#i would apologize for making this one so long but

[chaoticwriting]

YOU ARE MARRIED??!!

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Cass is not having a good time. From the Arkham breakout last week all the way to losing a bet with his siblings on who is going to attend the gala with Bruce. And now this annoying lady kept asking her about her preference in men or something. And Bruce can't help her since he is being occupied by those rich assholes about investment or stuff.

Vicky: So, Miss Wayne. Is it true that you have a secret boyfriend?

Cass: No.

Vicky: Then how about that pict-

Cass: I'm already married.

Vicky blue screened as Cass finished her sentence. Cass takes the chance and slips away from her before she starts barraging her with questions. Revealing that she is married may not be the smartest thing she has done but she is very annoyed at people who keep asking her about her secret significant other. If they want to ask, at least use the proper term.

Just as Cass reaches the hallway, she is scooped up by two strong arms and is carried away to the Batcave. Cass looks to her side to see Dick and Jason both holding one of her arms each and looking very pissed. Well, Dick looks very pissed. Jason looks like he is having fun. Cass doesn't struggle and just lets her brothers carry her to the Batcave to have the talk.

They put Cass on the couch and proceed to guard the exit of the cave on the off chance that she decides to escape. Not that she would because she and her husband have been thinking of breaking the news to their respective family for awhile now.

She waited for a few hours while playing on her phone. Her main phone. Not the one she used to contact her husband since this family has a lot of competent hackers. She knows that being married is like a big deal. But she doesn't expect it to be such a big deal.

When she says everyone is here, she means everyone. From all his close family all the way to Selina (Bruce's fiancee), Roy (Jason's boyfriend), Kori (Dick's wife), Kon (Tim's boyfriend), Jon (Damian's bff) and even Harley and Ivy is here. She is also pretty sure that Clark is listening from somewhere but it's not like she is trying to keep it a secret anymore, so the more people there are the less she needs to explain.

Harper: So what are we here again? I would rather be home to polish my new gun than in this cave.

Dick: Since everyone is here, I would like to apologize for calling all of you in such short notice.

A murmur ranging from 'it's fine' all the way to 'I want to sleep' sounded in the room.

Dick: Anyway, let's get to the main topic shall we. For starters, I would like to say that none of us wishes to control who you dated nor who you choose to be your partner.

Some more murmurs sounded in the room.

Dick: HOWEVER! We would really appreciate it if you wish to marry someone, at least notify one of us since being married is a big deal.

More murmurs sounded as all of them have a rough idea on what the topic going to be.

Dick: So, the person in question, would you like to explain yourself?

A spotlight lights up on top of Cass, directing all the people's attention to her. She doesn't even know there is a spotlight installed in the cave.Cass stands up and looks at the crowd. She replies, "No."

Everyone is stunned by her reply. They expect many types of replies but no is certainly not one of them.

Tim: Fuck you mean no?

Alfred: I would prefer this conversation to remain civil and proper please master Timothy. I would also like to express my extreme displeasure at the fact that I am not notified by your marriage Mistress Cassandra.

Cass goes still at Alfred's sentence. Okay, shit is really serious. As much as she loves messing with them, she would rather not have her food burnt on the inside. (No one knows how Alfred manages to do that.)

Cass: Ehem, I'm just messing with you. It is a long story but to make it short, my husband and I met when we were in Hong Kong. We met after he got roped in one of the gangs that I was busting. After we met and a little misunderstanding, he helped me to dismantle the underground drug labs across Hong Kong.

Tim: So he is also a vigilante?

Cass: Ex-vigilante. He has a daughter now so he is taking care of her.

Dick: You get pregnant?!! How? When?

Cass: I did not get pregnant. But she is technically my daughter.

Jason: Like how Lian is with me?

Cass: No. Biological daughter.

Kon: Umm, guys. I think Bruce needs to rest a little. His heart has been beating a little too fast for even him.

Dick and and Tim are closest to Bruce realizing that Bruce's face has been impossibly pale for quite a while now. They take him to an empty couch and let him lay there and rest for a while. Everyone's reactions range from amused to straight up concerned that Bruce's career as Batman might get cut short today.

It takes a while but as soon as Bruce is fine, they continue another round of questions and answers.

Bruce: How long have you been married?

Cass: Next week is our 3rd anniversary.

Duke: Wait. Didn't you plan to go to Hong Kong for some time next week? You even ask me to cover your patrol because you say you need to go somewhere.

Cass: I don't lie. I missed last year's anniversary since there was an Arkham breakout at the time.

Duke: Dude, still not cool. You are going on a date with your husband while I need to spend hours running on top of buildings around Gotham. So not fair.

Jason: Was the present you asked me to send last year also was for your husband?

Cass: Yes.

Jason: I've been your middle man all this time and I don't even know.

Barbara: I found it! This is the registration for marriage between Cassie Cain and Daniel Fenton. You used a fake name?

Cass: Yes. You will know otherwise.

Bruce: Why do you hide it?

Cass: I'm not sure all of you are gonna like him and vice versa.

Dick: Is he a bad person? I will kill him if he treats you badly.

Cass: No. He doesn't trust all of you at first.

Steph: And why is that?

Cass: He thinks the Justice League is working with the government. So by extension, all of you are associates of government to him.

Steph: Why is he running away from the government? Is he a criminal?

Barbara: No. He doesn't have any criminal records in his name. Except for the fact that he is practically nonexistent before he is 18, there is nothing wrong with him.

Tim: Is it a forged identity then?

Cass: No. The government wiped away his records.

Dick: What? Why?

Cass: I don't know.

Damian: I expect you to at least do a background check on someone before marrying them, Cain.

Dick: Did you get married with someone you barely know? Do you understand how dangerous that is? What if he just dipped you after you got married?

Cass: *Rolls her eyes* He isn't a bad person. I make sure of that at least. I know he is some sort of meta tho-

A green portal suddenly appears out of thin air making everyone be on guard except Cass. She expects Danny to come out of the portal to greet her but what comes out baffled her.

A young girl that looks a little like Cass riding on a big wolf comes out of the portal swiftly towards Cass. Everyone is just about to shoot their weapons when the girl's word shock them.

???:Mama!

Everyone: Mama?!!

[ventismacchiato]

OIKAWA AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL

oikawa x gender neutral reader

you and toru have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run and met through twice fan accounts. you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and oikawa don’t get along irl, as you’re both on opposing college teams and constantly competing for nationals. since then he’s always picked on you at games, but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.

notes — karasuno is a mixed gender team in this to keep it gn, and instead of highschool these are college teams / the messages in the first section are like throughout the week before you two meet up

ooc idk? it’s been a while. assume everyone is 20ish, i cud make this a cute mini au one day but rn i’m lazy so this is fast paced

also here’s the soobin version i wrote a while ago

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Your stomach was swarming with nerves as you made your way inside the cafe, the scent of freshly made coffee and sweaty college students from the stadium surrounding you as you slid into line. Admittedly, you never thought you'd get the chance to meet Toru, he was just your cute internet friend and nothing would ever happen.

That was, until today.

It was a bit embarrassing that you stared at the selfie he'd sent for longer than you should've. It was difficult to comprehend the boy you'd been talking to for so long was hiding such a pretty figure. Even with the emoji hiding his face you could tell he was cute.

You eye the display of cakes and decide to pick one up for the both of you as Toru had already promised to get you guys coffee. You felt bad going empty handed after finally meeting him.

You reach down to grab onto the last chocolate slice and your hands meet another. Usually, you'd let it slide and choose something else even though you touched it first. But, when you looked to your left and locked eyes with your self-proclaimed enemy, Toru Oikawa, those thoughts washed away. You were going to fight for that slice of mediocre cake.

"Not you again," Oikawa sighed, tugging the slice towards him, "Don't be obnoxious."

"Says you," you scoff, tightly grabbing onto the plate, "Why are you always so rude towards me? Is it because we annihilated you in the game?”

"You were just lucky," He grins, his large hands tugging the cake closer towards him, "Choose something else.”

"You choose something else. Losers don’t deserve nice cake! I got to it first!”

"Ok and?" Oikawa questions, like the little shit he is.

"Fine, just take it," you sigh, not wanting to make Toru wait. Good Toru, not this evil one beside you. But as you let go of the cake and step back you notice Oikawa’s outfit. He was adorned in clothes that oddly resembled the photo Toru had sent you.

"You made me lose my appetite," Oikawa mutters, dropping the cake and shuffling past you. You shake off the familiarity and make your way towards the back. Most men wore the same clothes, it was nothing.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You eye the walls of the cafe until you come across the wooden tables from the photo.

You start scouring the seats for someone that resembled Toru but the only person in your vicinity was Oikawa.

You inch your way closer towards him with morbid curiosity, hoping that your suspicions would be proved wrong. But as you got closer the drinks on the table and location of your rival were too similar to the photo Toru had sent you.

Unfortunately, Oikawa locked eyes with you.

"What do you want? Are you here to apologize?" he questions, playing with the straw of his drink as he barely gave you a glance.

"Toru? From twitter?" you tentatively ask, your voice hoarse from the nerves. This couldn't be happening.

Oikawa pauses.

"What?" he slowly asks, turning to look at you, "What did you call me?"

"Oh my god," you gasp, "Are you ruluvyeon?"

"What..," he starts, catching on, "You're urmomoyn?"

Your username sounds foreign on his tongue but it was him. Oikawa was your Toru. Evil Toru was your sweet Toru.

Your beloved Toru was the same guy you've been on bad terms with all year. Just your luck.

Before Oikawa could comprehend anything or you could answer, you decide to do the most mature thing anyone would do in that situation.

You run.

And he doesn't follow.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

a week later

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The street was dark apart from the flickering lamps on the side of the walkway as you made your way towards Oikawa - or well Toru’s - house. It still felt odd.

Your palms felt clammy and you were clad in your pajamas, in too much of a rush to change. Which was a decision you were regretting since the flimsy fabric did nothing to protect you against the wind.

Before you knew it you spotted the complex Toru supposedly lived in, and as you walked closer you could see his tall figure waiting for you in the dark. It would've been rather creepy if not for the fact he was drowning in a large hoodie and sweats with a beanie tugged on his hair.

His arms were crossed across his chest as he rocked back and forth due to the cold.

You swallowed your nerves and made your way towards him, not quite knowing what to do with your hands other than give him an awkward wave as he spotted you.

"Hey," he breathed out, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

The warmth of his apartment was far more welcoming than the freezing night. He shut the door behind you both and tugged off his beanie as he gestured for you to sit down.

"Hi," you greeted back as you sank down on his couch. The entire place felt very lived in.

Toru’s face scrunched up into an sly smile.

"I missed you," you added, "I'm glad you reached out."

"I am too," he hummed, reaching out to take his hand into yours. His palms felt warm against your own freezing ones.

"What was your last text about?" you question as his thumb rubs circles on your palm.

"I don't know what you’re talking about?" he smiles, "What did I say?"

"You know damn well what you said," you huff.

"Okay, well I meant it," he answers, "I convinced myself to try and forget you since you were an online friend. But having you right in front of me changed things."

"Changed things how?" you say, warmth creeping up your cheeks.

"Well, for one I can actually see you," Oikawa notes, "And do things like this," he adds, his voice going quiet as he reaches over to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "And, instead of fantasizing about kissing you, I could actually do it."

"You fantasized about it?" you ask in disbelief, still flustered at the touch of his hand so close to your face "You didn't even know what I looked like!"

"You were kinda just a blob in my mind," he shrugs, a smile tilting his lips at your offended face.

"A cute blob though, right?”

"Of course."

“You never imagined me as my icon?”

“Only when you changed it to Gojo.”

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh.

"So, you really don't hate me?" you muse, playing with his fingers, "It's so weird seeing you be so gentle."

"Would you rather me go back to being rude?" he replies, "But I really don't. I feel a shitty at how I used to treat you. You just get me riled up.”

"It's okay, I did the same," you assure, patting his hand, "Let's start fresh."

"Okay," he agrees, clasping your hand in between his, "Let's go out."

"Straight to the point?"

"I don't think we should waste any more time," he replies, “And my entire team thinks I made you up.”

“I need to make it up to you,” you sigh.

"Kiss me and consider yourself forgiven," Oikawa easily grins, looking at you with the usual look of arrogance he sends you through the net when he wishes you a terrible game. But this time it looks different. Like he wants you to win.

“Alright,” you manage to croak out, your throat closing up at your false confidence.

Honestly, you were qute irritated with yourself on how you treated Oikawa for the past few months. You desperately wanted to move on and start fresh.

Oikawa let out a surprised laugh and you wanted to ingrain the sound into your mind. He brought up his free palm to his mouth and let out a small giggle into it.

“Go ahead then,” he smiles.

"Okay," you manage to say, taking a deep breath.

"Any day now,” Oikawa smirks.

"Shut up, I need a moment-," you started, but were interrupted as he reached over and yanked on your top to slot his lips against yours. He stumbled and you both fell backwards onto the couch as he caught himself above you, both knees outside your hips as you snaked your hands around his waist.

He stared at your for a mere moment in disbelief before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His lips felt pillowy against your own and his warm body right on top of yours made it feel just as good.

You had to remind yourself not to laugh into the kiss.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thinking about having to share a bed with Simon and Johnny that would barely even fit just two of you because the safe-house only had one bed.

You're so shy and can't even bring up the elephant in the room when it comes time for bed and you're blushing so damn hard you can't look at them. So when you all walk into the bedroom with the barely queen sized bed...

"Uh, I can probably curl up at the bottom or something, or make a bed on the floor. I don't want you two to be uncomfortable." You say avoiding eye contact and playing with your hands.

Simon and Johnny look at each other and smirk knowing full well they're gonna have you sandwiched snugly between them tonight.

"Don't worry love we can make it work, it's just one night, we're all adults." Simon says, and you can hear the smugness in his voice.

