. Picking it up, Natasha examines the details curiously.

At the sudden silence, you glance up at her. You do a double take when you realize what she was looking at.

Over time, as you worked on her equipment, you’ve noticed that her current suit’s belt doesn’t hold much ammo or gadgets, so you had sketched some ideas that you had for her.

“That’s just some ideas of some upgrades that I had. It’s not really anything worth looking at.”

Natasha shakes her head in disagreement before handing the paper back to you.

“I like it. I’m sure Tony will get you the parts that you would need if you want to work on it.”

“Really?” you ask her, astonished.

She nods at you reassuringly before pushing you back towards the food.

“We can discuss it later, but first, let’s eat.”

A few weeks later, you completed your first prototype, and you were excited to show Natasha and test it out.

Natasha admires the new belt on the table. It was still slim and compact, but she can see where you had added extra slots for her weapons. You also included her signature red symbol on the buckle.

You were practically buzzing with excitement.

“I just need to see if there needs to be any more adjustments with the sizing.”

Without thinking, you grab her hand to pull her closer to you. You move quickly as you remove her current belt. Taking the new belt, your hands wrap around her waist as you grab one end before bringing it to her front and snapping it into place. You fidget with the belt, checking for any snags or looseness, totally absorbed in your work.

Natasha’s initial surprised expression melts into an amused and fond look on her face as she watches you. You were adorable when you concentrated on your work, and honestly, she’s not sure how much longer she can hold in her feelings for you.

After performing your final checks and detailing little changes that needed to be adjusted, you suddenly froze when you realized Natasha hadn’t said a word since you started.

Your eyes widened, mortified when you see your current position. Your body had moved closer to Natasha’s when you were making adjustments. One of your hands was still placed atop the belt while the other was resting against her stomach, and you could feel her toned body underneath your hand. You swallow nervously as you look up at her.

She tilts her head at you as you continue to stare at her.

“Everything okay?”

The closeness between your bodies was making it hard for you to think. Eventually, you were able to get your brain to function enough to respond.

“Yeah…all good.” You unconsciously lick your lips out of embarrassment.

You see Natasha's eyes flick down to your mouth at the action, and you feel your face heat up even more. You should definitely step away from her now. As you go to move, Natasha’s next words causes you to stop in surprise.

“Would you like to go out with me?”

Your eyes widen at her question, and you see a hopeful expression on her face as she waits for your response. Instinctively, you want to say ‘yes’ and close the distance between you two, but you stop yourself, hesistating.

Natasha sees the conflicting feelings on your face, so she decides to ease the pressure a little with some teasing.

“You know, according to Tony’s theory, since I’m the one who confessed, a rejection would mean that I would need to quit my job.”

You can't help but laugh at her reasoning before giving her a playful smile, teasing back.

“Well, we can’t have the Black Widow quitting over a failed confession.”

Natasha places her hands on your waist, pulling you in closer. She tilts her head at you in question.

“I haven’t failed yet. Technically, you never gave me an answer.”

You move your arms to wrap around the back of her neck as you pretend to think about your decision.

“So I still get to keep my job?”

Natasha nods reassuringly. “For however long you can stand working with Tony’s ego.”

You give her a fond smile.

“Then yes, I would love to go out with you.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Tony was throwing you a party to celebrate your first anniversary since working with the Avengers and him, even though you insisted that it wasn’t necessary. He disagrees, saying how nobody has lasted this long, so you relented.

Naturally, you went with Natasha as your date since you have been dating her for several months already. The only problem is that you forgot to update Tony about your new relationship.

When the two of you enter the party, Natasha leans down and whispers next to your ear, “I’ll go get us something to drink.”

With a light touch against your back, she walks away toward the bar.

You are lost in your thoughts as you admire her walk away, so you are startled when Tony slides in front of you, excitement in his eyes.

“Y/n! Good, I found you.”

You smile at him, used to his frantic energy by now.

“Hello, Mr. Stark, was there something that you needed?”

He waves his hand dismissively at you.

“This party is for you, and you’ve been working with me for a year now. I’ve told you to just call me Tony.”

You give him an apologetic look before asking him curiously.

“You said you were looking for me?”

Tony claps his hands at the reminder.

“Yes, I want you to meet someone. She’s a nice person, has a great personality, and she works as a pilot.”

You raise your hand to try and stop him. “I already have some—“

“Oh, here she is!”

You give him a tight smile as the woman approaches the two of you. Tony pats you on the back in encouragement, turning to leave.

“Alright, I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

“Wait, Tony—,“ you try to stop him, but he rushes away. Turning back to the woman, you give her a polite smile as she introduces herself.

Meanwhile, Natasha was standing at the bar, waiting for your drinks.

“I am the greatest boss ever,” Tony exclaims, sliding in next to her.

Natasha rolls her eyes at his words. Deciding to indulge him while she waits, she asks him to explain.

“How’s that?”

“I just found the perfect date for our favorite weapons techie.”

Natasha frowns when she realizes what he said. Turning around to look at where she left you, she sees that you were currently talking with a beautiful woman.

Her posture relaxes when she reads your body language. You had a polite smile on your face as you listened to the woman, but she could see how tense your body was, and your hand at your side kept fidgeting with your dress.

“Now I don’t have to worry about her falling for you,” Tony says smugly.

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Natasha smirks as she turns back around to grab the drinks that the bartender just placed in front of her.

Tony notices the two drinks in her hands and raises his eyebrows at her.

“You have a date?”

“Girlfriend.”

Without explaining further, she heads back toward you. By the time Natasha reaches you, the other woman was already turning to leave, nodding at Natasha in acknowledgment.

You let out a breath of relief as Natasha comes back to your side. Thankfully, the woman was understanding when you explained the situation to her.

Natasha hands you your drink as she returns her hand around your waist, pulling you against her. She sighs in disappointment as she watches the woman leave.

“Here I thought I had the chance to be a hero and save you.”

You give her a teasing smile. “Maybe next time.”

Natasha presses a soft kiss to your lips in response before pulling away.

You tilt your head curiously at her. “What was that for?”

Natasha gives you an affectionate look.

“First, because I love you.”

Her expression shifts into a smirk.

“Second, is Tony freaking out?”

You look over her shoulders at the bar and see Tony gaping at the two of you, pointing accusingly at Natasha while Pepper holds him back from rushing over.

You turn back to her, giving her an amused look.

“He’s going to lock you out again.”

Natasha just shrugs, unbothered. “He can’t keep me away from you.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively at you. “He also can’t stop you from visiting me in my room during your breaks.”

You push her lightly before bringing her face close for a kiss.

When you accepted this job, you never thought you would end up in a relationship with the Black Widow. Then again you never imagine that she would end up falling for you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romonoff fluff

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crescenthistory · 4 months ago

Text

steady me, guide me, love me

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Summary: After yet another fight, you have a serious talk with Junior about being careful, and he allows himself to be vulnerable with you.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: not proofread, references to duels, blood and bruised knuckles, hurt/comfort, reader is anxious and stressed for barty, talks of dying, reader is not matching barty's freak but it's because she loves him and wants him to take a breather, barty and reader have an emotional disagreement but i would not classify it as a "fight", kissingggggg, like one innuendo

Notes: this was originally going to be an entirely different fic and not at all this emotional, but then barty had a mind of his own and took over my writing. so i am simply not to blame

***

The torches lining the Slytherin common room flickered in the dim light of the early evening. A faint breeze swept through the castle, carrying the scent of damp stone and the promise of rain. The common room was unusually quiet for a Friday night – students scattered in clusters, engrossed in studying or murmuring in low tones about the latest drama from their shared classes.

Barty was not among them.

You sat on one of the far couches, attempting to focus on your homework but mostly letting your mind wander. It wasn’t unusual for Barty to disappear, but you hadn’t seen him for hours now, and the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened as time ticked by. You knew him too well. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t good.

The door to the common room burst open with a loud thud, shaking the portraits on the walls. The students nearby jumped, startled, while your heart only jumped in recognition. Barty, his hair windswept, his tie undone, and his eyes gleaming with that feral, maniacal delight he wore like armour, strode in like he owned the place.

Trailing behind him, a faint scent of burnt fabric and… was that blood?

Your stomach clenched, and you shot up from the couch, abandoning your parchment as you hurried toward him.

“Barty–” you began, but before you could even reach him, Barty’s voice rang out, sharp as ever.

“That was brilliant!” he declared, a wicked grin splitting his face. The students in the room shot wary glances at him before quickly looking away, clearly unwilling to be caught up in whatever this is.

You stopped in front of him, hands crossed over your chest, trying to keep your voice steady despite the surge of concern rising in your throat. “What did you do?”

His eyes flicked over to you, and for a brief moment, something in them softened, only for a moment – Barty wasn’t one to linger on emotions that exposed him.

“Oh, hi, dollface,” he drawled, closing the distance between you in two strides. He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, the smell of singed air and danger still clinging to him. “You should’ve seen it. That prat, Avery, dared to insult us–”

“Barty, what did you do?” you repeated, your voice firmer this time. You gripped his arm, pulling him slightly away from the curious eyes in the room, off to the side.

His smirk widened, unbothered. “We duelled. A proper one. Out by the forest. Let’s just say…” He waved a hand dismissively, as if the details didn’t matter. “He won’t be insulting anyone for a while. Got a good lesson in fear.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. There was a faint smear of blood near the collar of his shirt – not his, you hoped – and his knuckles were bruised, like they’d been cracked against someone’s jaw. Clearly not just a magical duel.

“Are you okay?” you asked, wanting to ensure he was good before you rip into him for putting himself in harm’s way again.

He half-scoffed at you, waving any concern off. “I’m here, ain’t I? I’m fine, Avery’s not the worst I’ve seen.”

“Barty, you can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, eyes darting toward the others in the common room. You lowered your voice even more. “You can’t keep getting into fights just because someone runs their mouth.”

“Can’t?” he repeated, his expression twisting into a mocking smile, though you could see some uncertainty in his eyes. “You know damn well I can, baby. I will. If some filthy coward thinks he can throw my name – our name – in the dirt, I’ll break him.”

“You’ll get yourself expelled, is what you’ll do,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Or worse – someone’s going to get seriously hurt. You can’t just throw yourself into these things because– because–”

“Because what?” Barty interrupted, his voice sharper than he usually was with you. His eyes bore into yours, demanding something you weren’t sure you could give him. “Because I care too much? Because I won’t let anyone talk down to us?”

There it was again, that us he always slipped in when talking about you and him. It made you stutter in more ways than one.

You sighed, staring at him for a minute. Your heart ached. You loved that Barty cared, albeit too much sometimes, but his obsession with proving himself, with protecting what he thought was his, was going to destroy him. You could see the cracks forming already.

“Come with me,” you said quietly, pulling on his arm again. This was not a conversation to be had here, not with a dozen of already too curious eyes watching. You needed to get him away, alone, where he could let down his guard fully and you could hopefully talk some sense into him.

His gaze flickered around the room, but he didn't put up a fight, he never did with you about these things. “Fine,” he muttered, letting you guide him out of the common room.

The hallways of Hogwarts were mostly deserted at this hour. The faint echo of your footsteps bounced off the stone walls as you led him down the stairs to a more secluded corner near the dungeons, where the stone was colder and the shadows thicker. Barty, as always, followed with a mix of curiosity and defiance in his eyes, the corners of his mouth still turned up in that maddening half-smile.

Once you were out of earshot from any stragglers, you stopped and turned to him.

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his hand.

Barty raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pull away as you gently lifted his bruised knuckles toward the dim light of a torch. The skin was split in a couple of places, dried blood smeared along his fingers. You swallowed the knot of worry in your throat, your thumb brushing against the cuts.

“What did he say?” you asked quietly.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” you insisted, not looking up from his hand.

He sighed, his free hand coming up to run through his dishevelled hair. “Something about my father. About how I’m ‘just like him,’ bound to be a disappointment. Then he said something about you. Called you…” He trailed off, anger clearly still knocked fully out of him. “Well, I don’t think I need to repeat that.”

Your stomach twisted. Avery was known for being a bully, but dragging you into it, using Barty’s relationship with you as some kind of twisted insult, was beyond cruel. Not to mention, beyond stupid.

No wonder Barty had reacted the way he did.

You stopped your inspection of his hand, instead interlacing your fingers with his as you leaned back against the cold stone wall. “You can’t keep doing this, Barty,” you repeated, your voice softer now, the fight draining out of you. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand, really I do. But you can’t just… lose yourself every time someone says something cruel.”

He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “I’m not losing myself,” he said, his voice low, the words a steady pulse of loyalty. “I’m doing what’s necessary. What no one else will do. I’m keeping us safe.”

You shook your head, blinking back the frustration building in your chest. “And what if next time, it’s not just a duel? What if next time you really hurt someone and get in serious trouble for once? Or, gods forbid, they hurt you?”

Barty laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “They can try. But they’ll have to be a hell of a lot smarter than Avery.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, pushing off the wall and closing the space between you. You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers tangling in the fabric. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day, and I can’t–” Your voice cracked, the weight of your worry pressing down on you. “I can’t stand it.”

His smile faltered, and you saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. It was brief, but it was there, like a flash of lightning in a storm, gone before you could fully grasp it.

His hands moved to your wrists, gently prying your fingers away from his shirt, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he held your hands in his against his chest, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow circles, grounding you in the moment.

“You worry too much,” he murmured, his voice softer now, as though the fight in him had dulled with the weight of your concern. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You think you do, but you don’t,” you whispered back, your voice almost breaking. “You think throwing yourself into danger is some kind of answer, that it’ll make you feel something, or prove something– either to them, or to yourself. I don’t know, but one day, Barty, it’s going to be too much, and you–”

You cut yourself off, biting down on your lip to keep your voice from shaking. You weren’t sure how to finish that sentence. Thoughts often consumed you of a world where Barty’s recklessness finally caught up to him, your own unhealthy way of coping with your feelings for him. He had his fists, you had your thoughts, and you both had your spirals. The thought of losing him scared you more than anything else.

His fingers tightened around yours, and his eyes flicked madly between yours and your lip you realised had quivered ever so slightly. For a moment, you thought he might agree, that he might actually take what you were saying to heart, but then that familiar smirk curled back up on his lips, and his mask slid into place again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice low, smooth, with that edge of defiance you knew so well. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The way he said it, like it was so simple, like the idea of you not being by his side was unthinkable, made your chest tighten. But it didn’t erase the fear that gnawed at your insides, the knowledge that Barty didn’t care about consequences in the same way you did. He only knew how to burn, and he didn’t care if he burned out in the process.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “You can’t keep fighting for me, Barty. I don’t need–”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. His eyes flashed, something dangerous sparking behind them. “Don’t tell me I can’t fight for you. Don’t tell me to sit back and let people say whatever the hell they want. You are mine to protect, love, whether you like it or not.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There it was again — that raw, possessive streak that ran through Barty like a current, so powerful it was almost overwhelming. The way he looked at you, like you were the one thing in the world that made sense to him, the one thing he could claim as his own, made your heart race. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this– something that hinted at what you both knew was there between you.

He never said “I love you,” never asked for anything, but this– this was his way of showing it. He’d destroy anything, anyone, who threatened what was his.

“I am,” you relented softly. “But I usually don’t need protecting. Not like this.”

Barty’s jaw clenched, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, the scent of smoke still clinging to him.

“Maybe not,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “But I need to protect you. Please understand.”

You froze at that, blinking up at him. His eyes were locked onto yours, and for once, there was no smirk, no playful deflection. Just raw, unfiltered passion. You could see the truth of it there, in the way his fingers held yours so tightly, like he was afraid to let go.

In his eyes, you understood this part of him more closely. This was the only thing that made him feel like he was in control, like he had some kind of power over the chaos in his life. His father’s expectations, the pressure to be perfect, the constant disappointment looming over him. It all faded when he was with you. With you, he wasn’t a failure. He was needed because he was yours.

Heat rose in your cheeks, the air between you thick with unspoken words, unspoken feelings. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, sending shivers up your arm. You closed your eyes, trying to find the words, but they stuck in your throat.

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I… I do understand. But for the same reason, I need you to be safe.”

He swallowed and nodded briefly, his hair falling into his eyes, and consequently yours, black and green strands filling your vision. You laughed a bit, tension clearing for half a second, as you freed one of your hands to push his hair away. You let your hand trail down to ghost across his cheek and jaw.

“Stop treating yourself like you don’t matter,” you whispered.

Whatever remnants of a self-assured smile he had clung to were wiped from his face. He just stared at you, his eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to say. Slowly, as if he was unaware his body was moving, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned further into you, allowing the wall you were leaned against to keep you both upright.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Yet you could read his lips – a soft do I? – and you let your hand hold his jaw more securely, as you whispered, “You do, Barty. You do. To me.”

Barty didn’t look at you. His jaw was clenched, his eyes staring down at the stone floor as if it held the answers to everything. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, retreat behind that mask of bravado and chaos that he wore so well, but then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, and the raw pain in his eyes nearly took your breath away.

“You really are all I have,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose you because of some tosser–”

“You won’t,” you cut him off, flattening your other hand over his heart, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “You won’t lose me, Barty. I’m not going anywhere. And neither will you, because I’m not letting you. Wreak havoc as much as you please, but I beg you to be careful.”

Barty’s eyes softened, and he mustered a small smile for you, the one you loved the most. “Well, you know I love it when you beg,” he teased, smile widening when you rolled your eyes and joke scoffed at him. You couldn’t hide your grin – exactly what he was aiming for.

“Very funny, Junior, but I do mean it.”

“I know you do,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. Then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it: “I’m sorry.”

Before he could say another word, you shook your head, humming in disagreement. “Don’t apologise, love, not for caring.”

“No, no. Just sorry for worrying you, s’all.” His eyes remained shut, and your heart ached in acknowledgement of how hard that must be for him to say.

“All I need you to do is be a bit more careful in your chaos and mischief, ‘kay?” You moved your face tentatively closer to his, admiring his features when his guard is down.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, opening his eyes to look into yours with a small smile playing across his lips. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just… stay with me.”

For a moment, there was silence. The flicker of the torchlight cast long shadows on Barty’s face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

His hands were still on your face, warm and grounding, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of him against your skin. Your nose barely brushed his as you did, and you could swear his breath hitched. With so much raw emotion in the air between you, you let your heart dictate your actions, and you closed the small gap between you, kissing him tentatively.