"Yeah bonnie it's nothing. I'm sure we'll all be comfortable. Don't worry your pretty little head." Johnny reassures.

Not much later, you're there in your tiny pajama shorts and low cut long sleeve shirt you brought to sleep in, thinking you would be sleeping alone in a separate room and bed. Had you known you'd be sharing a bed with these two burly men you'd have brought something more... appropriate...

You're sandwiched between Simon and Johnny, ass pressed against Johnny's front and tits squished against Simon's chest. You shift around a little bit trying to get comfortable and apologize when you press your ass further into Johnny.

"Sorry Johnny." You mumble, face heating with embarrassment.

"It's alright lass, I'm quite comfortable. How 'bout you L.T.?" Johnny teases, squeezing your hip as he "adjusts" his hips too.

"Snug as a bug Johnny." He responds with a playful tone.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't soaking your panties right now. Even though you were embarrassed out of your mind, being smushed between Simon and Johnny was a dream come true. You try to hide your face in Simon's chest to go to sleep but the feeling of Johnny's thick cock pressing against your ass was just too much. And fuck, Simon's warm and big chest against your cheeks with his massive arms around you were driving you insane too.

They knew what they were doing too, because little did you know that Price set all of this up on purpose at the request of the two fuckers. Props to Gaz as well for suggesting a smaller bed to really get you between them.

You just wished you hadn't worn gray shorts, because the dark wet spot in them was becoming pretty obvious, and it wasn't long before Johnny and Simon finally took turns shoving their noses between your thighs to get a whiff 🥴

[pyxxiestyxx]

Truth and Rumors

You didn't exactly plan on being your space station's liaison to the Affini Compact, but everyone in leadership had fled into the darkness of space hours before the plant's first ships jumped into position. Clearly someone had tipped the C-Suite off somehow; honestly, you couldn't blame them. Everything you had heard about the Compact was…rather terrifying, really. Behemoth plants with rows upon rows of teeth, infectious parasites ready to take over your mind, eternal servitude and endless labor with no pay…you shuddered at the rumors, at the stories. Perhaps worse was the actual propaganda produced by the plants; not that you or anyone else on the station was legally allowed to watch it, but even the few still frames that were shown to you had painted a grisly picture. The limp figure of some Terran Navy hero, cuddled and coddled by the hulking beast of a plant behind her. Apparently they had changed the soldier's gender, or something? The report accompanying the image was rather unclear for that particular detail. And now, here you were: sitting nervously in the largest conference room on the station, the lone Terran at a desk made for over thirty to sit at comfortably. When the Compact had hailed your station, you were one of the few working the comms station, and everyone else had either fainted, screamed, or panicked. Not that you were much better, but it was apparently enough that you were voluntold to answer it. The voice of the caller was…strange. Different, somehow. Calming, and yet thrilling. She introduced herself as Lady Violetta Larella, Fourteenth Bloom, she/her. Blushing, you apologized for not referring to her by her title earlier. In your defense, you hadn't realized she was nobility. She seemed to enjoy that, for some reason. You had only been sitting at the table for a few minutes when there was a sharp knock at the door. The Lady entered as gracefully as one possibly could when entering a door made for someone at least five feet shorter, her long dress trailing behind her as she clasped her hands and smiled. "Hello, darling. It's so lovely to see you in the flesh, so to speak! And just look at you! Why, that video feed certainly dulled your charms~" Her voice was dripping with genuine affection as she stepped over to you, taking a knee and reaching an elegant hand out to tussle your hair. You couldn't help but shudder as she did so; your nerves dancing in abject joy as she gently pet your head. Your eyes slowly closed in utter delight as you sagged back into your chair, your tensed muscles relaxing one by one by one... "Oh, but I apologize! Playtime can come later, dear. Let's get down to business, shall we?" You blinked in confusion as you realized She had stopped petting you, and couldn't stop yourself from letting out the smallest of whimpers as She began to withdraw Her hand. Every single one of Her eyes, each of which ranked among some of the most verdant jewels you had ever seen, quickly seemed to shift and dance to a brilliant violet. Her hand returned, sending your worries scuttling for the door as She did so. "Well…perhaps we can take a few minutes, first. Just to make sure you have been thoroughly examined, of course; it would be my duty as Own…as Overseer of this operation to guarantee your mental and physical wellbeing~" You smiled dreamily as you were picked up and held by Lady Violetta, happy that everything you had heard about the Affini was so clearly wrong. She grinned at you, a wide smile that showed all Her many, many pretty teeth, and held up a single, succulent berry, the sight of which made your mouth water. "Now then…let's play a fun little game. When I stroke downward on your cheek, I want you to open your mouth…"

[lavenders388]

HII!!

could we please get some kang dae ho x reader??

something where he’s a bit of his usual himbo self and the reader is maybe a bit airheaded— something about two people being in love with one another while the world around them is burning is amazing.