It was far from the first kiss you and Barty shared, but it was much softer than the others. This was not a drunken party kiss, neither of you were aiming for distraction or entertainment. It felt oddly pure as he kissed you back passionately, but slowly, allowing it to hang between you. This was him letting you in, letting himself be intimate and vulnerable.

“I’ll stay with you,” Barty finally whispered once you separated ever so slightly, his voice so low it was barely audible. “Always.”

He said it with such conviction, such raw honesty, that you knew he meant it. The knot of anxiety that had rested strongly in your chest loosened at his words, reassurance and safety washing over you.

“Then stop fighting like you’ve got nothing left to lose,” you said softly, your fingers tracing along his neck. “Because you have me, and I'm not letting you go.”

“I have you,” he repeated, looking as if he was deep in thought. His hands tightened on your face, expression hardening for a moment.

“I want you to know that I’m not on some ego power trip, I’m not like that.” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. “It’s about making sure they know I’m not weak. That we’re not weak. It makes me feel, I don’t know… safer.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, smiling to reassure him. “I know you’re not. You’re… scared, which probably feels even worse. But we are okay, we’re fine.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with something – doubt, maybe, or fear. It was rare to see him uncertain, for a boy who usually lived in absolutes and extremes. You knew how hard it was for him to let anyone see the cracks in his armour, even you, but there was a part of him, the part that clung to you like you were his lifeline, that wanted to believe you. The part you needed to foster.

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly again, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the tension between you shifting into something more intimate. His hands slid down from your face to rest on your shoulders, then your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, entirely flush against one another.

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It was like he was speaking to himself more than you.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Liar.”

A huff of laughter escaped his lips, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his tone softening in a way it rarely did with anyone but you. “Can you blame me?”

“I never blame you, love.” You leaned down to rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his breathing move you. He hummed at that, but didn't move to say anything else.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Barty,” you whispered, playing with his hair. “I just need you to stop tearing yourself apart. I just need you to let me care for you like you care for me.”

His arms tightened around you, and you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was still fighting some internal battle you couldn’t fully understand.

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s not,” you said quietly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Barty was silent for a long time, his arms still wrapped around you, his breath slow and steady against your hair. You could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, the years of anger and frustration and fear that he’d carried with him for so long. Then, you felt him press a hard kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’re the only thing that makes me feel like… like I’m not falling apart,” he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. Your heart clenched at his confession, and you lifted your head to look up at him.

“You’re not falling apart,” you said softly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Not while I’m here, I won’t let you.”

Barty’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite name, and before you could react, his lips were on yours again, soft, tentative, but full of the intensity you had come to expect from him. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the raw desperation in his kiss, the way he was clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

When his lips left yours, his face barely moved, noses still touching and his breath fanning your face. The both of you stood breathing heavily in the quiet hallway, and you came to realise how grateful you should be no one had walked past yet. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for some kind of confirmation that you were still there, that you hadn’t disappeared.

Barty’s lips curled into a small, tired smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“I’ll be good. Just… stay with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Always.”

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luveline · 6 months ago

Note

Maybe KBD Steve being smitten even when he takes the family out to dinner and it’s hectic in the best way possible!

KBD —Steve gets overwhelmed with love at dinner. mom!reader

“I wanna sit with mom.”

Steve ignores Dove’s whine until she says it again. “I wanna sit with mom!”

He finds it all too easy to shuffle her back toward his chest, eyes over her shoulder. He’s a little more interested in his fries right now, but he isn’t heartless. “Babe, you’re not sitting with mom. Do you want me to cut up your chicken?”

“Please?” she asks.

You’re sitting across the table with Beth. It’s easier when you’re eating out for you to sit with Beth, because, while he tries just as hard, you’re better at getting her to eat her fill. And! Despite what Dove wants, she will not be sitting with you because she wishes she was sitting on you, and your belly is not to be sat on right now. Baby Wren is four months old, and sometimes, somehow, you’re still tender. The human body mystifies.

“No.” He smiles at her. “But you can sit on my lap forever.”

She frowns. Looks like she might show off, but ultimately enjoys being smiled at too much. “Will you cut it?”

Steve grabs her knife and fork and starts to shear the meat off of her half-chicken. Beside him, Avery digs into a serving of mac and cheese with vigour, her spoon scratching the bottom of the bowl. The restaurant is quiet considering the time and day; it’s prime time 6PM on a Saturday, and you’d both expected this family establishment to be full to bursting, but besides two tables by the door and a couple of older women at the bar, it’s quiet. It’s quite nice.

The girls are less so.

“Oh, gosh, cheese,” Avery says.

“It’s too wet,” Beth says.

“Do the ‘sparagus too, daddy,” Dove says.

Wren, thankfully, snores in her stroller, the slightest tinge against her collar of waylaid milk.

“Yum! Beth, do you want some?”

“I don’t want any.”

“Bethie, you know, this is just how daddy usually makes them,” you say, stealing one of her French fries, licking salt grains from your fingers. “Except daddy wouldn’t let you have all that salt.”

“It’s nice,” Beth defends.

“Exactly. Better eat it before your daddy notices,” you say, all soft and smiley as you lean down and poke her in the side.

She shies away, but not without a smile of her own. “Mom!” she whispers.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” you say. You reach around Beth as Steve had done to Dove and begin to cut the last of her burger into sections. Steve would argue a burger from here is better than anything he could make, but he likes the compliment.

His own burger grows cold in front of him. Your meal does the same.

He licks his thumb. “Baby,” he says, tapping your ankle with his shoe, “you need to eat.”

“I’m trying.”

“Beth’s a big girl, huh?” he says, giving Beth an encouraging wink. “She doesn’t need you hovering, she wants you to eat your food.”

“Thanks, mommy,” Beth says.

“I don’t care what daddy says,” you say, tapping your nose, “I can help you if you need it. Big girl or not.”

He rolls his eyes playfully and goes back to his own food. Dove eats strands of chicken with her fingers, seemingly pleased, and he pretends she isn’t taking fries off his plate as he relishes in huge bites of big cheeseburger. It’s amazing. Melted cheese, a super fresh slice of tomato, lettuce crisp and not soggy. Steve loves when somebody else makes dinner.

You finish your food fast, and then you're straight back to Beth. Steve realises quickly that it’s not even that she’s struggling today, you’re just being affectionate. He should’ve realised that before.

(Maybe too doting considering Beth has been able to feed herself for more than four years, but Steve can’t blame you.)

“I’m glad they didn’t give you a tomato,” you’re saying, fingertips drawing circles into her arms, clearly distracting her from the task at hand. “Remember last time? They gave you tomatoes and mustard even though we told them you don’t like them.”

“I do like tomatoes,” she says.

“No, I know, just not on burgers.” You wrap your arm around her and turn your gaze on Avery. “What’s your mac and cheese like, Ave?”

“So good! You want some?”

“No, thanks. It looks cheesy.”

Avery stabs her spoon into her food and pulls it up slowly to showcase the cheese pull. She’s gone a little pink in the face, which isn’t like her, but it’s hot in the restaurant and her food is still steaming. Like you’ve had the same thought, you lift a laminated menu and begin batting fresh air at her. “Babe, you’re red! Are you okay?”

Jesus, he loves you. Steve really loves you. You’re just adorable, and a great mom, and he loves you. He’s gonna do it. It’s gonna piss you off, but he has to.

“Okay, alright,” he says, shuffling out of his seat, lifting Dove to place her next to Avery. “This has been a long time coming. I think nobody expected me to wait this long, but.” He neatens his eyebrows with two fingertips and slicks back his hair. “Honey, I love you.”

“Steve…” you warn.

“I love you, and I want to be with you, ‘cos you’re beautiful and sweet and weirdly good with kids?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “I don’t know. You’re amazing.”

He slips his hand behind his back, shrugs off his wedding ring, and gets down on one knee.

Avery claps and laughs immediately. Dove tips her head to the side trying to make him out.

“Baby, I can’t imagine my life without you, and I can’t go one more day without being your husband. Would you please, please, do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

You laugh loud and sudden, then clear your throat. “What do you think, girls?” you ask, leaning back for conference.

“Say yes!” Avery says.

“But he really annoyed me earlier tickling my leg,” you say.

“True.” Avery looks to Beth. “He can learn to be better, right?”

“I thought you were married already?” Beth asks.

Avery giggles. You squash a smile against Beth’s hairline as you give her a little kiss. “We are,” you whisper, “he’s just pretending.”

“This is not pretend!” Steve’s knee hurts, but he perseveres for love. “Please, honey. I love you more than anyone.”

Dove gasps in hurt.

“Except for my Dove, my Beth, my Avery, and my Wren,” he adds. “Jesus, we have a lot of kids. That was a mouthache.”

You meet his eyes and smile like you don’t want to smile. You hold out your hand, unperturbed when he gasps in over exaggerated delight and slips the ring on your already ringed finger.

“Congratulations!” Avery shouts.

She’s hilarious. “She gets that from me,” he says.

You usher him off of the floor for a kiss, not dissimilar from the one you gave when he’d actually proposed —your hands on his cheeks, holding him to you as though he might run away before you’re done. Your smile a palpable thing as he leans in.

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wendichester · 4 days ago

Text

⋆.˚₊ ⊹ stargazing,

summary. stargazing on the hood of the impala might just be one of your favorite things in the world.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 362

The night is crisp, the kind that makes the stars look sharper against the sky. The Impala’s hood is still warm beneath you, and the scent of leather and engine grease lingers in the air, mixing with Dean’s aftershave. You sigh, stretching out beside him, completely content.