~Flowers in December~

<3 Kang Dae Ho x Reader

requested 💌

authors note: i am amazed by the amount of requests and also so flattered!! I am so happy to get back into writing not only for myself but to be able to make other people happy to see their ideas come to life!! i apologize if this has some flaws i cant wait to get more practice in and promise the next will be better!! feedback is always appreciated! thank you all so much!!<3 -matcha

~~~~~~~~~~~⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆~~~~~~~~~~~

...

~takes place during the second night~

"we should all take turns keeping watch over the group" player 456 urged as the warning for lights out echoed throughout the room, the rest of the group silently agreeing- trusting the man who claimed to have been in one of the previous games, leaving as the sole survivor. you were, as were many others, reluctant to believe that he had done all of this before, but after his help in the first game and joining his team for the second, you grew to trust him; and the other members of your group. the man that had been assigned your partner for keeping watch was coincidentally a member you were drawn to specifically- at first because he was close to your age, his boyish face making you feel a little less scared and alone in the second game, and eventually you appreciated his outward personality and kindhearted confidence, a stark contrast to the situation you both were in. as you sat together, although trying to protect your group from whatever could happen in the dark room, you felt even safer. "how in the world did you pull that off?" you broke the silence with a whisper, referring to him playing gonggi in the previous game. "my hands were shaking so badly i could barely even hold my ddakji." he laughs, a bit louder than he should have given the people sleeping, but it made you smile. "i told you all i played with my sisters!" he chuckles. "you said you know how to do it yeah," you retorted, stifling a giggle at him being unaware of the compliment. "you didn't tell us you were amazing at it, that was a surprise." he turns away, embarrassed of how deeply your compliment made him grin and scared you'd see him blushing even in the dark. "thank you y/n." he says bashfully as he regains his composure. the silence returns; the reality of where you're both having this conversation threatening to creep back in. his gaze softens as he turns to you again, "you did really well with your ddakji you know, doing it the first try is really impressive, especially given the circumstances." you smile, a toothy grin as not only are you proud of yourself but you appreciate the compliment; especially from him. the kind, authentic way he states how good you did has you unable to find a response. "t-thank you" you say, blushing and still smiling. "it helped that nobody was there, i get nervous when people are watching me." his demeanor changes. he nervously runs his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry if i made you nervous, y/n" he says sincerely. your confusion shows on your face until you realize what he means. "oh no don't worry! i meant the crowd, like how everybody was cheering for the other teams! i didn't want them all to see if i messed up. you watching me helped actually. it made me less nervous." the silence returns; comfortingly. you've forgotten where you are, you've forgotten what would have happened if you'd messed up, all that's on your mind is the man sitting next to you. when you look back he's staring at you. smiling. "thank you for being on my team." you say to him as he turns away, trying to hide how long he was looking at you. you've never seen him speechless before. "if we work together nothing can stand in our way." he said to you just as he said to jung bae before the game. "i am truly honored you feel that way." you half-joke. "what are your plans for tomorrow?" you ask as if youre speaking to him in a normal situation. "oh wait im sorry!" you laugh. "well i bet they're the same as mine then!" you joke about your forgetfulness as well as making light of where you find yourself. like hes done for you, he also had forgotten the events of the day and what followed tomorrow. the two of you talking made him feel as though he was living a good, normal day. it was greatly appreciated by him, your bubbly nature being a moment of solace.

a/n if this is buns at all please lmk what i can do better!!! ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[raerae2727]

When they blow up at you: multiple One Piece men x reader

You make them upset and they lose their temper + how they apologize

Includes: Ace, Kid, Law, Sanji, Crocodile, Doflamingo

GN! Reader, established relationship

Warnings: language, crocodile is neglectful and doffy is toxic, both reader and kid are lowkey toxic together, ace sanji and law’s parts are sweet tho💋

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Ace

He’s always pretty upbeat and tries not to show anger around you, but one day you make a joke that takes it too far. Your relationship had always been full of humor and you simply misunderstood what was acceptable to joke about and what wasn’t. You know you messed up when Ace goes quiet and puts his head down. You put your hand on his shoulder and frantically try to apologize, but he clearly isn’t having it as he stands and tries to walk away from you.

“Ace, wait! Listen!” You call as you try to pull him back, eager to explain yourself and properly apologize. He suddenly turns around and, in front of everyone, begins to lecture you.

“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

Your guilt quickly turns to anger at the hypocrisy of Ace’s words. It always seemed to you that no joke was “too far” because of the way he so freely poked fun at you, your interests, and those you care about. How dare he pin this accusation on you?

“You’re the one who can’t take anything serious!” You respond, raising your voice louder than his.

He’s basically yelling when he responds, “At least I know where to draw the line!”

“What about all those times you made fun of me? Is it only an issue when I do it back?”

Everyone is staring at you two by this point, but all you can focus on is holding back tears when Ace yells, “I guess we just don’t go well together!” He slams his hand on the table, “Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you for as long as I have!”

Ashamed and heartbroken, you rush to your room and cry into your pillow. It feels like an eternity before you finally hear a knock on your door. You don’t respond but Ace opens it and lets himself in anyways, setting down his hat. He sits on the edge of your bed and breaks the silence with, “Good thing I stayed calm out there, right?”

Amazed that he still has the audacity to joke around, you sit up and scold, “Ace!”

He holds up his arms defensively. “Sorry, Sorry, I’m ready to talk about it if you are. And for the record, I love putting up with you.”

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Kid

Your relationship was always explosive because of your captain’s temper, but he must have already been on edge today because this was worse than usual. Killer wanted some rest so Kid is trying to make dinner for the crew, but he absolutely sucks at cooking. He refuses to listen to your advice and tension is growing as you continue to try and help.

“Stop being so controlling! I’m the captain here!”

The smell of burnt food is getting stronger, and you can’t help but take the pan off the burner yourself. “We’re hungry. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with just accepting help for once.” You try to keep your tone neutral to avoid a fight - which is clearly ineffective as Kid grabs you by the arm and pulls you outside of the kitchen.

“Why are you so set on embarrassing me in front of my crew!?” He shouts, gripping your shoulders.

You roll your eyes and speak calmly to make him feel like he’s overreacting. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be more embarrassing if nobody was able to eat because your ego is too big to let me help.”

Kid is infamously bad with words, so he just responds by cursing and shoving you with much more force than intended. You go tumbling back until your head hits the wall and you fall to the floor. Kid looks shocked but before he can kneel down to help, you shoot up and shout, “What the fuck was that!?!”

“I don’t know!! Are you okay?” He yells back, panicked.

“No! I’m gonna tell Killer that you’re abusing me!” You scream, not realizing the whole ship can probably hear you two by now.

“No!” Kid responds fearfully, one-upping your volume and holding you in place by your shoulders again. “I swear I’ll always listen to you from now on! I promise! Please don’t tell on me, you know it was an accident!!”

Before you can scream back, the kitchen door swings open and you two stare at Killer like deer in headlights.

“Get in here and set the table. I knew you guys wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Law

Law always stretches himself too thin between working late, taking care of his crew, and making sure they don’t get themselves in too much trouble. He must have been losing a lot of sleep because of this, as he’s asking you to bring him his 4th cup of coffee today and it’s not even noon.

You tell him, “I don’t think I should do that, babe. I’m sorry. You should get some rest instead.” His under eye bags are especially dark today and his hair is messy.

“I have to get this done,” he responds calmly, though you can detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Can you at least get someone else to make it?”

When you go behind him and rub his shoulders, he sighs and leans back in his chair. He must be exhausted. “Please, babe?” He asks once more.

“Law, you of all people should know the importance of rest.”

He pulls away from your touch and crooks his neck to look in your eyes. “And you, of all people, should appreciate the work your captain does to keep this crew out of harm’s way.” He doesn’t yell, but the scolding tone of his voice hurts you more than yelling ever could. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, presumably to make his own coffee, and you follow behind. “Can’t you just give me some alone time for once?” He snaps.

You’re growing increasingly frustrated at Law’s stubborn attitude. “You need to rest! I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re putting your health at risk.”

“Sometimes,” he grabs you by the chin and leans in, “I have to make sacrifices for this crew. Be thankful.” You can’t help but start to tear up. His harsh words stung extra when he looked at you like that. Law lets go of you and his gaze softens when he realizes how upset he’s made you. The tone of the conversation immediately shifts. “Sorry, I-” he pauses, “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”

“Of course I care.” You cry. “I love you.” You pull him into a hug and he leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ll take a nap if you promise to stop crying.” He whispers, rubbing your back.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Sanji

“Can you add a dash of salt to the soup, love?” Asks your boyfriend. He’s recently taken to including you while he cooks, which is an honor coming from someone who takes it so seriously. He’s gentle, patient, and excessively romantic with you in every aspect of the relationship, though sometimes finds himself being a bit more firm when cooking. You waltz across the kitchen, handing over him a knife, stirring a pot, or cleaning dishes for Sanji, whose hand finds your waist each time you pass. You dip your finger into the sauce he’s making and give it a taste.

“It’s good, maybe a bit bland though,” you comment.

“Noted, head chef,” he teases back playfully while accepting your criticism and adding more seasoning. When you go to take another taste, your elbow knocks over an inconveniently placed jar of olive oil, spilling it into the sauce and all over the counter.

“Shit! I’m sorry Sanji, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit disappointed, but gives you a soft smile and pat on the back.

“Don’t worry love, it happens,” his tone shifts to something more firm yet still gentle, “but we only have one jar left, so try to be a bit more careful for me in the future, yea?”

“It won’t happen again, promise.” Your mistake makes you shaky with nervousness because you know how seriously Sanji takes food waste. When you reach for a towel to clean up the oil, of course you accidentally knock over a pepper shaker. It falls to the ground and shatters, pepper corns bouncing all across the floor.

Panicked, you stutter out a pleading apology while you scramble to find a broom. “Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m so clumsy to-”

“How about you just leave the cooking to me.”

You look up, surprised at his stern voice. He doesn’t look back at you, just grips the handle of his mixing spoon angrily. Your heart drops into your stomach in shame.

“Go find someone else to help me clean up this mess, okay?” You can tell he’s trying his absolute hardest to contain his disappointment, but it’s still evident in his tone. You silently leave the kitchen, embarrassed tears stinging your eyes.

You try to calm yourself down in your room before dinner, you don’t want any of your crew mates to know about your humiliating mistakes. Not even five minutes after you had left the kitchen though, your door swings open. Sanji is on his knees with a bouquet of flowers and big puppy dog eyes looking up at you.

“I have no words to describe how sorry I am for getting upset at you. My anger was a bigger mistake than any amount of spilled food.” Your emotions quickly turn upside down and you laugh at the dramatic display.

“Sanji! I should be the one apologizing!” You run up to him and pull him into a tight hug. You reassure him, “It’s okay to get frustrated sometimes. I’m not mad!” He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes you tight.

Smelling the bouquet, you ask, “Where did you even get these?”

“I have a stash,” and you both burst into laughter.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Crocodile

It seems like all he does is work, and you’re fed up with it. You get so bored sitting around in Crocodile’s mansion all day while he’s locked up in his office. Luckily, he left the door ajar today and you’ll be able to force him to give you the attention you deserve. You slink through the door and hoist yourself up onto the edge of his oversized desk.

“What.” He says gruffly, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m booored,” you whine, swinging your feet, “wanna go swimming?”

Crocodile sighs and rubs his temple in annoyance, still not looking up. “Go fetch me a drink and I’ll consider it.”

“No you won’t!” You argue, “you always say that!”

He slams a fist on the table and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe I would want to spend more time with you if you weren’t so whiny! Now go!”

You’re shocked and hurt by his unexpected anger and leave defeated, looking back one last time to see him continuing his work, seemingly unbothered.

Later that night, as you’re lying in bed reading, you hear the door softly creak open. Crocodile is holding an unopened expensive perfume with a ribbon tied around it.

“I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting the gift on your nightstand and undoing his tie. “We’ll go swimming next week, I promise.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting into his robe.

As you drift off to sleep, you look at the various expensive gifts he’s gotten you as apologies, knowing he will never follow through with his promises.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Doflamingo

Making Doflamingo angry is always the last thing you want to do, but his immature sense of entitlement can be infuriating. The two of you were watching the sunset by the poolside and discussing your latest reads while waiting on a servant to bring another bottle of wine. You didn’t notice how long it was taking until he brought it up.

“What’s taking that damn worm so long?” What’s so hard about fetching a bottle of wine?” The veins in his forehead started to bulge, a telltale sign of his annoyance.

You take his hand in yours and rub your thumb into his palm, trying desperately to keep him calm. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon, Doffy. Let’s not worry about it for now - keep telling me about your book.”

He could see right through you. Any attempt at influencing his emotions always only made it worse.

“Don’t baby me. This is an act of utter insolence and I don’t know why you expect me to tolerate it.” He slaps your hand away. “I’ll give that rat a piece of my mind once it gets here.” As much as you want to just leave it at that and enjoy the rest of your evening, your unrest with Doflamingo’s behavior has been growing for weeks and you speak before you can think.

“Can’t we just have one nice evening where you don’t have to abuse someone over the tiniest thing? It’s just some wine, we’ll live.” You’re terrified to see his frown turn into a wide grin as he starts to laugh.

“Have you forgotten who I am? Who you have the privilege of being close to?” With one sweep of his arm he knocks your glass off the table, shattering it and making you jump in fear. “Get out of my sight,” He hisses.

Offended by his quick switch-up, you bargain, “Doffy, can’t we just talk abou-”

“Out!” He yells. “And that’s Young Master to you!”

You scurry inside the palace, knowing things could get ugly if you chose to stick around. You wait all night for him to come knocking on your door with a superficial apology, even a passive aggressive one, but he never shows.

That petty man child was avoiding you. A whole week goes by before you even see his face. As you’re playing chess with Diamanté (who’s even more insufferable) to pass the time, you find yourself wishing you were with Doflamingo instead. As if on cue, he struts in and ruffles your hair from behind.

“What do you say we go share a drink together, just you and me, hm?” He muses, rubbing your shoulders as if he hadn’t just disappeared for a week. Your anger towards him subsides at his touch. You know you only feel this way because of his manipulative charm, but you let yourself love Doffy anyway.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

[atlabeth]

(please) spare me indignity

pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies. 

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it. 

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box. 

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy. 

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break. 

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.” 

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?” 

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.” 

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well. 

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.” 

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?” 

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. 

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.” 

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open. 

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good. 

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home. 

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere. 

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” 

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away. 

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would. 

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again. 

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out. 

You frown. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask. 

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!” 

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.” 

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it. 

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.” 

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says. 

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it. 

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest. 

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.” 

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back. 

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.  

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason. 

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him. 

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself. 

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care. 

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away. 

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls. 

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” 

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly. 

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person. 

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.” 

-

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off. 

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are. 

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room. 

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn. 

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—” 

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look. 

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?” 

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask. 

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says. 

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation. 

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize. 

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.” 

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.” 

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you. 

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one. 

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.” 

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it. 

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks. 

“Fine,” you say. 

He frowns. “Really?” 

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.” 

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—” 

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt. 

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says. 

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?” 

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—” 

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.” 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.” 

“Am I not allowed to joke?” 

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.” 

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.” 

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?” 

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.” 

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—” 

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?” 

“A couple spoonfuls but—” 

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends. 

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask. 

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.” 

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.” 

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?” 

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.” 

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you. 

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says. 

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?” 

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.” 

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine. 

“Do they have any leads?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?” 

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.” 

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than  usual, but you drink it anyway. 

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.” 

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.” 

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.” 

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.” 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.” 

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out. 

“Want one?” 

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.” 

“You should.” 

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock. 

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.” 

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?” 

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.” 

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.” 

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response. 

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now. 

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that. 

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. 

-

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much. 

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever. 

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him. 

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true. 

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace. 

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion. 

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?” 

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.” 

Spencer sits up. “What is it?” 

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.” 

“Who is it?” he asks. 

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—” 

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.” 

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?” 

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.” 

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.” 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.” 

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.” 

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.” 

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.” 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. 

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—” 

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—” 

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?” 

“...Some,” Spencer says. 

“Like?” 

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him. 

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.” 

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.” 

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.” 

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.  

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says. 

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.” 

“Spencer—” 

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?” 

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him. 

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom. 

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you. 

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach. 

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear. 

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters. 

He hangs up without another word. 

[fictionalsweethearts]

THE COMMISSION PT. 3 | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

You can find part one here. Part two here.

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw

Word count: 4,345

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

After that episode, Sevika stopped your supply of Shimmer and threatened any dealers that she would rip out their tongues and eyes if they dared to sell you, so the following week you found yourself in enforced sobriety.

You were adding the finishing touches to the strap, Sevika wanted it to be comfortable and aesthetically pleasing, so that was what you did. The straps were made of fine leather, secured with adjustable snaps. However, it was the long, veiny phallus that was the star of the piece, provided with texture and a purple color, quite similar to Shimmer. On the back, there was a small compartment with the dose of Shimmer, interconnected with the rest of the piece and the wearer, making the strap a dynamic, vibrant piece and certainly better than any other made of plastic or silicone. This one was “alive” so to speak, and designed so that the thrusts would release small bursts of Shimmer into the wearer’s bloodstream, causing as much pleasure as the one receiving it. One of your best pieces, you put a lot of pride into it and it cost you two sleepless nights and delaying other orders to give this one your full attention.

You made your way through the crowd. For a couple of weeks now, The Last Drop has been more crowded, the good sales of shimmer and the economic bonanza it brought made people look for a place to dance, drink more and bet their money in games that Sevika usually won.

Sevika.

You saw her at the back of the club, just like a few weeks ago when you went to her to check her arm and receive the commission you now had ready and kept in a box. She was focused on her cards, a cigarette between her lips and a couple of opponents with pursed lips sitting before her.

"Am I bothering?" you asked once you approached.

"Silco isn't taking guests." she muttered, without taking her eyes off the cards.

"I'm not here to see Silco." you said with a smirk before Sevika realized it was you.

She looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You looked… good. Rested, healthy, and more beautiful than ever. It was a striking difference from the last time she had seen you, and it made her feel more confident than ever about her decision to take away your Shimmer supply.

"Well, hello yourself." she said, raising a brow. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Merry early Christmas." you teased, placing the box on the table. "Commission done."

She smiled, taking one last glance at her cards before folding and placing them face down. Her opponents grumbled as they laid down their own and counted up their chips, which Sevika quickly started sliding towards her. She picked up the box, feeling the weight of it in her hands. "Finally. Took you long enough."

"Quality takes time." you smirked, leaning to take a sip of Sevika's glass. The woman lifted the lid to peek inside, knowing she had to take a better look of the product in private.

"Continue without me, boys." Sevika said, quitting the game in order to stand up and head to her office with you.

The other players grumbled in annoyance as Sevika stood up, but their protests died out as Sevika glowered at them.

"If I come back and see you've touched my chips, I'll make sure you lose a few fingers." Sevika warned, her voice dripping with malice.

They entered a dimly lit office, the smell of wood and tobacco welcoming you as soon as you set foot inside. There was a coffee table in the center, on it a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses, in front of it a vermilion sofa darkened by age and the ashes of hundreds of cigarettes. The office was undeniably Sevika's, she was a sober woman and the room showed it, however you always liked the small jar painted in gold and blue paint, which used to keep mint candies for the breath. The truth is that you tended to eat them yourself and force Sevika to buy more.

"How is Silas?" you asked as you entered, following Sevika. "Did his dick fall off?"

"No, but it's probably the only thing still functional about him." She replied, shutting the door behind her.

She walked over to the coffee table, dropping the box on it before turning her attention to the bottle of whiskey. She poured two glasses before passing one to you.

"Here." She said. "You look like you could use a drink."

"Indeed." you agreed, taking the glass between your fingers. "Booze seems an alternative, since someone put me on forced sobriety."

“Yeah, I’m not sorry about that.” She muttered, taking a sip of her drink. “You were out of control.”

She walked over to the sofa, taking a seat and gesturing for you to do the same. “Now, though,” she said, her voice a hint softer, “you do look better, I have to admit.”

"I look tired." you grumbled. "You know how hard is to work sober? I can't barely make the half of orders I used to finish in a day."

"You look gorgeous when you're tired." She observed, her voice low and full of innuendo. She took another sip from her drink, leaning back into the sofa. "And as for your orders, I don't care if you have to hire a damn army to finish them. You're not touching Shimmer again until I say so."

Sevika changed the subject so quickly that you couldn't comment on her casual compliment. Her eyes didn't betray the way she looked at you, nor the thoughts that had been running through her mind since she asked you for such a commission. She was sweet on you but her demeanor masked it well. "The workshop's rent is getting higher by the month." you said then. "I cannot afford working any less."

"I'll cover the rent," she offered, her voice gruff. "You just focus on your work."

The speed with which she resolved the issue struck you as comical, Sevika seemed convinced enough of the quality of your work to become your financier. You huffed. "Are you into charity now?"

"Charity? Hardly." She replied, her voice dry. "I prefer to think of it as an investment. You're an investment."

She paused to look at you, the way you traced the rim of the glass with your finger, your exposed shoulders, the softness of your neck, your cheekbones visibly more flushed with sobriety. She let out a sigh. "Besides, you owe me."

"Owe you?" you asked.

She couldn't contain a smirk. "For one," she started. "You're sitting in my office, drinking my booze, and you've still yet to even show me the commission I asked for. That's one reason."

She leaned forward, her gaze steady on you. "Two, you've been sleeping and eating in my club for weeks now. You think those things come free?"

Funny. Nothing's free when it comes to Sevika. She believed in the power of trades, of taking advantage of people’s qualities in an honest and effective way. You couldn’t deny that you’d turned to Sevika more times than you’d care to admit, whether it was to get another dose of Shimmer, sleep somewhere other than the workshop, and even sneak into her office and eat her snacks while she was minding her business at the brothel. Not to mention that she was now offering to pay your rent. You owed Sevika, whether you liked it or not. Your silence was your answer.

She leaned back into the sofa again, her expression smug. "That's what I thought." She muttered, taking another sip from her drink. "You're in my debt, dollface. And sooner or later, I'm going to collect."

She put the glass down, her eyes flickering to the box. "Now, are you gonna show me my commission?"

You sat up on the couch and nodded, Sevika's words not to be ignored. "Sure." you said, leaning over to carefully open the cherry-colored box you had brought for her. You lifted the lid and carefully placed the product on the table, unwrapping it.

Sevika couldn't help the way her eyebrow rose, her eyes studying the piece intently before a grin played on her dark lips. What a piece. "Damn." She muttered, her voice low with appreciation. Her hand hovered over the item, the tips of her fingers carefully tracing the leather straps, the velvety texture of the phallus.

"Is the color alright?"

Sevika took the strap, running her fingers over the texture and feel of its components, her eyes taking in the small Shimmer compartment in the back, the neatness of the finishes, even the light, comfortable weight. "Yeah. This is... better than I imagined." She admitted, her eyes flickering to you.

"Just make sure to not overdo it." you warned her, watching the woman testing the weight, the lightness of the piece and the exceptional quality of the materials. She seemed pleased, even though her face was inaccessible when it came to expressions. "It releases small doses of Shimmer, make sure to not wear it for too long."

"Oh, I'll definitely be testing the limits of this thing." She replied, her voice thick with innuendo. "I know when to stop."

"Just don't overdose." you mumbled, leaning back on the couch as Sevika stored the strap back into the box.

"I'm a big girl. I know how to handle myself." she insisted, taking a sip of the glass as her mind began going to places. The potential was massive.

You let out a sigh, you were sober and tired, the smell of the workshop clinging to your overalls and your hands still stained with oil and ink, which seemed to acquire the status of tattoos since they didn't seem to come off with any washing. You finished the glass, Sevika got up to search through her desk for the second half of your pay. She came back, holding out the the pouch. "Here." She said. "All yours."

You accepted the money willingly, thinking you would spend it on something stupid right away. You weren't good with finances, it's an understatement to say that if Sevika didn't manage your expenses regarding materials, machinery and labor, your business would go to hell overnight. She was always behind, watching over you and your lack of common sense when you had a bag full of coins. "I'll make sure to use them wisely."

"Oh, that's what you always say." She teased in return, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And then what do you do instead? Gamble it all away at the fight pits, I suppose?" She knew better than to trust you with money. You'd always been as reliable as a leaky ship, especially when you were hopped up on Shimmer.

"I make good bets." you replied. "But the fighters are getting lame lately."

She crossed her arms across her chest, her expression mocking. "You always pick the ones who look good but have no chance of winning. You always bet on the long shots, and you always lose."

You laughed, because you did tend to bet on the best looking boxer rather than the most skilled. You were a simple girl, you liked to drink in the sweaty bodies of the fighters in the Pit, men or women, releasing adrenaline charges with every punch, spitting and gasping. You found pleasure in premeditated violence, in the cheers and the boos, in the heat of a crowd committed to the spectacle. And perhaps it was because of that bad habit of yours that you bet on Vi last week, and Sevika didn’t take it well.

She huffed, her voice terse. "You picked Vi because she was hot, didn't you?"

"I picked her cause you despise her."

"Damn right, I do." She muttered through gritted teeth. "And you should too. Do you have any idea how many of my thugs she's beat up? Or the crap she caused Silco when she was in Piltover? That woman's always been a pain in my ass."

"You have a thing for problematic women." you shrugged, leaning to pour yourself more whiskey. "The difference is that some you hate, others you keep close."

Sevika rolled her eyes, craving a cigarette to deal with your tongue and insolent smile. "Causes involve problems." she said.

"And you seem to love both." you said.

"Oh, great." She muttered. "Another smartass back talker in my life... Just what I needed."

"Who's the other?"

"Jinx."

Her sigh said it all, Sevika was tired and her patience threatened to falter. Silco was her leader, she championed the cause, Zaun, yet Jinx figured as the constant component ruining her formula. You can't be a good soldier with a leader who is unable to see the flaws of his daughter, or at least, how he sees Jinx. "Sounds like you need to get something off your chest." you said.

She huffed. "I could write an encyclopaedia about everything wrong with that girl." She paused for a moment, her expression hardening once again. "She's Silco's blind spot. He can't see her for what she really is because he's too damn soft on her. And it's getting to the point where we can't cover for her anymore."

"He loves her." you said. "We all act like fools when it comes to love."

"What a joke. He's blinded by his affection for her. He's been babying her for years, giving her everything she wants and then some. And look where it's gotten us? The entire damn city is on the brink of a war because of her, because Silco can't bring himself to step away from his goddamn daughter and see her for what she really is."

Hell, she was mad. You put the glass on the coffee table, watching Sevika retrieve a cigarette from the pack in her pocket. Before she noticed, you were before her, lighting up with your zippo. "Jinx is a part of the game, want it or not. And it's up to you if you wanna keep up with Silco's whims or give up."