Dean glances at you, smirking. “What’s that look for?”

You roll your head to the side, meeting his gaze. “Just enjoying the view.”

His smirk widens. “Yeah? The stars or me?”

You scoff, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Wow, cocky much?”

“Hey,” he says, feigning offense, “can you blame me?” He gestures to himself, all smug confidence and charm. “I mean, come on.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning. “Fine. You’re pretty nice to look at.”

Dean hums, satisfied, then turns his eyes back to the sky. “You know, I used to think all this star stuff was kinda boring,” he admits. “But… I get it now.”

You shift onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Oh yeah?”

He glances at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah. It’s peaceful. And it gives me an excuse to lie here with you.”

Your heart flutters, and you try not to let it show too much on your face. “Like you need an excuse,”

Dean grins, reaching over to pull you closer. You end up half-curled against him, your head tucked against his chest. He’s warm, solid, safe. His fingers toy with the sleeve of your jacket absentmindedly, and when you peek up at him, he’s already looking at you.

“What?” you ask softly.

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “Nothin’. Just like having you here.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest. “I like being here.”

His arm tightens around you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You sigh happily, snuggling closer, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The night stretches on around you, vast and quiet, but you don’t need to look at the stars anymore.

You already have the best view in the world, right here in Dean’s arms.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @KayleighWinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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theodorenmyth · 7 days ago

Note

I just read 'people you know' and it's so good !!! I was just wondering if you could make an alternate ending (I love the angst but fluff is so cute!!!) with Mattheo and Theo realising what they've done and apologised to y/n but he Makes them work for it until he feels like they're truly sorry, then it works outs. 🙏🙏 Thanks sooo muchhh ♡♡♡

People you know

Pairings : Mattheo R. x GN!Reader x Theodore N.

Summary : Mattheo and Theo work to earn back your trust, proving they’ve changed. Slowly, you let them in again. One night, after carrying you to bed, you ask them to stay. Holding you close, they realize—they’ll never lose you again.

A/N : maybe this one will heal your hearts.... I think

Warnings : Angst, fluffy ending

Word count : 1k+

They didn’t think it would ever come to this.

Mattheo and Theodore had convinced themselves that no matter how much damage had been done, no matter how deep the wounds had cut, you would always find your way back to them. You always had before.

But not this time.

This time, you had replaced them.

At first, they didn’t take it seriously. They saw you hanging around Casper Rosier and Elias Avery and thought it was a temporary thing, that you were just passing time. But then you stopped looking at them. Stopped waiting for them. Stopped acting like they were the center of your world.

And it hurt.

It hurt when Mattheo saw Casper drape an arm around your shoulders.

It hurt when Theo saw Elias steal bits of your food at lunch like it was his right.

It hurt when they saw you at the courtyard under the tree—their tree—with them.

They had no one to blame but themselves.

Pansy had called them out on it first. "You let them go, and now they found people who actually treat them right."

"We didn’t let them go," Theo had muttered, but his voice was weak.

"Yes, you did," she’d said with finality. "And now they’re happy without you."

They should have taken the hint. Should have accepted that they had lost their chance.

But then Mattheo saw you at the Three Broomsticks, sandwiched between Casper and Elias, laughing, and something in him snapped.

The next thing you knew, Mattheo was looming over your table, his hands braced against the wood. "Alright," he said, voice low and sharp. "I think it’s time we talk."

You raised your brows, unimpressed. "Talk? Now you want to talk?"

Theo appeared beside him, looking just as tense. "We should have talked a long time ago," he admitted.

Casper leaned back lazily. "You’ve got some nerve, Riddle."

Mattheo ignored him. "Please," he said, voice tight. "Just five minutes."

You stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine."

Mattheo and Theo led you outside into the cold, their hearts pounding.

"You hate us," Theo said quietly.

You crossed your arms. "I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you anymore."

The words stung.

Mattheo exhaled sharply. "We were assholes," he admitted. "We fucked up. We got caught up in our own shit and didn’t see what we were doing to you until it was too late."

You studied him carefully. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Theo ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "Because seeing you happy without us fucking killed us." His voice cracked slightly. "Because we miss you, and we know we don’t deserve you back, but we’re selfish enough to want to try anyway."

You felt something in your chest tighten, but you weren’t going to let them off that easily.

"You don’t get to just say sorry and have everything go back to normal," you said. "You hurt me. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. If you want me back, you have to prove that I do."

Mattheo and Theo looked at each other before nodding firmly.

"We’ll do whatever it takes," Mattheo said. "Just… don’t shut us out completely."

You hesitated, then gave a small nod. "You can start by earning my time back."

And with that, you walked away, leaving them standing in the cold.

But this time, they weren’t going to let you slip away again.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

They weren’t expecting you to forgive them easily.

Honestly, Mattheo and Theo would have preferred if you had just screamed at them, cursed them out, anything but what you actually did—make them earn you back.

And oh, did you make them work for it.

It started small. They weren’t allowed to sit next to you in the Great Hall, but you let them hover nearby. You wouldn’t wait for them after class, but you didn’t speed up when they walked beside you. You let them talk, let them try, but you made no promises.

And yet, that small sliver of hope was enough for them.

They did everything.

Mattheo would leave sweets on your desk before class, casually acting like he had no idea how they got there. Theo would pass you notes, little things like ‘You look nice today.’ or ‘This class is unbearable without you talking to me.’

They remembered things. Things they should have always remembered.

Theo pulled you aside before Potions one day, placing a small, wrapped package in your hands. "I know your hands get cold, and I saw these at Hogsmeade."

Inside were a pair of enchanted gloves, warm as if you were always near a fireplace.

Mattheo, as dramatic as ever, threw his scarf around you when he saw you shivering. "Can’t have you freezing to death. I refuse to grieve fashionably."

And slowly, you started letting them back in.

You allowed Theo to sit across from you in the library instead of a table away. You let Mattheo walk with you to class without rolling your eyes. You started responding to their little notes with snarky comments, making them grin like idiots.

The real shift happened one night in the common room.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, your book slipping from your fingers. Theo and Mattheo had been sitting nearby, both watching you with quiet longing.

Theo was the first to move. Carefully, cautiously, he reached over and brushed a strand of hair from your face. "They used to fall asleep on us all the time," he murmured.

Mattheo swallowed. "I miss that."

Theo hesitated, then whispered, "We should bring them to bed."

Mattheo nodded, and before he could second-guess himself, he slipped his arms under you, lifting you as gently as he could. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, instead curling into his warmth instinctively.

Mattheo’s heart clenched.

Theo followed closely behind, and when they finally tucked you into bed, they both hesitated before stepping away.

And then, still half-asleep, you murmured, "Stay?"

They froze.

Theo swallowed. "Are you sure?"

You sighed sleepily, shifting to make room. "I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t."

They didn’t waste a second.

Theo slid in on one side, his warmth familiar and comforting. Mattheo took the other, draping an arm over you protectively.

For the first time in months, it felt right.

Mattheo exhaled against your hair. "Missed this," he whispered.

Theo pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Missed you."

You sighed, finally, finally relaxing in their arms. "I missed you too."

And just like that, they knew—this time, they weren’t going to lose you again.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months ago

Text

Barlen

Summary: The reader is visiting Beau's family for Christmas for the first time...

Pairing: Beau x reader

Word Count: 2,200ish

Warnings: language

A/N: This is a little continuation of Bad Day but it's not necessary to have read that prior to understand this fic. Happy Holidays everyone!

_________

Beau tugged nervously at the collar of his thick burgundy cable knit sweater across the room. Even from a distance, you could see the flush of his cheeks as he was spoken at by his uncle.

“Uncle Cal was talking shit about you coming, you know.” You turned to the left, Emily standing there in a quiet corner of the kitchen sipping on a small glass of white wine. She must have misunderstood your staring because she was quickly shaking her head. “Dad totally said I could have a little cause it’s Christmas-”

“I don’t care if you have some wine, Emily. What exactly do you mean Cal was talking shit about me?” She faked a wave over to Beau when he tried to urge her over, using exaggerated hand gestures likes she was caught up in a deep conversation with you. “Leaving your father to fend for himself, hm?”

“Yup. Last time I talked to Cal at Thanksgiving he was riding my ass about not having enough extra curiculars for college. Or a boyfriend. And for liking you.”

“Sounds like a dick,” you said, Emily smirking as you took a long drag of your beer. “Beau warned me he’s the family busybody.”

“Yeah but like,” she said, reaching behind you and grabbing a sugar cookie off a tray, “He really doesn’t like you. Rory, that’s my freakishly tall cousin that’s at his girlfriends, well Cal is his dad’s dad and Rory said his grandpa was calling you a slut on Facebook cause he thinks you broke up my mom and dad which is so not true but…yeah, that’s the boomer mentality you’re dealing with. Oh, plus he hates you for being younger than dad so there’s that too.”

“I’m thirty four years old, not a child,” you grumbled, hiding the desire to shoot Cal a dirty look. Emily saw through it though, munching on her cookie with big brown eyes. “Em, you don’t think I’m too young for your father do you? Or-”

“Um, you can stop right there.” She caught your hesitation and rolled her eyes. “You’re both adults and I know you and dad were just friends when my parents were together. Shit, you used to babysit me.”

“I know but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought…” She threw her head back, muttering a curse under her breath. “I’m sure Cal isn’t the only member of your family that’s been hesitant of me.”

“They like you a hell of a lot more than mom.” You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Come on, Y//N. She left dad at his low. No one bats an eye at your age except for the dinosaur over there and trust me, I know dad wasn’t looking at you like that until way after my parents divorced. It wasn’t until after everything with the camp and Avery and you were taking care of me here and you went up to Montana for work that you guys were together.”

You reached back and took your own cookie, chewing on it slowly. “Well…it made your dad feel better to have someone checking in on you and your mom while he was in Montana figuring out what to do.”

“And then he went on leave for three months to move back here for a bit and suddenly you were moving up to work for him when he went back.”

“You moved back there too if I recall,” you said, Emily smiling at you. “What?”

“I’m just saying, dad is…not the most emotionally available man…but he’s getting there and I know it’s because you have that something my mom doesn’t. So if Cal gives you shit, I got your back.”

“Oh, Emily, you’re as protective as your father,” said an older woman with graying hair and a gentle smile. “I already told Cal to leave Beau alone or I’d make good on that promise I made when I was thirteen.”

You looked between them, Emily smirking. “Cal teased Grandma about a boy she was dating, like relentlessly, and one day she said-”

“I’d bust his balls with a bat if he ever spoke that way about someone I cared about again,” she said, giving Cal a look across the room that could kill. “Especially when it comes to one of my boys and their wives.”

You choked on the beer in your mouth, Beau’s mom smacking you on the back as you coughed violently.

“Arms up, dear, there you go,” she said as you raised them, still coughing as she hit you harder than any woman in her seventies had any right to. You took a deep breath and lowered your arms, rubbing your chest as you caught your breath. “Emily, be a dear and go rescue your father from Cal. Tell him I need his help in the kitchen.”

“But then I’ll get stuck talking to him,” she whined.

“Well…call him a boomer and start talking about tik tok and he’ll just get confused and go have a smoke outside.” Emily sighed but went off across to the far side of the house, Beau’s mom wearing that same mischievous grin you caught on his face and Emily’s. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my big brother but he can be a bit of a dickhead. Beau’s too kind of a soul to tell his uncle to go fuck a cactus.”

You smiled, her arm looping through yours. “I hope I didn’t scare you with that wife comment.”

“No, not at all,” you said, his mom eyeing you up and down with a hum. “Beau and I have only been dating-”

“My boy was broken,” she said as you caught Emily reluctantly join her father and Cal over in the corner. You gave Beau’s mother your attention, her face softening. “And then he broke more and when he started to heal, Emily getting hurt broke him even more and you know him, he hides these things so well. Now…that boy over there is forty six years old and he talks about you like he’s fourteen and has his first crush. He healed the right way with you so you two kids, you do whatever you want to and I’ll deal with Cal, got it?”

“Yes, mam,” you said as Beau approached, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, his mom slipping away with a smile. “I thought you needed help?”

“Heaven’s knows why’d you’d think that, Beau,” she said, humming as she skirted out of the kitchen and off to the family room. Beau looked back at you, tilting his head with an adorable confused look to his green eyes.

“Your mom simply orchestrated an undercover op to get Emily to rescue you. Apparently I’m not as scary as your mom when I ask her to do such things,” you said, Beau smiling.

“Ah, well, she’s got grandma superpowers. You’re just a little detective. So not scary.”

“So not scary,” you said, Beau taking the beer from your hand and taking a sip, interlacing your fingers in the other. You let him lead you to the front of the house where you slipped on your boots and light jacket, Beau popping his feet into his dark brown leather cowboy ones. He opened the front door with a few fingers, tugging you out to his parent’s front porch on the outskirts of Houston.

“I’m sorry I keep leaving you alone in there to fend for yourself,” he said, leaning against the railing, passing the beer bottle back to you.

“Hey, we live in Montana. Your family misses you. I don’t mind sharing.” He smiled, looking out at the dark field across the street. You ducked under his arm, Beau wrapping his own over your shoulders, briefly kissing your temple. His sweater was soft against your cheek, his sharp inhale of your perfume making you wrap your arms around his waist and turn into his side.

“S’funny. This place doesn’t feel like home anymore.” You glanced up at him, Beau smirking and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He’d done that move a hundred times over but your breath was catching in your throat tonight as he grasped your chin, bringing your lips to his. He kissed you slowly, gently, like he had all the time in the world to devour you.

“You can’t just short circuit my brain like that you know,” you mumbled, Beau laughing against the column of your neck.

“But it’s one of my favorite things to do.” He peppered kisses up and down your jaw, playing your like a instrument he knew better than the back of his hand. You bit your bottom lip when he ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your skin. “Close your eyes, darlin’.”

“Beau, your parents are literally on the other side of that door,” you said as he chuckled.

“Trust me.” Slowly you lids fluttered shut, Beau’s warmth leaving you. The deck boards creaked although you felt his presence, and smelled his pine and musky cologne, nearby. “Keep em’ closed.”

“Alright, alright,” you murmured before he was kissing you again. “Barlen…”

“I love when you call me that,” he whispered, touching his forehead to yours. There was an undercurrent of tension in his voice, your lips parting. “Did you know I never asked Carla to marry me? She just told me it was happening and I was okay with that because it was all part of her plan and I loved her. And now…I know we’ve talked about the somedays but…”

“Are you scared I’ll hurt you?” you asked quietly, his head nodding once. “Why?”

“You’re so young and beautiful, darlin’. You have no clue. A family with me…you won’t have a normal-”

“Beau. You’re forty six, you’re ripped and so not old. I will never not want you and we could both die tomorrow so do what I always tell you. Relax and trust me.”

“Last chance to change your mind.” You shook your head, tilting your chin up in search of his lips. He met them, cupping your cheek as he took you in. “Open your eyes.”

When you peeled them open, Beau knelt down holding a square black velvet box in his hands.

“Will you-”

“Yes, Barlen,” you grinned, Beau chuckling.

“Not even gonna let me ask?”

“I’m excited, sue me,” you said, Beau raising to his feet and opening the box, shaking his head at you as he slid a ring on your finger.

“Want to get married?” You eagerly nodded your head. “Even if you have to deal with Cal?”

“I’m a detective, babe. I can handle a seventy eight year old stuck in the past,” you said, Beau wrapping you up in his arms and hosting you up. “Careful old man. Wouldn’t want you to throw a hip.”

“Eh, watch it troublemaker,” he teased, nipping at your jaw. Your legs went around his waist, Beau setting you down on top of the railing but not releasing you. “So. How long have you known I was planning to ask?”

“Questioning my investigative skills?” you hummed, Beau eyeing you up and down. “I’ve suspected since the fall when we had that kids talk. But I knew for sure when your mom slipped the beans and called me your wife in the kitchen.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, those big green eyes watching you with curiosity. “So you knew what I was doing when we came out here.”

“Most likely,” you said, running a hand over his head, brushing a stray strand that’d fallen over his forehead. “S’okay you got nervous. You’re getting better at the talking thing, you know.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” he said softly.

“Well you are a good kisser, Mr. Barlen.”

“As are you future Mrs. Barlen,” he teased, laughing when a giggle left your lips. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Barlen, darlin’,” you said, Beau grinning wide. “See, we’re all set.”

You both jumped when the front door burst open, Emily standing there with an exhausted sigh, staring at her father. She raised her eyebrows, Beau rolling his eyes. “Yes, she said yes, little Ms. Impatient.”

“Thank god. He’s been this close to a coronary all day,” she said, turning to go back inside. “Grandma says we can’t open presents until you get your chicken shit ass in gear and ask so can we go do that now?”

“Welcome to motherhood,” said Beau, shaking his head at her. “We’ll join in a minute.”

Emily left, leaving you to smile up at Beau. “Wow. I never knew your mom had such a potty mouth. She’s always been so sweet.”

“Oh, she can swear like a sailor all she wants but heaven forbid I cuss in front of her.”

“I think it’s a mom thing, hun,” you said, Beau rolling his eyes when you heard knocking at the window. “We better get back in there before the whole family is ragging on you.”

“They can wait,” he said, holding you close to his chest. “Right now, the only present I want is you, darlin.”

_____________

#beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen fanfiction #big sky #big sky fanfiction #beau arlen fanfic #beau arlen one shot #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader

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maladaptiveobsession · 3 months ago

Text

“Too Little, Too late”

Synopsis: How the DOL LIs react to the player’s suicide

pt. 2

Contains: gn!reader, male!love interests, suicide by pill overdose, death, necrophilia, alcoholism, self-deprecation, dissociation, depression

Words: 1163

A/N: Do not take the content warnings above lightly. The character’s sentiments and the player’s death is described in detail. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please take care. I had intended to write for some other NPCs as well, but quickly realized I was not in the mental space to continue. I was using my personal experiences as reference, so my personal feelings and the feelings of the characters blended together and I just got overwhelmed.

Alex:

He’s confused and distraught. Why didn’t you confide in him? Was he not enough? He thought you were doing better. What did he miss? What could he have done differently? There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done if it meant keeping you.

He’ll never recover. The farm is neglected, unable to handle the grief. Everything reminds him of you. He blames himself and spends every moment missing you. Alcohol is his only solace and perhaps his demise as well.