Her grey eyes locked on yours, releasing the smoke to the side.

"I'm loyal to Silco. I always have been, and I always will be. I believe in his cause, in his vision for Zaun." She stated. There was not a single hint of doubt on her words; when Sevika commits with a cause, she carries it to the end, no matter what.

That's what you admired of her.

"Then..." you said, grinning. "You need to let off some steam." your eyes flickering to the box on the coffee table.

Sevika thought you were joking. "You suggest I should take a stroll to the brothel while you stay here alone, a room away from the Shimmer reserves Silco keeps here?"

"I'll behave." you insisted.

"You better." She warned. "I don't know how Silco would feel if he came back to his supplies all gone because you had a goddamn party in his absence."

You smiled. "If I wanted to get high, I'd do it with my own money and merit, trust me." you stepped back, walking over to the couch. "It's up to you, Sev. But if I were you, I would go and try my new toy right away."

Sevika rolled her eyes.

"Dammit," she growled. "I can't believe I'm seriously considering this..."

Seeing you settle down on the couch, half drunk from the whiskey, Sevika actually considered taking a stroll around the brothel. She needed to release a pressure that only increased every time you were in front of her, with your stupid jokes and your arms and chest exposed, with your playful eyes and your insolent smile. You were a limit she forced herself to not cross. The woman grunted, picking up the red cape from the coat rack and putting it on.

"Take a bath while I'm gone, you smell like a workshop." she muttered, taking the box from the table

"Excuse me?" you protested, your expression one of mock-offence. "I smell just fine."

Sevika huffed a laugh at your protest, her eyes flickering over your figure. She had to admit she kind of enjoyed the way you smelt. A subtle yet intense medley of oil, grease and sweat - it was almost seductive.

"Don't pretend like I don't know the last time you took a bath was three days ago." She shot back, her voice full of sarcasm. "You smell like you live at a damn workshop."

Now you were offended. "I do live in a damn workshop."

"Don't make it obvious, then." she said, walking over the door. "I ain't paying your rent for you to smell like that. Bath." she added, leaving the room as she didn't just called you dirty.

At the slam of the door, you couldn't help but bury your nose in your armpit, letting out a groan. "Bath, yeah right," you muttered, getting up to grab one of Sevika's treats. "Next time I'll put less oil on that arm of hers…"

Sevika left the office with heavy steps, riled up by your entire presence. She was playing a dangerous game but she didn't intend to lose, not when you had become her most precious jewel but also the hardest to obtain. She wanted to possess you, in more ways than one, but she knew your limits and your whims, getting involved with you would not only be risky but directly novice to her plans. Letting you slip into her her will would only destroy the mettle she took years to build. She had to control herself.

Several glances fell upon Sevika as she entered The House of Pleasure, she hadn't been seen around these parts for weeks, and more than one of the ladies-in-waiting approached her doors hoping to be chosen by her. She was a client who paid well and made love well, there were no cons on her visits. "With Robin." the woman murmured to the owner, before being led to the largest room in the brothel.

Robin was waiting for her on the couch, wrapped in an olive-colored robe, playing with her black locks and looking as willing as ever. Sevika liked her, she had freckles and fleshy curves, she knew how to combat her bad mood.

"Sevika," the woman purred, standing up. "Long time no see. I missed you around here"

"Missing my attention or my money?" she huffed.

"Money lost importance a long time ago." she smiled, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on her client’s cheek before carefully removing her cape, revealing her mechanic arm. Sevika liked to be welcomed with a cigarette and Robin’s sweet perfume, to sit on the couch, manspreading, inhaling the smoke with her on her lap, giving her kisses on her neck and jaw.

However, Sevika saw you standing by the curtain, like an insistent ghost, reminding her that the woman on top her was not you. "What's in the box?" asked Robin then, leaving a kiss on the corner of Sevika's lips, her eyes flckering to the box sitting on the coffee table.

"A new toy." She muttered, her voice gruff.

Robin smiled. "You'd like us to try it?" she asked.

Sevika stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray that rested to her right, cupping the back of Robin's neck to begin a kiss that she hoped would erase you from her mind for a while. "Yeah." she said, against her lips, her hand gripping firmly the hooker's butt.

Sevika knew she was being foolish, that she was using Robin as a replacement for you, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The woman's moans, the feel of her body in her lap, it was all so familiar yet so different. She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged as she looked up at Robin with darkened eyes. "Get the toy.

Robin was helpful and elegant, she knew how to deliver an erotic show on each visit and please Sevika. She had already become accustomed to the rhythm and endurance of her client, her firm hands, her obscene kisses and subtle and not so subtle bites. The hooker opened the box, her smile was not faked when she saw the quality of the piece.

"Robe off, doll." said Sevika, her legs spreading with a latent confidence. Robin approached, an arm around her waist as Sevika pulled her closer. "You'll keep up with me, don't you?"

"Always..." whispered Robin, as Sevika watched the woman undress before her, trying to ignore the picture of your smile on the back of her mind.

Third round, Sevika seemed to hate you more and more as she discovered that the piece you had made for her was sensational.

Each thrust released a small charge of Shimmer, taking Sevika on a roller coaster of sensations, a constant upward slope that did nothing but shake her nerve fibers from head to toe. She had Robin on her stomach on the bed, hips and ass up, one hand firmly in her hair, another on her hip, as she thrusted into her relentlesslty, growling against the back of her neck in an obscene and not at all concealable symphony; the entire brothel knew that Sevika was back.

She had you to thank for this, you and your damn ingenuity. She would never admit it aloud, but gods how she hated you for this. For making her feel something, for making her lose control.

She knew she wouldn't survive another round as she leaned down, her breath ragged and hot in Robin's ear. "I might have... to take you home sometime."

"I'll go anywhere, as long as you fuck me this good." Robin purred, her body melting as Sevika leaned down to place kisses and bites on her shoulder. Sevika refused to open her eyes, she wanted to imagine you beneath her, your smell, your moans, your legs shaking with pleasure and begging for more. She held the woman's neck between her fingers, pressing her hips hard as a tickling sensation settled in her lower belly. Fuck, this was so good.

She felt herself melting, her veins burning, her heart pounding. Robin could see the purple glow in her client's eyes, they had grown deeper throughout rounds, and certainly her strength too. "I want you... so bad." She breathed, her voice gruff and breathless as she began speaking out her thoughts. "But I can't... fucking have."

"Shit... I-'m... cumming." whined Robin, which Sevika straightened up and pulled Robin's back against her chest, choking her harder with every deep, nerve-shaking thrust.

"Shut up," Sevika snapped, her voice guttural and her eyes still tightly shut. She didn't want to hear anyone's name but yours, any voice but yours. She wanted you beneath her, begging and pleading for more.

Sevika growled, her forehead suddenly resting against Robin's back, a firm hand between her legs, rubbing her clit as her brain corrected her moans and made them yours.

Gosh, she almost could smell the goddamn oil and ink.

The Shimmer was beginning to take over her wits, her veins heating up, her breath coming out in loud gasps as a second orgasm began to take over her. And Robin wouldn't shut her mouth, goddamn it!

"Shut. The fuck. Up." Sevika growled, covering Robin's mouth with her flesh hand. The woman whined against her palm, panting at the same time Sevika moaned into her neck, enjoying an unprecedented orgasm. "Fuck...! Take it well and nicely." she whispered against Robin's ear.

Robin fell back onto the mattress, her body marked by dozens of bites, a hand on her buttock, a hickey on her neck. Sevika was the only client who could afford to mark her girls, and Robin accepted it willingly. But today she had gone too far.

Sevika let out a pant, sitting up in bed, dizzy and shaky, as if she had run across all of Zaun. Her flesh hand trembled, she was a round away from overdose, she knew it. She took the strap off and tossed it somewhere in the room before searching for a cigarette on the nightstand. Just the bitter taste of the smoke managed to calm her down and return her from that portal she refused to cross.

"Something's up with you." mumbled Robin, barely catching her breath as she reached out to wet her throat with a glass of water.

Sevika sat on the couch, her cinnamon skin lightly beaded with sweat. Her entire body was still alert, sensitive and active, from her erect nipples to the thickened veins on her arm. The Shimmer was not quick to digest. "Nothing's up." she mumbled.

Robin propped on her elbow, reading Sevika's expression. She knew that one, has seen it on other clients, but it was the first time she saw it on Sevika's face; the expression of frustrated passion. "There is someone, isn't there?"

Sevika dragged on the cigarette, her eyes darting around the room before landing on the strap. Damn you. "Yeah, there's someone."

Robin's eyes softened. "Who...?" she asked softly.

"It doesn't matter," she muttered quietly, avoiding eye contact. "She's...off-limits."

As Robin was about to ask for details, there was a knock at the door. The hooker put on her robe, taking heavy steps towards the door after having dealt with Sevika's stamina for two hours. Sevika let out a cloud of smoke, pulling her head back as she thought about you, and a bitter sensation pooled on her stomach.

I'm wasting my damn time.

When Sevika had already put on her boxers, Robin turned to look at her, her expression suggesting urgency. She frowned. "What is it?"

"It's a message from the Last Drop," Robin said. "A girl overdosed in your office."

Suddenly the Shimmer effect seemed to be heightened, but it was actually raw, pure adrenaline.

No.

Sevika jumped off the couch, looking for her clothes as Robin stood there. "Sev?" she asked worried.

"Get me my damn cape," she said. "I gotta go."

To be continued...

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[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[ask-the-pioneer]

do you remember your father?? i mean, if you remember having one as a pup

"My other parent...?"

"I don't remember them... him... at all. I'm sorry." She says as if apologizing to herself. "Mom would never talk about him, and I was too young to even understand you need a mate to have pups, or that slugcats form colonies."

Marbles is lost in her thoughts again. You keep asking questions, and it unearths some of her long forgotten memories.

"There was this one time... me, my sibling, and mom, we got to observe a big noodlefly nest. I saw their delicious eggs hanging from the ceiling for the first time. When I asked mom about it, she explained that when two noots pair up, they lay their eggs in safe places so they could hatch. Little baby noodles attach to the parent's tail for safety. «Like slugcats!», she said. So, of course my tiny child mind pressed on. «Do slugpups hatch from eggs? Can I lay an egg? Can I eat egg? Was I a good egg?». Mom put up with my nonsense, I think she found it funny... until my brilliant child brain connected the dots, and asked «if I'm an egg, then who did she make me with». She hesitated, and the brief silence mixed with the look on her face is what seared that moment into my mind. «...With your father, of course. But, he's gone. Let's go get something to eat now. You want a blue fruit? I think we can get some of them down the pipe over there...», Mom blurted out as she took my hand in hers. I followed with «Why?», but she pretended not to hear it. In the end, my mind was quickly distracted from asking any more awkward questions by the promise of a tasty meal. I can't remember any other time my second parent was brought up again..."

[mattybsgroupie]

fitting | chris sturniolo

— CONTENTS: handjob (m receiving); mommy kink; milf!reader; virgin!chris; sub!chris

— NOTES: hi my loves! sorry i’ve been a little m.i.a, some stuff happening at home and not really in my best mood BUT i’m here! you give me strenght to keep going and doing what i love. did you guys miss him as much as i did :( chris my beloved!!! inspired by this blurb, thought i’d show how shy chris was before their first time! — btw this fic is part of the milf!au but you can it on its own! — not proofread, i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy ♡

walking around the mall after a busy morning at work, you spotted a familiar figure across the alley. it was quite impossible not to recognize chris — his long hair falling over his big eyes, wearing his shabby jeans and his old converse as he typed frantically on his phone, oblivious to his surroundings.

you approached him slowly, standing in front of chris and expecting that he’d notice you soon. when he raised his head, a smile spread from ear to ear, his blue orbs sparkling. it had been over two weeks since you last saw each other due to stacy staying at her father's place, therefore, chris had no excuses to visit you.

“chris? what are you doing here?” you asked in your usual sweet tone. he scratched the back of his head, as if he was a bit embarrassed about the situation he found himself in. “huh... actually, i was supposed to meet stacy” chris admitted, tucking his cell phone back into his pocket and standing up beside you.

“but she won’t make it” he said. a puzzled frown appeared on your face. it’s true that you couldn’t always keep track of your daughter’s schedule when she wasn't at home, but she wasn’t the type to miss dates or hangouts. 

“cheer practice” he explained. you nodded, realizing that the game season was about to start. it felt so wonderful to see chris again. “well, would you like a ride home? i just have to look for something real quick and then i’m all done”

“sure, c-can i keep you company?” he asked, eager for a positive answer. “absolutely, sweetheart”

you led the way to the store you were going to visit. a lingerie shop. chris gulped when he saw the bright sign, the pink lights contrasting with the black interior and then sighed. he knew you missed him just as much.

“that’s not fair, mama” he mumbled after a while. chris had been following you like a puppy, interlocking his index with two of your fingers, as if he could lose his way at any second. 

“making me so needy” he complained again. you stopped by a red, lace lingerie set and happily brought it to your chest, turning to chris. “what do you think of this one, chris? pretty, right?”

“mhm— really pretty” chris shook his head as he sunk his teeth on his bottom lip. he looked away from you and the way the bra rested perfectly against your chest. “what’s up, baby? are you having a little trouble down there?”

“mama… don’t do this to me” chris whispered. his hands started to get sweaty and he could feel the blood rushing to his cock. he was about to get hard in public just because he thought of you in lingerie, which was ridiculous, since he had seem you naked previosusly.

“i’m not doing anything, sweetie. i’m shopping and you’re keeping me company, isn’t that right? is it my fault that you can’t hold yourself back and got all worked up just because i got some lingerie?” your warm tone sent a shiver down his spine, his chest immediatly inflating with air. “‘m s-sorry i just keep thinking… of you wearing it” chris tried to explain himself as you chuckled, enjoying his embarassement.

“yeah? you wanna see me wearing a nice set for you? which one do you like better?” you asked, handing him three pairs of bras and panties in different colors.

“the red one” chris spoke, still not daring to look at you in the ways. you walked in slow, seductive steps towards him, the sound of your heels taking over the empty store.

“c’mere,  i’ll try it on for you” you continued, undoing the first button of your silk shirt. chris got a peek of your bra, it was the leopard print that drove him insane and made him kiss you for the first time, months ago. “but first we gotta fix this, hm?” you cooed, placing your palm against his boner and applying some pressure to it.

once again, you led the way towards the fitting rooms. chris followed you obediently, holding a bunch of hangers. you gaze scanned the store and with a naughty grin, you opened one of the curtains and quickly went inside, pulling chris by his wrist.

he didn’t even had time to hang your underwear. you pushed him against the mirror, smashing your lips together in a desperate, hungry kiss. a loud groan left his throat as you moved to his neck, gently sucking on his skin. “mommy i missed you so much” chris rolled his eyes, his hands going to your hair.

“i missed you too, my good little boy” you whispered, palming his cock over his jeans. chris squirmed against you, a moan slipping from his lips. you opened a satisfied smile as you pulled away, sitting on the stool next to the mirror.

chris whined in protest, already missing how you hand and your lips felt on him. “got all hard for mama? you poor little thing” he pouted, nodding “c’mon, touch yourself for me” you instructed him.

his eyes widened in surprise — you had never asked him that. he didn’t know how to do jerk himself properly. chris was a virgin and the first time he was actually able to reach an orgasm was with your help. how was he supposed to do it on his own, and in public?

“mhm, unless you wanna go out with that pathetic boner” you teased, crossing your legs. the red heel started to slip from your foot as you finished unbuttoning your shirt, fully displaying your bra. chris whined again, silently pleading.

“mama… i n-need your help” chris spoke under his breath. “can’t cum without you”

“you’ll have to learn how to take care of yourself, chris” you said, pulling chris by his belt. you helped him to undress, freeing his shaft, almost slapping against his own tummy. you wrapped your knuckles around his length, stroking it in slow motions. “do you expect mama to be there every time you get hard? what are you gonna do when i’m not around, hm?”

“nhng— can’t— can’t be without mama” chris whimpered, more to himself than to you. he twitched inside your fist, placing both hands on the mirror to hold his weight, knowing his knees would ultimately give up.

you moved your thumb to his tip, pre-cum leaking from his slit as you circled it. his hips bucked forward as he leaned his head down, trying to hold himself. chris didn’t want to cum too soon, it was humiliating. he wanted to last long for you, he wanted to get used to the feeling your fingers around him, to the sound of your voice whispering praises and calling him a good boy, but no matter how hard chris tried, he pathetically failed.

“cum! mama, cum!” chris whimpered. you tightened your grip around his cock, pumping it faster. “please!”

“cum for me baby” you allowed him. you knew chris would need a long time to get used to your touch. in fact, it was adorable that he couldn’t even last five minutes.

chris threw his head back, moaning as he came on your hand, thick spurt messing your fingers and his jacket. you didn’t move your hand, continuing to gently stroke his wet, sticky cock.