Avery:

He’s initially enraged. You repay him by attaching a tragedy to his public image? Above all, he feels betrayed. Anger eventually morphs into bitter acceptance. He tries to pretend otherwise, but he’s affected deeply. He’s not sure how to feel, but it’s wrong all the same. Never before had he grown so fond of any of his arm candy. It was too little, too late by the time he realized he wanted more than a transactional relationship. He continues to attend functions, but his smile is tighter and his eyes are weary. Any attempts to replace you fail miserably. Nobody smiles like you or laughs like you. Nobody is talented enough, smart enough, or obedient enough.

He won’t forget you, but he can’t afford to lose his image, so he grieves in silence. He wonders if things might have been different had he realized how he felt sooner. What might things have been like had he put a ring on your finger? It’s only now in your absence that he understands the joy you brought him. He should have paid better attention to his plaything.

Eden:

Inconsolable is the only way to describe him. Little has brought this man to his knees or made him tear up, but discovering your cold, lifeless body broke him. He’s pissed at you for leaving him. He’s pissed at himself for not noticing the signs; he should have known better than any other. Among the anger, he’s confused. Why didn't you ask for help? There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done for you. What could have been so bad that you would want to kill yourself? Was he so awful? He begins to reflect on his behavior towards you. He knew your initial meeting was unsavory at best, but he had changed since and thought you were healing. He spends every waking moment criticizing his past actions, wondering what might have been had he treated you better.

He considers taking his own life but chooses to live through the anguish as punishment. He tries his best to overcome, but nothing is the same without you. He misses you deeply; the comfort you brought him left so easily. If only he had cherished you more and taken better care of you. If only he had just listened. You should still be cozying up against him on the loveseat, but you’re not and never will be.

Kylar:

Kylar initially denies your death. You’re not dead. You’re just sleeping. As time goes on, he becomes hysterical. You must be ignoring him to get his attention! You’re okay! You’re fine! Nothing is wrong! He’ll defile your body, having convinced himself you’ve entered a deep sleep. The smell will force him into clarity. He knows that smell well; he would recognize the stench of rotting flesh anywhere. He’ll fly into hysteria, falling to his knees and wailing. His darling is gone forever. Why did you do it? Was he not good enough? He must have neglected you or upset you somehow! He should have paid attention. You would be here otherwise. You were unhappy, but he was too selfish to notice! This is all his fault!

Unlike all the rest, Kylar cannot live without you. He takes his own life shortly after, collapsing over your decomposing corpse. If you squint, it’s nearly a romantic sight.

Robin:

Finding you in your bed, cold and stiff with pills spilled haphazardly across your desk, was the worst moment of his life. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t break down and cry. There’s no confusion. There’s no need to ask why; he knows. He’d spent ages wondering how you managed to keep yourself together. How you smiled so brightly in such disturbing circumstances escaped him. It’s only now that he realizes just how much you were suffering, quietly enduring for his sake. He should have seen the signs—the smile that never reached your eyes, the flinching, the lethargy. Things you couldn’t hide that he should have seen but simply didn’t want to acknowledge. It wasn’t a conscious decision by any means, but rather a subconscious attempt to avoid uncomfortable truths in hopes they’d resolve on their own. Had he reached out to you and comforted you, he’s pretty sure you’d still be here. Your blood is on his hands.

Robin will never be the same, and there’s a chance he’ll follow your example. In another timeline, he decides to keep fighting, leaves town, and never looks back. Another version is swallowed up by grief and grows darker and vengeful. Regardless of his path going forward, he lives in your memory. Time heals, but the scar won’t fade.

Sydney:

He is beyond distraught. Why did you do it? Why did you leave him? Was he not enough? He misses you severely. Every waking moment is torment without you. Your loss sends him plunging deeper into the church’s grasp, regardless of purity. If the church is responsible for your passing by any measure, Sydney severes ties completely. Unlike all the rest, Sydney has a loving parent to comfort and guide him through the grief.

Ultimately, Sydney will move on. He carries your memories with him. Your death still haunts him, but he’ll eventually find somebody to start a family with. He’ll convince himself he’s happy, but he can’t help but wonder how things might have been if you were by his side instead.

Whitney:

Numbness engulfs Whitney. Nothing feels real anymore. Is he even real? How can you be gone? He still has the bruises you gave him from your last encounter, so how can you be gone? Anger bites at his mind, but the static sorrow washes it away. Without you, nothing matters. He blames himself. He was a terrible person to you. Of course you would choose death over somebody like him. Even if he was changing for the better, that doesn’t take away what he did to you.

He washes down the grief with liquor. He doesn’t live; he drifts, too tired to even take his own life. He’d spend the rest of his life punishing himself for failing you. With enough time, he might snap out of that fog. Of all the rest, he is the most likely to use this trauma to make much-needed changes around town. He’ll stay single, too afraid of failing yet another person, of being hurt, or of betraying you. Whitney will ultimately be okay, even if every day is a challenge and every memory is overwritten with regret.

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graysdarling · 6 months ago

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〡𝓖. hawthorne ˎˊ˗ sfw headcanons.

- summery: sfw headcanons about our favorite boy!

- warnings: idk none

- words: 2.1k

- voicemail: this was requested by @kit4strophe here! i love gray twirls hair

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

grayson would be the type of guy to definitely show affection. not the big kind, but the small kind. holding each others fingers while you get the groceries, feet touching underneath the table while you talk to avery and his brothers, a few hands around your waist from time to time. he’s the kind of guy to think that the smallest of touches mean a lot.

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

oh, it would take a while to be his friend. he has major trust issues and is not the most friendliest person out there. (not that he cares.) though, when you kick down those walls of his, he would be that kind of best friend that’s sensible. stopping you from making mistakes, helping you study, looking out for you. he would totally be overprotective of you. he sees you as family, how could he not? (it definitely isn’t because of another reason.)

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle)

the shock you would feel whenever you see that he actually likes to cuddle. not that much, of course, but in those perfect nights when he can’t sleep and you want to help him sleep? he’s as close to you as possible. hell, half the time he doesn’t even realize he was pulling you closer to his chest and digging his face into your neck. he’d never admit it of course.

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

once he sees that you’re the one for him, he’d want to settle down. he won’t care where, as long as he’s with you, he’s fine with it. he’d also be the one cooking and cleaning. you’d want to help, and sometimes, he’d let you. but other times? nope. he wouldn’t want you to do all of the cleaning and cooking when he was right there. especially if you don’t know how to cook. he would never let you in the kitchen after what happened last time.

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

he would not want to break up with you. the thought of being away from you physically pains him, so whenever he had to break up with you? what, are they trying to kill him now? if he had to break up, he wouldn’t be the one ending the relationship . it would have to be you. the words couldn’t even come out of his mouth. on the other hand, if he had to break up to protect you, he’d be selfish. make you hate him so you could move on quicker. even if it breaks his heart, he would do anything for you.

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

he doesn’t know how to react to marriage because of his mother. for half, he thinks that marriage is important and wonderful. the other part of him thinks that marriage is useless. but, if he heard from avery that you want to get married, you better bet that he’s—about to have a panic attack. hey, can you blame him? after that, he’d totally be okay with marrying you. anyone else? hell no. but he began to realize that your name with hawthorne at the end of it was starting to sound good.

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

i could go on a full on RANT about how this man seems like he’s sharp and rough. he wants to be. but with you? he’s just a lovesick puppy. he takes care of you, like you were his most prized possession—which in his eyes, you were. (in the most non-sexist way.) at first, he treated you like that because he was afraid. afraid if he was too rough you would leave him. but now? it’s just an instinct. he likes to be gentle with you. sometimes he’s rough, but that’s rare.

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they it what are their hugs like?)

grayson isn’t the type of guy to hug you twenty-four seven, but, he is the type of guy to give you the most amazing hugs ever. at least you think so. back hugs and tight hugs where he bends you back a bit are his go-to.

i = i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

grayson says i love you in different ways. when he squeezes your hand three times; i love you. when he puts a hand on your knee whenever you’re anxious; i love you. when you’re lying your head on his chest and his arm is around your waist; i love you. when he started to try when he actually says it, it would be on a date. a month after you two got together. it was perfect—the two of you were on a walk, leaving a date. you just looked too beautiful underneath the trees while the lights shined against your face—it slipped out.

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do if they’re jealous?)

i don’t see grayson as the type to get jealous. hell, he barely gets jealous. he knows you’re loyal and he knows his worth. but, the few—very few—times he is jealous, he’s quiet jealous. he doesn’t say anything vocally, but he does touch you more. a simple hand around your waist or on your back. most of the time, that was enough. that, and with death staring at the dude who decided to try to hit on you.

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

he has two types of kisses. long, passionate ones that make you breathless and lean into him, or short, small ones that make you giggle and smile. he doesn’t have a particular spot where he likes to kiss you, but he’s fond of forehead kisses or just real kisses.