that’s until your phone rang. you reached for your bag, quickly picking it up and seeing the name on the screen. “i think stacy is back home” you told chris, whose dick immediately became soft at the mention of your daughter’s name. “would you like to join us for dinner?”

— TAGLIST ♡⊹𑄽୧ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @cvnntagious @alesturniolos @emely9274

chris masterlist | milf au masterlist

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[moonyswritinq]

black swan — killian jones x male reader

❝ BLACK SWAN ❞

SYNOPSIS ➢ Killian Jones was no stranger to using his charms in order to woo beautiful women, Emma Swan being no exception. You couldn’t stand the sight of him flirting shamelessly with your sister, purely for brotherly reasons, so you decide to tell him off. What you didn’t know, was that his eye had been drawn to you the moment he saw you.

PAIRING ➢ killian jones x brother!Swan male reader

CONTENT WARNING ➢ season 2 & 3 spoilers, sort of one-sided rivals to lovers, tension, kissing, making out, harsh language, guys flirting, insults as flirting, threats

WORD COUNT ➢ 2.4 k

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ I wrote this because I read another similar fic and, no hate to that author, but I wanted to write it better and so that it would be more to my satisfaction. Also, I am well aware of all the requests I still have yet to do, but I fell into a OUAT hole and now I’m here.

MASTERLIST, TAGLIST

Killian Jones finding a woman attractive was nothing special. He’s had his fair share of dalliances over the years. Ever since what happened to Milah, Killian was in no hurry to find the so-called “true love” and settle down. His never-ending adventures at sea kept him plenty occupied—and so did his hunt for his Crocodile.

It was no surprise then that the woman named Emma Swan would draw his eye. She was just his type: bold, determined, and a natural leader. His interactions with her in the Enchanted Forest left him intrigued, and his curiosity of her only grew when they returned to Storybrooke and defeated Cora together. He expected his infatuation with Emma to grow the more time he spent with her, but what he was not expecting, was you to catch his eye instead.

The son of Prince Charming and Snow White, brought to a world without magic together with Emma as babies, put into a foster home. Despite all your bad luck as children, your inability in finding a place to call home, at least you managed to stay together. And as Henry brought her back to Storybrooke to break the curse, you followed with. You weren’t a Saviour like her, not by a long shot. But you did have your own skills and abilities, something that came with being a devilishly cunning detective. However much she hated to admit it, Emma would oftentimes turn to you for help in hunting down a bounty. A difficult bounty for her meant an afternoon of idle searching for you.

You never turned down an opportunity to tease her about it and she never hesitated to roll her eyes at you. Nonetheless, you felt incredible protective of her. You may just have been a few minutes older than her, but that didn’t stop you from putting on the big brother act—something she didn’t always appreciate.

Which is why, when you saw a certain pirate unashamedly flirting with her, those brotherly instincts kicked in immediately. You knew Hook was helping your family in getting Henry back from Neverland, providing passage on his ship, the Jolly Roger, and offering his being a guide on the island. But those facts did not give him the right to flirt with your sister.

You had already been at odds with the man when, at your arrival to the island, the ship was attacked by  a school of mermaids. Hook had stumbled in your direction and taken hold of the most stable thing closest to him—which happened to be you. His hand had gripped your waist, his hook coming to your chest as he fell against you. The closeness of his breath stirred something within you, something not entirely uncomfortable. Of course, it was not his fault that the ship veered to the side and that you had been closest to him when he stumbled, but that didn’t stop you from pushing him away from you the moment the ship steadied.

“My apologies,” he said, quite out of breath. His blue eyes were remarkably clear in the moonlight. “I usually offer a drink before getting so close to someone.”

Your glare was your only answer.

“I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.” He extended his hand for you to shake. You looked at it uncertainly.

“I’m Emma’s brother,” you said simply.

His eyebrow raised. “So you must be the infamous town sheriff y/n Swan. I s’pose good looks do run in the family.”

You began to scoff, but then your brain was able to fully comprehend his words. “I never told you my name.”

Hook glanced away, his confident smirk faltering. He cleared his throat. “I may have, er, asked someone for it.”

You shifted your head to meet his eye. “Someone?”

He let out a sigh. “I wanted to know who the handsome man that was traveling with us is, so yeah, I asked around. Really, you should be flattered.”

You scoffed at the grin that flashed across his face and turned on your heel. Like you’d said—shameless flirt.

Later, while searching Neal’s hideout, you watched him flash that same grin when talking to Emma. He stepped much closer, leaning towards her. You couldn’t stomach watching it. And you told yourself it was because she deserved better than a good-for-nothing scoundrel like him. No other reason.

So you watched from afar, leaned against the cave walls, as Hook winked at your sister. Emma glared at him, unimpressed. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about her falling for his charms. She was much too clever for that. You saw her walk away from him, away from the hand that he had reached forward to her and you smiled with grim satisfaction. But before you could step forwards, out of the shadows, David had approached Hook.

“Let me give you a bit of advice, Hook,” he said. “She’s never gonna like you.”

Hooks eyebrows shot into the air. “Is that so?”

“How could she?” David’s voice was laced with venom. “You’re nothing but a pirate.”

He seemed to want to reply, but nothing came out, and David walked away. Hook’s gaze followed him, his hand running down his face.

“He’s right, y’know,” you said, stepping forward.

A low growl slipped from his throat, Hook turning to face you. He looked almost crestfallen. “Can I not get enough of your bloody family?”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “And here I was thinking you’d be glad to see me.”

Hook let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, I am very glad, love.”

“There’s that charm of yours,” you remarked humourlessly.

He smiled cheekily. “Doesn’t seem to be working on your sister, though.”

“Yeah,” you hummed. Step after step brought you closer to the pirate. You watched him closely, noting the way his eyes jumped over your figure. “Speaking of, we need to have a chat.”

He nodded absentmindedly, raising his finger to rub against his lips. The movement drew your eye to them. You knew he had noticed your gaze before you managed to tear it away when his lips curled into a smirk. You rolled your eyes. Goddamned pirate.

“If you’re going to stare at me like that, I’m going to get some mixed signals, love.” His voice was as smug and sweet as honey, only managing in irritating you more.

You were not known to be calm and level-headed. Anyone who was close to you knew to keep away when your anger threatened to burst, like an erupting volcano. Emma had once stolen one of your favourite pencils as a child and you had gotten back at her by spilling ink all over her favourite stuffed animal. But Hook did not know you well enough. He smiled sweetly.

Two steps forward and you were stood right in front of him, pressing against his chest. Rum and leather and sea salt filled your nose. The smell of him was overpowering and intoxicating all at once. You pressed one arm against his throat, pushing him back against the cave wall, the other bracing yourself against it. He grunted at the impact, groaning in displeasure, before meeting your gaze steadily.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

The words growled out of your throat, through your gritted teeth. “Stay away from Emma, got it?”

“You may have gotten the good looks of your family. Not the manners, though,” he said lazily.

You cocked your head. “No, that is more my parents’ style.”

“You do have more of a bite than them,” he said. Then he tilted his head, as if in thought. “Huh, well, aren’t you a dark Swan, love? Or do you prefer Black Swan?”

Your brows knit together but you chose to ignore his words. Instead, you said, “I do agree with David that Emma will never fall for you, so you might as well give up now.”

Hook’s eyebrow raised. “If you’re so sure she won’t fall for me, why even bother threatening me? Surely, my flirting must be harmless.”

Your brows knitted together in suspicion. His eyes were annoyingly blue, piercing straight into yours. “Just leave her alone, Hook.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“My flirting with her.” He leant forward a bit, throat straining against your arm. “Swan, are you jealous?”

You opened your mouth to protest. You? Jealous? Ridiculous. Then you noticed that his lips had curled into a cheeky smirk. “No,” you bit out.

Hook blinked, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Heard you were quite the detective out in the Land of No Magic.”

Your head cocked to the side. “Yeah, so?”

He simply hummed, head falling back against the stone walls. His eyes traveled across your figure before jumping up to meet your gaze through his lidded eyes, something unintelligible in those swirls of blue. You ignored the warmth that pooled in your stomach at the sight of him like that.

“I will leave her alone,” he said calmly. “You have my word.”

You tried to detect the mischievous thoughts that were surely lying behind his eyes, but came up empty. You had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, but you let him go and stepped back in one swift moment. He cleared his throat, rubbing one hand across his collarbone.

“Fine,” you said, glancing away from his steely gaze. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself then, and you cleared your throat uncomfortably.

“Shall we?” Hook asked, gesturing to where the others had gone.

“Yeah,” you said simply, walking past him briskly.

You didn’t know what had suddenly overcome you or why you were now so uncomfortable in Hook’s presence. For the rest of that day, every time you glanced in his direction to make sure he was heeding your words of staying away from Emma—to which he did—you felt as if your nerves were standing on end. And on occasion, when he happened to be glancing your way as well and your eyes met, you felt shivers travel down your body, forcing you to break his eye contact. You thought you could see a smirk playing across his lips in those moments, but you chose to ignore him.

That same evening, you had found out David and Hook been ambushed by the Lost Boys. Apparently, Captain Hook had risked his life saving David from a poisonous arrow with Nightshade on it. You almost wanted to laugh at the idea of Hook doing something so heroic, but at the sight of David’s serious face you merely took a swig of the offered flask, like the others. You caught his eye right before he turned and stepped away from the others. You followed him behind a tree.

“I heard what you did for David,” you said. He stopped and turned to face you. “Thank you, Killian.”

His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t leave your father to perish on this island.”

You nodded, glancing away for a moment before meeting his eye. “I must ask, did you do it to get in my sister’s good graces?”

“I thought you weren’t jealous.” His eyebrow raised.

“Answer the question,” you bit out.

His smile dropped as he met your gaze. “No, I didn’t do it for her. I did it for you. And because it was the right thing to do.”

You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you. “So now you’re all righteous, huh?”

Hook cocked his head. “I’ve always been chivalrous,” he said. “And, well, it doesn’t take a genius to know that getting your father killed would not help my courting you.”

You chose to ignore those last few words, your smile holding no warmth. “You’re right. You are no genius,” you said.

 “This doesn’t sound like a thank you,” Hook remarked, raising his eyebrows.

You let out a sigh, looking down at the ground beneath your feet. “I’m sorry.”

He scratched the nape of his neck. “Perhaps you could show me some gratitude to make it up to me.”

His gaze was dark underneath his eyelashes, his lips curling into a smirk. You thought you knew what he was implying. You wouldn’t let him get off that easily, though.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting. “That was what the ’thank you’ was for.”

“Mmm,” Hook hummed. He took a step closer, so close now you could count his eyelashes. “Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps,” he whispered, face leaning much closer to you. You could feel his breath against your skin. “It’s you who couldn’t handle it.”

Your eyes jumped between his, then to his lips. Those damned lips, curled into that damned smile. Oh Gods, why did you have to be attractive to a pirate. Without leaving any time for you to think your actions through, you took ahold of his jacket and pulled his face towards yours.

Hook let out a surprised gasp, which you swallowed into the kiss. He dragged himself closer, hand clinging to your waist. You felt his chest press hard against you as his lips moved against yours. It was harsh, quick, and angry—just like your feelings for him.

The warmth in your stomach deepened as you pressed yourself impossibly closer to him. One hand made its way into his dark hair, pulling lightly against it. He let out a deep moan at the movement, his eyes shooting open and lips pulling away for a moment.

You smiled at the sight of him, red-lipped, cheeks flushed and eyes full of desire. “Too harsh for you, captain?”

He groaned at your words, capturing your lips once more. His hook was pressing your waist against his as his hand grabbed your neck, bringing you into him. He was truly and well intoxicating.

Hook pulled away again, breath coming out in short bursts. “So I’m not good enough for your sister, but I’m good enough for you.”

You cocked your head and shrugged. “I’m not as good as she is.”

He smiled into the kiss when you pulled him closer again. His teeth captured your bottom lip lightly, but the feeling made a smile of your own erupt across your face.

“I don’t know,” Hook said. “I think you’re pretty good.”

“Killian.”

“My name has never sounded sweeter.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, smile still playing across your lips.

“With pleasure,” he murmured while pulling you close again.

Tag list: @a-gay-dumbass @eunxhan @loverclear @shobolanya @edit-me-prettyplease @bookholichany @scriblezz

[w1w2]

The Art of Confessing

Karina x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: Y/N finds herself inspired by her friend Karina. As their bond deepens, Y/N faces the ultimate decision to reveal her heart through her work.

Notes: Here's a little something I promised to celebrate 100 followers! Thank you so, so much for all the support babes! Also, I might have a thing for rooftops and balconies since I'm using these places quite often. Oops.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The soft hum of a vinyl record filled the air, its crackling warmth wrapping the room like a comforting blanket. Y/N sat cross legged on the floor of her cozy apartment, a cup of chamomile tea steaming beside her. Around her, the space was a kaleidoscope of creativity, canvases leaned against the walls, some finished, others abandoned midway, each capturing fleeting glimpses of her innermost thoughts. Sketchbooks lay stacked haphazardly on the low wooden table, their pages bursting with pencil strokes, splashes of paint, and smudges that told the story of countless late-night bursts of inspiration.

Few knew about this side of her. As an idol, Y/N’s life was on constant display, each moment scrutinized by adoring fans and media alike. Yet this, the smell of paint, the quiet shuffle of brushes, was hers alone. It was her escape, her sanctuary.

That evening, the world outside her window shimmered with a thousand city lights, each one a tiny story flickering in the dark. Y/N traced her finger along the rim of her mug, her thoughts trailing back to the night before.

“Y/N, look at that!” Karina’s voice had been filled with awe as she pointed toward the horizon. They had sneaked away to a rooftop in the heart of the city, a rare pocket of freedom in their otherwise hectic schedules. The air had been crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine from a garden below.

Y/N turned her gaze to Karina, the lights casting a soft glow over her features. She looked breathtaking, like a dream painted in strokes of moonlight and stardust. Karina’s long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her profile serene yet commanding as she gazed at the cityscape.

“You’re staring,” Karina had teased, her lips curling into that faint, knowing smile that never failed to make Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“I was just… appreciating the view,” Y/N replied, her voice faltering slightly.

Karina chuckled, nudging her playfully. “You’re impossible.”

Yet in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have Karina in her life. Karina, with her grounded warmth and quiet strength, was a constant source of inspiration. She had an aura that drew people in, and yet, it was the quiet moments, like the one on the rooftop, that Y/N cherished most.

Now, back in her apartment, Y/N’s fingers hovered over her sketchbook, hesitant. The image of Karina bathed in city lights lingered vividly in her mind, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the urge to create something deeply personal.

She picked up a pencil and began to draw, her hand moving almost instinctively. The curve of Karina’s jaw, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, it all flowed onto the page. But as the sketch took form, Y/N’s heart raced with uncertainty.

Would Karina ever see this? Should she?

The doorbell rang, jolting Y/N from her thoughts. Her heart skipped as she glanced at the sketch in front of her, a delicate, unfinished portrait of Karina. Hastily, she grabbed a loose sheet of paper and slid it over the drawing, her cheeks flushing at the thought of someone, especially Karina, seeing it before she was ready.

Taking a calming breath, she headed to the door and swung it open. “Jimin!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and delight.

Karina stood there, casually radiant in an oversized hoodie and faded jeans. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. The understated look only made her more striking, as if she didn’t need to try to shine. In one hand, she held a bag of takeout, and in the other, two bottles of sparkling water.

“Thought you might need a break,” Karina said, flashing a grin that sent a familiar flutter through Y/N’s chest. Without waiting for an invitation, Karina stepped inside, her presence immediately lighting up the room.

“You’re the best,” Y/N said, closing the door behind her.

Karina placed the bag on the coffee table and glanced around, her sharp eyes taking in the colorful clutter of Y/N’s apartment. Canvases leaned against walls, brushes sat soaking in jars, and scattered pencils seemed to tell the story of an artist’s whirlwind evening.

“You’ve been busy,” Karina remarked, gesturing toward the organized chaos with a tilt of her chin.

“Oh, that?” Y/N waved a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just… messing around.” She prayed her nervousness wasn’t obvious.

Karina arched a brow, her expression both amused and curious. “Messing around, huh? You’ve got a whole gallery in here. You’re so talented, you know.” Her tone was sincere, her gaze lingering on Y/N as if trying to decipher a hidden secret. “I wish you’d share your work more often.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe someday,” she murmured, her voice quiet.