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

he’s literally so nervous and doesn’t know what to do around children. he only likes a few type of children. when he’s with those, he’s soft and gentle, making sure not to treat them harshly or to make them sad. definitely spoils them. he tries to hide his frown whenever he has to leave them, but you totally see past his fake face.

m = mornings (how are mornings spent with them?)

peaceful, calm. he’d spend a few minutes just staring at you, looking at your sleeping face. he wouldn’t wake you up, though, and instead he’d get up and do his morning routine then make breakfast for the two of you. (he denies whenever jameson or xander asks if he could have some) and then wake you up so you could have some.

n = nights (how are nights spent with them?)

perfect. at least he would think that. it depends on what the two of you are feeling, but most of the time, you’re forcing him to watch another episode of your favorite movie series with him before he forces you to go to bed. when you’re not feeling that, he’s trying skin care with you. don’t want to put face masks on? he’s setting a bath for the two of you. other nights, he takes you on dates. whether it he to a fancy restaurant or a simple picnic date while looking at the stars; it’s perfect.

o = open (how would they start to reveal themselves? do they say everything at once or start slowly?)

oh, with grayson, definitely slowly. just some facts about him here and there, letting you slowly get to know him while he comes out of his shell that he (secretly) desperately wants to come out of. (even though he says he’s fine with not talking to anyone) whenever you start to remember the facts and reminders he told you about himself, he practically felt him fall faster for you. maybe, one night, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll come clean and tell you everything.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

it takes a lot to get grayson hawthorne angry, but when it comes to you, he’s like an overprotective dog. it might not seem like it, but whenever someone tries to walk all over you or talks shit about you he’s already planning their downfall. now, with you, you’ve never seen him angry before. playful angry, yes, or maybe a bit annoyed, but not full on anger.

q = quizes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention or do they kind of forget everything?)

he never forgets anything. if he feels like he’ll forget, he’s taking pictures. pictures that make him feel like he was there again; the way your laugh sounded like in his ears, the way you smiled, everything. he sometimes brings up the details that you told him and whenever you look at him with wide eyes, he just looks at you curiously. of course he’d remember everything about you. he was your boyfriend. what was he, a thirteen year old boy?

r = remember (what’s their favorite moment in your relationship?)

definitely the date he took you on before the two of you had your first kiss. he took you to one of those fancy restaurants—but one that wasn’t too crowded because he knew how you get with a lot of people—and turns out, he’d already made a reservation for the two of you. he would push out your chair so you could sit in and push it back in for you, like the gentleman he is. he’d be the one ordering (if you want him to) and of course he got your order right. if you were a picky eater, he made sure that anything that you didn’t like wasn’t on your plate. then, after eating, naturally, he payed and grabbed your hand as you got up. once you got into his car, he couldn’t help but to feel excited. he would take you to his favorite place, the place that only the two of you know about. your place. and he thought that that place would stay his favorite forever.

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

like i said, grayson is like an overprotective dog. he’d make sure that you weren’t doing anything that would get you hurt and would not take the shit people say about you. your life before his. though, he couldn’t lie that it does make him happy whenever you want to protect him too.

t = try (how much effort would they put in dates, anniversaries, gifts, and everyday tasks?)

are we talking about the same person here? this is GRAYSON HAWTHORNE. of course he’d put so much effort into the dates, just to see you smile. you’re going on a date? boom, reservation, music, ect ect. you want it to be small? boom you’re watching the stars with him. your anniversaries are coming up? the bed’s filled with rose petals and on your bedside table? a large bouquet filled with your favorite flowers with bags underneath it. barnes and noble, dior, the whole thing. half assed dates or presents are not in his vocabulary people!

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

overthinking, sometimes not telling you things. also kissing you a lot. definitely a bad habit.

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

when he was a kid, he was insecure. that trauma was with him growing up, which only added on-to his everything about me needs to be perfect mindset. but with you? insecurities gone. of course, sometimes he’d be worried about how he looked in front of you—does he look bad? is it too much? do you find it embarrassing?—but with one smile of yours and words, immediately gone. he was safe with you and he knew that.

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

yep. do i need to say anymore? of course he would. you’re his world in his eyes and without you? absolutely destroyed gone dead gone.

x = xtra (a random headcanon about them)

GRAYSON HAWTHORNE LISTENS TO ASMR PEOPLE. well, at least he used to. it stops him from overthinking at night and lets him actually sleeps. when the asmr doesn’t work, he swims. (he never tells anybody about it though, you just found him listening to it on accident)

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like in a partner)

emily laughlin.

z = zzz (whats a sleep habit of theirs?)

he literally needs physical touch to sleep. he doesn’t know why, but ever since the two of you got together, he can’t sleep without you. just light finger touches? he’s already asleep knowing you’re by his side. you aren’t there? he’s staring up at the roof, practically counting the seconds before you come back from your trip.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 @reminiscentreader @nqds @never-enough-novels @imaseabear @tornqdowarnings @flowers-for-em @alwaysthefangirl @luvv-danielle @sheisntyou @inmyheaddd

#the inheritance games #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the inheritance trilogy #grayson hawthorne #grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x fem!y/n #grayson hawthorne x fem!reader #grayson hawthorne x y/n #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader #gray #graysdarling ✶ ˖ ࣪#⊱ ۫ ׅ belle loves 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍.

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thecircularlibrary · 1 month ago

Text

getaway car

f1 au

word count: 1058

warnings: n/a

pairings: averyjameson

“Why was it so hot?” Avery asked herself, standing in the luxurious Formula 1 Paddock Club, watching and waiting for the race that she and her sister watched annually as children to start. The Monaco Grand Prix. God, it even sounded like a dream. How she and Libby had gone from a couple of low income girls with low expectations thrust upon them, to an heiress and an F1 driver, Avery would never understand. One distant relative that Avery had house-sat for one summer, and suddenly she was standing in a lounge watching one of the biggest and most historic races of the year. It still shocked her sometimes.

“Long time, no see Grambs,” she heard a familiar voice say from behind her. She turned around and grinned, “Could say the same thing to you, Hawthorne.”

Grayson Hawthorne. One of her best friends. He was wearing a Ferrari bomber jacket and a white button down with black dress pants. The staple of any of the driver managers in the lounge.

“I assume you’re keeping up your whole ‘impartial viewer’ act you put on for every race, at this race too?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Then you’d be correct. And get rid of the air quotes, I really am an impartial viewer. Unlike some people, I refuse to choose between people I care about,” Avery responded, looking pointedly at the man in a jacket supporting his younger brother’s team while ignoring his older brother driving for Red Bull. She wasn’t being serious, she knew it was his job to support Ferrari, but she also knew he was in no position to throw stones.

“Listen, you know that if it weren’t for Max and Libby, you’d be wearing a jacket just like this one to support my brother,” Grayson said with a shrug before walking away to continue to mingle for sponsors for said brother.

His brother. Her boyfriend. Jameson Hawthorne. Though she would never say it to her sister or her best friend, he was the reason she was here. They could hardly blame her either, Libby lived with her in Ithaca and Max was four hours away in NYC. Meanwhile, from March to December, Jameson was 3,485 miles away in London. The plan was for her to move over there when she graduated from college and continue her work there. However, at 21, her college graduation was still two years away and she desperately missed him.

They’d met at a Stand Up 2 Cancer gala two months after she’d inherited her fortune at 17. She, of course, immediately knew who he was. A Formula 2 driver and alternate for Ferrari, Jameson Hawthorne was someone worth keeping an eye on in the racing world. And Avery knew how to keep an eye on the racing world. When he approached her and asked her a riddle—“If yes is no and once is never, how many sides does a triangle have?”—she answered him. The rest was history. She became close with his brothers very quickly and Grayson and Xander became two of her closest friends. Nash was somewhat of an older brother to her.

Avery was shaken out of her memory by the first of five red lights turning on. In the qualifying rounds yesterday, Max had placed 5th, Libby 7th, Nash 2nd, and Jameson 3rd. As she watched the cars line up, she noted Nash and Libby’s Red Bull cars, Jameson’s Ferrari, and Max’s McLaren spaced out among others in that order.

She watched as the cars took off and got comfortable watching the tracker on the screen , where she’d be watching for the next two hours.

- ❁ -

At the 1 hour 30 minute mark, Jameson took his pit stop. Max took hers twenty minutes ago, Libby ten minutes ago. Nash had yet to take his. Avery knew better than to question Nash’s racing techniques: as of right now, he was the number 1 ranked driver in the circuit. However, that didn’t mean he was unbeatable. Especially not by his baby brother.

- ❁ -

As Jameson finished his last lap, milliseconds ahead of Nash, Avery let out a cheer. Grayson smiled slyly over his shoulder at her as he clapped his hands over his head. She and Grayson left the Paddock Club to see the podium celebration. Max had taken third place, while Libby had taken fifth. While Avery was sad for her sister, she knew Libby would come back from it. Libby always came back from these things. She and Grayson watched, grinning, as Nash clapped Jameson on the back and they left the celebration after popping the champagne.

Jameson found her immediately upon stepping off the concrete and ran towards her, sweeping her into a drugging kiss. He was still sweating and his hair was completely messy from his helmet. He was wearing his red and white racing suit. He held one hand in her hair and the other gripped her waist as she held his face in her hands. He smiled against her lips.

“I missed you,” he whispered quietly enough that only she could hear. Gone was the slight twang his voice had held when they met, replaced with a subtle, barely-there, English accent.She returned his smile.

“I missed you too. I’m proud of you,” Avery couldn’t stop smiling. She hadn’t been directly rooting for him over Libby and Max, but she was rooting for him to shoot out from under Nash’s shadow, and he had done just that.

He dipped his head to her shoulder, adrenaline mixing with the race he’d just won causing him to be out-of-breath. “We should get out of here.”