They settled on the couch, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a warm ambiance over the room. As Karina unpacked the takeout, steaming boxes of stir-fry and dumplings, she filled the air with easy conversation. She talked about practice, the antics of her fellow members, and a particularly chaotic video shoot that had them all laughing until their stomachs hurt.

Y/N listened intently, her laughter joining Karina’s at the funny parts, her heart swelling at the sound of Karina’s melodic voice. Despite the chaos of their lives as idols, Karina always managed to bring a sense of calm and grounding, as if she were an anchor in the storm.

At one point, Karina reached for a napkin and accidentally knocked over a small box of charcoal pencils on the coffee table. They spilled onto the floor with a clatter.

“Oops!” Karina laughed, bending down to gather them.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Y/N said quickly, diving forward and snatching up the sheet of paper that concealed her sketch before Karina could notice.

Karina’s gaze flickered to the movement, her brows furrowing slightly. “What’s that?”

“Nothing!” Y/N blurted, clutching the paper against her chest. Realizing how suspicious she looked, she forced a chuckle. “Just some random doodles. You know, practice stuff.”

Karina studied her for a moment, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re acting weird, Y/N.”

“I’m not weird,” Y/N countered, her voice slightly higher than usual.

“Sure you’re not,” Karina said, her tone light but her eyes narrowing playfully. She reached out and lightly poked Y/N’s cheek. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

The exchange left Y/N flustered but relieved. Karina didn’t press further, though her curiosity lingered in the air like an unspoken question.

The evening continued, filled with shared laughter and moments of comfortable silence as they enjoyed their meal. Y/N found herself stealing glances at Karina, her mind racing with thoughts of the sketch hidden beneath her stack of papers.

When the clock struck eleven, Karina stretched and reached for her jacket. “I should head back. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t,” Y/N lied, already knowing she’d be awake for hours.

Karina smiled and leaned down, her face just inches from Y/N’s as she tied her sneakers. “You better not overwork yourself, miss artist,” she said, her voice soft but teasing.

Y/N’s breath caught, and she could only nod, her throat too tight to respond.

When the door clicked shut behind Karina, the apartment felt strangely empty, the warmth of her presence lingering in the air.

Y/N walked back to her desk and uncovered the sketch, her heart pounding as she studied the lines she’d drawn. This time, she didn’t hold back.

With each stroke of her pencil, she poured her admiration and feelings into the image, the way Karina’s eyes crinkled when she laughed, the softness in her expression when she was deep in thought, the strength she exuded even in her most relaxed moments. It all came alive on the page, vibrant and real.

As the first rays of dawn seeped through the curtains, Y/N set down her pencil, her fingers smudged with charcoal. She stared at the finished sketch, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and vulnerability.

It wasn’t just a drawing. It was a love letter, a silent confession written in graphite and paper.

Karina was her muse.

The days following that late-night sketch session felt like a whirlwind for Y/N. Her schedule was packed with rehearsals, performances, and photoshoots, leaving little time for anything else. Yet, despite the chaos, her mind kept drifting back to her secret project.

Every spare moment was stolen to work on it. Between practice breaks and after long days of filming, Y/N found herself sketching Karina again and again, her laughter, her focused expressions during dance practice, the softness in her eyes when she let her guard down.

But translating her emotions into her art proved to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Y/N wanted the portrait to capture more than just Karina’s beauty. She wanted it to hold the warmth of Karina’s laugh, the steadiness of her presence, and the way she made Y/N feel. Safe, inspired, and completely seen.

One evening, while sitting in the corner of her bedroom, Y/N stared at the half finished painting on the easel in front of her. The initial sketch had evolved into a vivid portrait, the details slowly coming to life under layers of paint. But something was missing.

She sighed, setting her brush down. “Why is this so hard?” she whispered to herself.

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, pulling her attention away. It was Jimin. "Don’t forget, we’re rehearsing the collab choreography tomorrow morning.”

Y/N smiled, her frustration melting slightly. She typed back a quick confirmation before leaning back against the wall, her thoughts drifting.

The next day, the two groups gathered in a spacious practice studio, the mirrored walls reflecting their every movement. As the choreographer explained the sequence, Y/N found her attention slipping. Her gaze kept flickering toward Karina, who was listening intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

When they began dancing, Karina moved like water, smooth and effortless. There was a quiet intensity in her every step, a confidence that made her impossible to look away from.

“Y/N, are you spacing out?” Ryujin’s voice cut through her thoughts, accompanied by a playful nudge.

Y/N blinked, realizing she had completely missed her cue. “Ah, sorry! Let’s go again.”

As they reset, Y/N noticed Karina watching her from the corner of her eye. Karina’s lips curved into a small, amused smile before she turned back to her position.

Y/N’s heart stuttered, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks burning.

Throughout the rest of the rehearsal, Y/N tried to focus, but Karina’s presence was like a gravitational pull. Every time they danced side by side or shared a fleeting glance, Y/N’s thoughts grew more tangled. By the time practice ended, she was thoroughly exhausted, not from the choreography, but from the effort of keeping her feelings in check.

Late that night, Y/N sat at her desk, sketching furiously. Karina’s focused expression from their joint practice earlier filled her mind. She could still see the determination in Karina’s eyes, the effortless grace in her movements. Y/N tried to capture that feeling on paper, but her hand faltered.

Letting out a groan, Y/N leaned back in her chair. “Why is this so hard?” she muttered, her voice cutting through the quiet room.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, and she glanced at the screen.

“Still awake?” Karina’s message read.

Y/N smiled, her frustration easing slightly. She typed back quickly, “Yeah, just working on some stuff. What about you?”

A few moments later, her phone buzzed again. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check in.”

She laughed softly to herself, imagining Karina typing the message with her usual casual ease. Y/N replied, “You should rest. We’ve got another long rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Only if you rest too,” Karina shot back.

Y/N placed her phone face down on the table, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips. Even through a screen, Karina had a way of making her feel warm and cared for.

The next day, the two groups gathered in the studio, the polished floors gleaming under the bright overhead lights. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the rhythmic beat of the backing track filled the air. The collaboration stage was shaping up to be something spectacular, but the pressure to make it flawless was mounting with each practice session.

Y/N stood in formation, her body moving instinctively to the choreography she had drilled into muscle memory. Yet her mind wandered, drawn to the figure a few feet away.

Karina’s intensity was captivating. Y/N found herself watching the way the light caught Karina’s profile, accentuating the curve of her jaw and the focused set of her lips. Her heart skipped as Karina tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and reset her position, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

“Y/N, focus!” Ryujin’s voice snapped her back to reality.

Startled, Y/N realized she had completely missed her cue. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she mumbled, “Sorry!” She quickly stepped back into position, her face burning with embarrassment.

The choreographer paused the track, clapping his hands together. “Reset from the top! Let’s clean up that transition.”

As everyone moved to their starting positions, Y/N felt a pair of eyes on her. She glanced up, and there was Karina, her lips curled into a faint smile. It wasn’t teasing or judgmental, just soft, almost amused, as if Karina could read the flustered jumble of thoughts in Y/N’s mind.

Y/N’s heart stuttered, and she quickly averted her gaze, willing herself to concentrate. She couldn’t afford to mess up again, especially not with Karina watching.

The music started again, and Y/N threw herself into the choreography with renewed determination. Yet, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the image of Karina’s knowing smile, a lingering echo that stayed with her long after practice ended.

That evening, back in her apartment, Y/N stood in front of her half-finished painting. The day’s events replayed in her mind, the way Karina moved, the way she smiled, the way her presence seemed to fill every corner of the rehearsal studio.

The painting stared back at her, the lines bold yet incomplete, as if waiting for her to find the missing piece. The form was taking shape, the details slowly emerging under her brushstrokes, but it still felt unfinished. Y/N didn’t just want to capture Karina’s beauty, she wanted to capture everything that made Karina who she was. Her strength. Her warmth. Her quiet, vulnerable moments.

She picked up her brush, dipping it into a soft shade of brown, and began adding more detail to Karina’s eyes. But the more she painted, the more her thoughts spiraled. Was she even capable of doing this? Could she truly convey everything she felt without ruining it?

Doubt crept in, tightening her chest. Y/N sighed, setting the brush down for a moment. Her phone buzzed on the table, the sound breaking through the quiet hum of her apartment.

She picked it up and smiled at the message on the screen.

“Did you eat yet?”

Y/N laughed softly to herself, imagining Karina sitting in her dorm, texting her between her own bouts of exhaustion. She quickly typed back, “Not yet. Thinking of ordering something soon. You?”

The reply came almost instantly. “Same. Want to order together?”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her heart racing slightly. This was her chance to see Karina again outside of practice, to share a moment that was just theirs.

“Sure. Come over?” she finally wrote, her pulse quickening as she hit send.

Moments later, her phone lit up with Karina’s response. “On my way.”

Y/N exhaled, her heart still pounding. She looked around her apartment, suddenly self-conscious about the mess of paint brushes and canvases scattered everywhere. She quickly tidied up, covering the easel with a cloth and stacking her sketchbooks into a neat pile on her desk.

By the time the doorbell rang, she was ready, though her nerves still buzzed under the surface.

When Karina arrived, she was dressed casually in a hoodie and sweatpants, her face free of makeup but still radiant. She carried a bag of takeout in one hand and a playful grin on her face.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble of deciding,” Karina said, stepping inside.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Y/N replied, her nervousness masked by a wide smile.

They settled on the couch, the warm scent of food filling the apartment as they dug in. Conversation flowed easily, as it always did between them.

Karina glanced around the room between bites. Her eyes landed on the corner where Y/N’s easel stood, partially covered by a cloth. “You’ve been busy,” she remarked, gesturing toward the scattered art supplies.

“Just… experimenting,” Y/N said quickly, hoping her voice sounded casual.

Karina raised an eyebrow. “You’re so secretive about it. Can I see?”

“Nope!” Y/N blurted, perhaps too forcefully. “It’s not ready yet.”

Karina tilted her head, her teasing smile making a return. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. “You’ll see it eventually. Just… not yet.”

Karina didn’t push further, though the curiosity lingered in her expression. “Fine. But now I’m intrigued.”

Later that night, after Karina left, Y/N stood in front of the painting. The interaction had left her more determined than ever to finish it. Every brushstroke felt like a piece of her heart being poured onto the canvas.

But as the painting neared completion, so did Y/N’s anxiety. What if Karina didn’t understand? What if this changed everything?

Desperate for advice, she called Ryujin, one of the few people she trusted with the truth.

“I’m painting Karina,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling.

Ryujin’s reaction was immediate. “Oh my god, like painting painting? The romantic kind?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispered.

“Y/N, that’s huge.”

“I don’t know if I can tell her,” Y/N said. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if it ruins everything?”

As Y/N stared at the nearly finished piece later that night, her heart swelled with a mix of hope and fear. The time to reveal it was drawing near.

The days after Y/N’s confession to Ryujin felt heavier. Each time she looked at the painting, a wave of doubt rolled through her. The details were all there, the delicate curve of Karina’s smile, the warmth in her eyes, the quiet strength she carried in every movement. It was a masterpiece in Y/N’s eyes, but also a fragile piece of her heart.

Would Karina see it for what it was? Or would she feel uncomfortable, pressured by the unspoken feelings woven into every stroke?

Y/N shook her head, trying to brush the thoughts away as she flipped open her sketchbook. She wanted to clear her mind by sketching something simple, but her hand moved instinctively, and once again, she began to draw Karina.

The lines flowed easily, forming the familiar tilt of Karina’s head, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the door open.

“Y/N?”

Karina’s voice startled her, and she fumbled with the sketchbook, nearly dropping it.

“Oh, hey!” Y/N said, her voice a little too bright.

Karina raised an eyebrow as she walked further into the room, her expression curious. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing important,” Y/N replied quickly, snapping the sketchbook shut.

Karina wasn’t so easily deterred. With a playful grin, she reached out and gently tugged the book from Y/N’s hands. “Come on. You’ve never let me see anything.”

“Jimin, wait!” Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as Karina flipped to the page she’d been working on.

For a moment, Karina didn’t say anything, her eyes scanning the unfinished sketch. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her palms clammy as she waited for Karina’s reaction.

“This is…” Karina started, her voice soft. She glanced up at Y/N, her expression unreadable. “Is this me?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for an explanation. “It’s just a practice piece,” she said, her voice strained. “I was messing around.”

Karina’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “You’re really good at this, you know. I didn’t realize you were so obsessed with my face.”

“I’m not!” Y/N’s cheeks burned as she snatched the sketchbook back.

Karina laughed, a sound that was warm and light, filling the room. “Relax, Y/N. It’s flattering, really. You’ve got talent.”

Y/N forced a shaky laugh, her stomach twisting in knots. “Thanks,” she murmured, clutching the sketchbook to her chest.

As Karina turned to grab her water bottle, Y/N exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. That was too close.

Later that night, Y/N sat on her bed, staring at the closed sketchbook in her lap. The encounter replayed over and over in her mind, each moment gnawing at her resolve.

What if the painting was too much? The sketch had been casual, yet even that felt vulnerable. How could she show Karina the painting when it held everything she couldn’t say out loud?

Her phone buzzed, and she saw a message from Minjeong.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Without thinking too much about it, Y/N replied, “Can we talk?”

An hour later, Y/N found herself sitting in a café with Minjeong and Ryujin. The small booth felt cozy, and the low murmur of other patrons provided a comforting backdrop. Still, Y/N couldn’t shake her nerves.

“So,” Ryujin said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You called us here to spill some tea?”

Minjeong sipped her iced coffee, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “What’s going on?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Finally, she sighed. “I’ve been working on something… for Karina.”

Ryujin raised an eyebrow. “You mean the painting? You didn’t chicken out on finishing it, did you?”

“No, it’s done,” Y/N admitted. “Mostly, anyway.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Minjeong asked.

Y/N hesitated, her voice dropping. “She almost saw it. I mean, she saw a sketch of her, and even that felt so… exposed. I don’t know if I can show her the real thing. What if it’s too much? What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Ryujin exchanged a glance with Minjeong before leaning back in her seat. “Okay, first of all, you’re overthinking this. It’s a painting, not a marriage proposal.”

Minjeong gave Ryujin a pointed look before turning to Y/N. “What she means is, you’re letting fear stop you from sharing something beautiful. Karina’s not the type to make you feel bad about your feelings. She’ll see the effort you put into it and appreciate it.”

Y/N sighed, still unconvinced. “But what if it changes things between us? What if it makes things… awkward?”

Ryujin leaned forward again, her tone gentler this time. “Listen, Y/N. You’ve already poured your heart into that painting. Keeping it hidden isn’t going to make those feelings go away. Karina deserves to see it. And you deserve to let her know how you feel, even if it’s scary.”

Minjeong nodded in agreement. “Think of it this way. The worst that can happen is a little awkwardness. But the best that can happen? That’s worth the risk.”

Y/N looked between her two friends, their words sinking in. Deep down, she knew they were right.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll show her.”

Ryujin grinned, raising her cup of coffee in a mock toast. “That’s the spirit.”

As Y/N walked home, the city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds against the velvety darkness. The crisp evening air carried a faint chill, brushing against her cheeks and filling her lungs with a sharp clarity that mirrored the resolve forming in her chest. Each step felt lighter, as if the weight of her fear was slowly being replaced by a flicker of courage. It wasn’t overwhelming or all-consuming, but it was there, a small, steady flame burning quietly within her. She wasn’t entirely ready, but she was getting there.

Her thoughts swirled as she reached her apartment building and climbed the familiar stairs. Every moment with Karina flashed vividly in her mind, the way her laughter lit up a room, the quiet strength in her gaze, the unguarded moments when she let her softer side show. Y/N’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile as she unlocked her door and stepped inside.

The apartment greeted her with its usual stillness, the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. She set her bag down and crossed the room to where the painting rested on its easel, waiting like a secret she wasn’t sure she could keep much longer.