Avery sighed in sympathy before patting his hair. “We can’t. Grayson’s looking for you to go back to the Paddock club and mingle. He says you need more sponsors, Jamie.”

Jameson rolled his eyes.

“The only thing I need is time with my girlfriend that lives over 3,000 miles away,” he said, about as exasperated as anyone who's boss has hired their older brother to keep them in line. Avery pulled out her phone.

“I can call my driver. We can go back to the suite and order room service and margaritas,” she offered, letting herself be 21 for once in her life.

He looked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’ll drive.”

#the inheritance games f1-verse #averyjameson #the inheritance games #the grandest game #the brothers hawthorne #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #games untold #avery kylie grambs #jameson hawthorne #avery x jameson #grayson hawthorne #libby grambs #maxine liu #avery and grayson friendship #isabellas fics #f1 au

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leggerefiore · 5 months ago

Note

Dunno if you’d be interested in writing smth like this since it could get really angsty but how would Cyrus, Colress, Volo, or Avery react to accidentally injuring their s/o during a Pokemon battle?

blonds and scientists...

cw: injuries, blood, hurt, comfort,

characters: Cyrus, Colress, Volo, Avery

What was supposed to be a fun sparring match with your boyfriend had turned into something unfortunate. A slip up during battle – Daring to move just a bit closer to the action due to intense focus. It led to an attack by his pokemon landing on you instead of your own pokemon. You fell to the ground while clutching the part of your body that had taken the brunt of the attack. Instantly, the room erupted into chaos, your pokemon rushed over to your side alongside your boyfriend. The man himself seemed to move at an impossible speed, forcing the pokemon away to assess you himself.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The Night Slash from his Weavile stung horribly as you clutched your arm and doubled over in pain. The poor pokemon looked mortified by what it had done, staring at you with large, red eyes. Your own pokemon desperately tried to help you, too, making a sad cry and nuzzling into your side. The worst of the three had to be Cyrus, who gazed in a nearly frozen state at your bleeding arm. You could already tell that he was blaming himself for what happened to you. His self-deprecation was harsh and unforgiving. You wished for him to say something, but nothing would leave him. It was silent. Weavile even dared come closer to you and started to purr into your side, trying desperately to apologise. You held no admonition toward the pokemon, nor did you its master.

☄️ Cyrus felt completely taken aback by the situation. Certainly, he was aware that pokemon could be dangerous. Injury to humans were not uncommon – There was a reason most people wore repels when they had no pokemon or carried at least one on their person for protection. He was familiar with the fact that even pokemon that were close to humans could cause injury. A certain scar on his body tingled – A past electrical current that had ripped through him and rendered him unconscious, haunting his memory. His Weavile had not intended to do such a thing. He swallowed. Responsibility… He felt a desperate urge to take full responsibility for this. Seeing you in pain… the heart in his chest could not be more despised. These horrible feelings… He should be thinking about how to tend to your injury, not standing stunned into a silent stare.

☄️ “I… I apologise,” the words left him as he finally knelt down, pulling out a handkerchief and applying pressure onto the slash. He observed his Weavile's attempts to placate you with a distant curiosity. The pokemon clearly was upset with itself. He frowned deeper. It was not its fault… “This is my fault–” Before he could begin his repentance, you silenced him. Bringing your hand to genuinely cover his mouth, you shook your head. Instead, all you asked if that he helped to treat the wound. Cyrus nodded. There was no need for any more words to be spoken – no need for further guilt. Insubstantial and fleeting, those feelings faded. He wanted to say that, but his heart felt heavy every time his eyes found your bandaged arm. Only after it healed did he finally forgive himself.

🥼Colress🛸

🧪 You clutched your arm as you tried to observe the damage from the Wild Charge of his Klinklang. You felt desperately lucky that it had not been a Gear Grind or that you might have been down a limb. Instead, a nasty burn followed your vein from where the electricity had run through your body. Thankfully, you knew to raise your left arm up so that the electricity did not run there. Klinklang hovered near you as silently as it could, mechanical eye blinking at you, the poor thing looked truly terrified. Well, as much as living gears could, you supposed. Your own pokemon was at your side, letting out sad cries and trying its best to comfort you. Colress knelt in front of you before you realized, tentatively taking your own into his gloved hands and observing your injured flesh. The pain was a strange kind of indescribable. You struggled to comprehend what Colress was feeling.

🧪 A scientist at heart, he had been paying special attention to this battle. It was between him and his partner – How would the bond between his pokemon and his partner play out? What of the ones he held with their pokemon? It was also fascinating to him. Perhaps he had been too focused on that, as this incident seemed avoidable. You should not have gotten so close to the battlefield, but he should not have failed to discern the risks. He would note this for future battles against you. But, his main concern became exceedingly obvious. An electric attack to a human could quickly prove fatal. Thankfully, you understood the path of least resistance and had acted accordingly to prevent lethal damage to your heart. Colress felt mortified at the thought. Losing you was unthinkable… Especially at the hands of his Klinklang. His partner pokemon...

🧪 “… A terrible error,” he mumbled as he drew his finger down the burn and narrowed his eyes. Getting you to a doctor was a high priority. You were stable as it was, but he worried his medical knowledge would not prove well enough here. He was aware that his heightened emotional state made him more likely to make errors. As much as bonds could provide strength, he would acknowledge the weakness they could also provide. “Can you stand? Do you feel stable?” he fell into a questioning mode to determine further his next course of actions. Your answers were carefully noted as he helped you along. In the end, he was unsatisfied with his performance and felt a focus on safety was required. Unleashing potential still mattered the most, but when it came at your detriment… Colress found himself unable to accept such results. He would rerun his simulations and tests. Your safety would be guaranteed.

📜Volo💫

⭐️ Your arm bled as you attempted to compress the large slash that had unfortunately been laid into your arm. Volo's battling style was particularly ruthless, and that meant even a usually gentle pokemon as Togekiss could do some severe damage under his tutelage. The poor fairy-type was pressed into your side and made sad coos. Your own pokemon was in a similar condition. It was honestly more painful seeing the pokemon so upset than from the actual injury that it had inflicted onto your arm. The harsh winds it had cut into you with haunted your mind. Volo stood over you silently with an unreadable expression. The attack certainly not been intended for you, but unfortunately, the desire to get closer to the action had cost you something this time. Togekiss had looked mortified the moment it had realised where its attack was going.

⭐️ There was nothing but a shaking sense of terror in Volo's heart. Perhaps a fleeting moment of the past, he would have desired nothing more than to see you as you were. Beneath him and weakened. Now, he felt sickened. The blood coming from your wound, and the obvious distress of his partner pokemon. Battling was dangerous. Pokemon were dangerous. Hisui was dangerous. His breath hitched. An injury like that could prove fatal. Why…? Why had you gotten so close to the battle? Were you an idiot? How had you survived for so long?! Frustration ate his heart horribly. Maddening… Everything had become maddening as of late. You were being foolish. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you, but that would change nothing.

⭐️ His hands grasped your arm as he pulled out cloth from his bag. He began to wrap it around the wound carefully. Injuries were a frequent thing in the wilds, so he was always prepared – even applying a salve meant to help it heal faster. It was silent as he did this. Words were beyond the situation. He caught your hand after he had finished his work. Lips pressed to your knuckles. He closed his eyes. “… You're an idiot,” he mumbled quietly, “… You, of all people, should know how pokemon are.” His grey eyes stared into your own. You were silenced by his harsh words. There was nothing to say. His Togekiss let out another pitiful cry. You brought a hand to pet its head. Volo stood up and turned away from you. He would be harder on you about battle etiquette – even if he did not really care for such a thing.

🎩Avery🥄

🔮 You felt dizzy after being hit by the Eerie Spell from Avery's Slowking. Sitting on the ground, you clutched your head as you attempted to overcome the effects of the psychic attack on your mind. Thankfully, it was nothing physical, so there was no concern for blood or concerning damage, but you were uncertain as to just how long the effect of the move would be on a human. Slowking was at your side, attempting to make a potion to aid clearing up your condition. It was endlessly distressed by what it had done to its trainer's partner. Your own pokemon sat trying to help support you. Avery stood above you with shrunken pupils and a grimace on his face.

🔮 He felt mortified that this had happened. If this had been an official match, he shuddered at the penalty that might be given to him. You had definitely been too close to the battlefield – Especially for those that held the potential for Dynamaxing, but his Slowking had completely missed your pomemon and unleashed a powerful attack on you. He knew the pokemon had no real intention of doing that, but it still happened. You were clearly dazed by the harsh psychic attack. If only he were more competent with telepathy, he might have been able to negate the effects. He felt frustrated by the situation. It only got worse when his Slowking tried to offer you a potion it had created. The chances of something good coming for it were not exactly something he wanted to risk.

🔮 Avery instead sat beside you and let you rest yourself against him. His arm was around your shoulders. He tried putting all his focus on anything related to telepathy – Desperately, he wanted to see some kind of effect. Nothing came, but you slowly came back to your senses from the odd effect of the trance. Blinking a few times, you met Avery's gaze. He let out a received sigh. Then, you started laughing. His heart raced. Was this another effect?! Panic rushed into his mind. “Wh-what!?” he managed to ask, quite inelegantly. Through your laughter, you managed to get out, Slowking and behind him. You pointed. He turned around. His top hat had apparently flown off in his panic to get over to you, and now his Slowking donned it. He was silent as he stared at the sight. You were okay, it seemed.

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