Standing before it, Y/N reached out and let her fingers trace the edges of the canvas. The surface was smooth under her touch, but the emotions it held felt raw and vulnerable. The colors were vibrant yet soft, carefully chosen to bring life to Karina’s essence. Her gaze lingered on the delicate details, the gentle curve of Karina’s lips, the light in her eyes, the quiet strength radiating from her expression.

It was more than a painting. It was a confession, a love letter written in brushstrokes and hues. Every inch of it held a piece of Y/N’s heart, a reflection of feelings she had carried silently for so long.

Her breath hitched as a wave of emotion washed over her, an ache of longing, a surge of fear, and a spark of hope all tangled together. Could she really do this? Could she lay her heart bare and trust that Karina would understand?

She took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as she stared at the painting. The vulnerability was terrifying, but the thought of keeping it hidden felt even worse. This was her truth, and no matter how afraid she was, she knew it deserved to be seen.

Y/N took a deep breath, letting it fill her chest and steady her trembling hands.

The days that followed were a blur of anticipation and nerves. Every glance at the painting made Y/N’s heart race, her emotions swinging between fear and hope. She spent hours in her studio, touching up the smallest details, ensuring every stroke was perfect.

When she finally set her brush down, she knew it was time.

Y/N paced her apartment that evening, her mind racing as she rehearsed the words she wanted to say. None of them seemed quite right. What could she say to explain the depth of her feelings? How could she capture in words what she had spent weeks pouring into the painting?

Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. She reached for it with slightly trembling hands, her breath catching when she saw the name on the screen. Jimin.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

The message was simple, casual, but it sent Y/N’s heart racing. She stared at the screen for a long moment, her thoughts spinning. This was it. The moment she’d been building toward.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed back, “Yeah. Want to come over?”

The reply came almost instantly.

“Sure. Be there in an hour.”

Y/N stared at the screen, her pulse quickening. Her mind buzzed with a mix of excitement and nerves. She stood up, the chair scraping softly against the floor, and looked around the room.

The painting stood on its easel in the corner, draped in a soft white cloth like a secret waiting to be uncovered. Y/N adjusted the drape, making sure it covered the painting completely, then stepped back to take in the room.

The lighting was warm and dim, the soft glow of the overhead light complemented by a small lamp near her desk. Shadows danced faintly on the walls, giving the space an intimate, cozy feel. It was exactly what she wanted for this moment, a place where she could share something deeply personal, without the chaos of the outside world intruding.

But as the minutes ticked by, Y/N felt her nerves growing. What if this didn’t go as she hoped? What if Karina didn’t understand what the painting meant? She shook her head, trying to push the doubts away.

By the time the doorbell rang, her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears.

Y/N took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her sweater before crossing the room. She paused for a moment in front of the door, steadying herself, then opened it.

Karina stood there, her usual casual elegance effortlessly on display. She wore a simple black sweater and jeans, the fabric hugging her frame in a way that was both understated and stunning. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light from the hallway.

“Hey,” Karina said, her smile as radiant as ever. “You okay? You look a little…” She tilted her head, studying Y/N’s face. “Nervous.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, stepping aside to let her in. “Just… been working on something.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh? Another secret project?”

Y/N led her to the studio, her heart pounding as she gestured toward the covered easel. “It’s finished now. And I… I want you to see it.”

Karina’s eyes softened, her smile turning gentle. “You’ve been so mysterious about this. I’ve been dying to know what you’ve been working on.”

Y/N hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for the edge of the cloth. She paused, glancing at Karina. “Before I show you… just know that this is really personal. It’s not just a painting. It’s…” She trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Karina stepped closer, her expression reassuring. “Hey. It’s okay. Show me.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N reached for the cloth, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the soft fabric. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering to Karina. The warmth in Karina’s gaze was reassuring, steady, and it gave Y/N the courage she needed.

With a single, fluid motion, Y/N pulled the cloth away, revealing the painting.

The room fell silent.

Karina’s breath caught audibly as her eyes locked on the canvas. Her lips parted slightly, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. She took a small step closer, her gaze moving slowly over the intricate details of the piece.

The painting was a masterpiece, a vivid and breathtaking portrayal of Karina that went beyond simple likeness. It captured not just her beauty but the very essence of who she was. Her eyes sparkled with a soft light that seemed alive, brimming with both strength and vulnerability. Her posture exuded quiet confidence, a testament to her resilience, while the warmth radiating from her expression seemed to fill the room itself.

“Y/N…” Karina’s voice was barely a whisper, the sound delicate and almost fragile. She stepped closer, her hand lifting instinctively. Her fingers hovered near the canvas, trembling slightly, as if she were afraid touching it might break the spell it had cast. “This is… me?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight as she nodded. “It’s you.”

Karina’s gaze remained on the painting, her eyes tracing every detail, every brushstroke. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of wonder and something deeper, something Y/N couldn’t quite name. Slowly, Karina turned her head to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine curiosity and an undercurrent of something heavier.

The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Y/N’s heart raced, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she struggled to find the right words. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke. “Because… you inspire me,” she began, her gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again to meet Karina’s. “Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel… something I can’t put into words. So I put it here.”

She gestured toward the painting, her hands shaking slightly. “You’ve become my muse, Jimin. Not just for my art, but… for everything.”

Karina’s breath hitched, the sound almost imperceptible in the quiet room. She turned fully toward Y/N, her eyes glistening under the soft studio lights. “You feel that way about me?”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “I do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I know this might change things, but… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You mean so much to me, and I needed you to know.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Every second stretched into an eternity, each beat of Y/N’s heart pounding in her ears. Doubt began to creep in, clawing at her as she stood frozen, her vulnerability laid bare.

Then Karina smiled.

It was small at first, a soft curve of her lips that grew into something tender and luminous. It was the kind of smile that melted every ounce of Y/N’s doubt, that quieted the storm of fear in her chest.

“Y/N,” Karina said gently, her voice steady despite the emotion thickening it. “This is… the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes, her breath catching as she searched Karina’s expression for reassurance.

“You mean so much to me too,” Karina continued, her smile deepening. She stepped closer, closing the space between them. “More than I think I’ve ever been able to say. And now, looking at this… it’s like you’ve said everything I’ve ever felt but didn’t know how to put into words.”

Y/N’s lips parted, but no sound came out. The weight of Karina’s words, the depth of her gaze, left her speechless.

Karina’s hand reached out, hesitant at first, before gently brushing against Y/N’s. “You didn’t just paint me. You saw me.” Her voice was soft, her tone reverent. “And no one’s ever done that before.”

Y/N’s heart swelled, a warmth spreading through her that made her feel as if she might float. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve always been so much more than what people see. I just… I wanted to show you what I see.”

Karina’s smile turned wistful as she stepped even closer, their hands brushing again, this time lingering. “You’ve always seen me, Y/N,” she murmured. “I just didn’t realize how much it meant until now.”

In one fluid motion, Karina lifted her hand to Y/N’s cheek, her touch featherlight. Her gaze dropped to Y/N’s lips for a fleeting moment before meeting her eyes again, and in that shared look, the world seemed to fall away.

“Can I?” Karina whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N’s nod was almost imperceptible, but it was all Karina needed.

When their lips met, it was tentative at first, a gentle brush that held the weight of every unspoken word, every lingering glance, and every stolen moment they had shared. The softness of the kiss was electric, sending a shiver through Y/N that started at her lips and spread outward, warming every part of her.

For a fleeting second, the world seemed to hold its breath. Time slowed, the only sound in the room, the faint hum of the overhead lights and the quiet rush of Y/N’s heartbeat in her ears. Her hands hovered uncertainly by her sides before she found the courage to let them rest lightly on Karina’s waist, her touch tentative but steadying.

Karina responded with equal care, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss. Her fingers, which had been resting delicately on Y/N’s cheek, slipped into her hair, threading gently through the strands as if anchoring herself in the moment. There was a deliberateness in her movements, as though she wanted to savor every second, every sensation.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, a dance of emotion that spoke louder than any words ever could. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting, it was grounding, a moment where they both poured out everything they had held back for so long. Y/N’s mind swirled, her senses overwhelmed by the softness of Karina’s lips, the faint scent of her perfume, the warmth radiating from her touch.

Y/N could feel Karina’s breath hitch slightly, a soft, almost inaudible sound that sent a jolt of vulnerability and affection straight to her chest. She tightened her grip just a fraction, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Karina’s sweater. It was as if she needed something tangible to hold onto, to remind herself that this wasn’t a dream.

Karina shifted closer, their bodies brushing in a way that felt both grounding and electrifying. The space between them disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but the shared warmth of their connection. Y/N could feel the faint, rapid rhythm of Karina’s heartbeat against her own, a quiet reminder that they were both equally affected by this moment.

When they pulled apart, Karina rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her smile soft and full of quiet joy. “I guess I really am your muse now,” she said, her voice laced with a playful warmth.

“You always have been,” Y/N replied, her own smile mirroring Karina’s.

They stayed like that for a moment, the glow of the studio lights wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. The painting stood behind them, a testament to everything they had finally found the courage to share.

The days that followed felt like stepping into a dream, one that was warm, steady, and more real than anything Y/N could have imagined. After the quiet confessions and the kiss that left their hearts irrevocably intertwined, Y/N and Karina slipped into a rhythm that felt natural, as though they had always been meant to find this harmony.

They were cautious at first, navigating the unspoken boundaries of their new relationship with soft touches and knowing smiles. Y/N found herself drawn to Karina in ways she hadn’t allowed herself before, letting her fingers linger when they brushed against Karina’s, leaning into her when they sat together, and allowing her gaze to linger openly now, no longer afraid of being caught.

Karina, for her part, seemed equally at ease. She’d taken to slipping into Y/N’s studio whenever she had free time, lounging on the couch as Y/N worked. She would sometimes glance at the painting on the wall, the one that started it all, with an expression that was a mix of pride and tenderness.

“It still feels surreal, you know,” Karina said one evening, her voice soft as she leaned her head back against the couch.

Y/N glanced up from her sketchbook, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What does?”

“That someone could see me the way you do,” Karina replied, her eyes drifting to the painting again.

Y/N set her sketchbook down, crossing the room to sit beside her. “You make it easy,” she murmured, her fingers brushing lightly against Karina’s. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to capture. And now…” She hesitated, her cheeks warming slightly. “Now you’re mine to keep.”

Karina smiled, lacing her fingers with Y/N’s. “And you’re mine.”

The painting remained in its place on the studio wall, a symbol of their love and the moment their hearts had become one. It wasn’t just art anymore, it was a shared memory, a piece of their story. Y/N often caught Karina looking at it, her expression soft with nostalgia, as though reliving the moment she first saw it.

Months later, Y/N stood in her studio, a fresh canvas stretched across her easel. The room was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the warmth spilling through the windows and casting soft shadows on the walls.

She stared at the blank canvas, her fingers lightly gripping a brush as she mulled over her next creation. Beside her, Karina was perched on a stool, flipping through one of Y/N’s sketchbooks.

“Starting something new?” Karina asked, her tone curious.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a playful smile. “And guess what? You’re still the muse.”

Karina laughed, setting the sketchbook down. “I feel like I’ve been promoted. What’s this one about?”

Y/N hesitated, a smile tugging at her lips. “Us,” she said simply.

Karina tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Us?”

Y/N nodded, dipping her brush into a soft, rosy hue and making the first, tentative strokes on the canvas. “I want to paint us together,” she said, her voice soft. “Not just me looking at you, or you being the focus, but us, together, as equals. As…” She paused, glancing at Karina. “As lovers.”

Karina’s cheeks flushed slightly, but her smile was radiant. “That sounds perfect,” she murmured, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple.

The studio was quiet except for the gentle rustle of brushes and the faint hum of the city outside. Y/N worked steadily, the strokes of her brush deliberate and filled with love. Beside her, Karina stayed close, occasionally reaching out to steady the easel or tease Y/N with playful comments about her artistic process.

As the first outlines of the painting took shape, Y/N felt a deep sense of peace settle over her. The canvas would take time to complete, but that was okay. They had all the time in the world now, together.

The painting, when finished, would hang beside the first, a continuation of their story. Where the first painting was a confession, this one would be a celebration: two hearts, two souls, and a love that had grown stronger with each passing day.

For now, Y/N smiled as she worked, Karina’s laughter filling the space beside her.

[burningembers91]

Sleeping With the Enemy - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: tasked with taking down the most ruthless gangster in Seoul, Hwang Jun-Ho didn’t know he’d fall for his target’s wife in the process.

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

A/N: Did I come up with this idea at 1am when I couldn’t sleep? Yes. Did I also get up at 5am to write it as it was etched into my brain? Yes. Am I very tired? Also, yes. But this storyline is gonna be juicy as heck.

It was you who called the police. You, who in your wedding vows had sworn to love and protect you husband, just has he had sworn the same. He hadn’t bothered to keep his promise though, so why should you? The man you married was a ruthless tyrant, taking whatever he wanted with little regard for the devastation his actions caused. The police had been after him for years, desperate to catch the ruthless gangster who tormented the good people of Seoul. You’d be so young when you married him, swept up in the glitz and glamour of the high life he showed you. He’d promised you the world; you just hadn’t realised it would come at a cost.

You weren’t sure you’d ever loved your husband, and you knew he’d never loved you. You were an accessory on his arm, something necessary to bring along to meetings and parties, adorning you in the highest quality clothes and shoes for his colleagues and competitors to admire. He’d started hitting you shortly after your wedding, started showing his real colours when he was confident you couldn’t escape. You’d spent years cowering in his shadow, meekly accepting the designer gifts he bestowed upon you as an apology for treating you like dirt. You weren’t living anymore; you were simply existing.

Hwang Jun-Ho was assigned to your case, tasked with keeping the beautiful wife of the city’s most dangerous gangster safe. He’d been warned that you couldn’t be trusted; that this whole thing could be nothing more than a ploy to send the police off chasing their tails. But Jun-Ho knew from the moment he met you that you weren’t doing your husband’s bidding. You were stunning, dressed in Dior, Prada and dripping in Cartier diamonds. But those high end brands couldn’t mask the fear in your eyes. Just like the makeup couldn’t mask the bruises on your face. At first, he’d been sure this case would be the one he needed to skyrocket him to greater things. But one meeting with you and the boost this would give to his career was no longer his priority; you were. He’d been in this job for long enough that not much fazed him, but your stories had kept him up at night. Tales of your husband’s beatings, his drug deals, his human trafficking, Jun-Ho wondered how you’d endured it all. How you’d kept your wits and sanity while married to the devil himself.

He tried to keep things professional, tried to keep a distance, but you pulled him in like a moth to a flame. You were so fragile and yet so strong, so beautiful, so meek yet so brimming with confidence that it floored him every time. You’d meet in secret, when your husband was out of town on business, slowly giving Jun-Ho the evidence he needed to bring down the man you’d pledged your life to.

It was after your fourth meeting that he fucked you in the back of his car, your moans like the sweetest music to his ears as his took you on the leather seats. From that moment on, Jun-Ho knew there was no going back; he was hooked on you. From that moment on, you would meet each week, exchange information and then make love in his apartment. You smelled like Chanel No.5, and it permeated his bedsheets, keeping him company on the long nights without you. Your lipstick left stains on his skin, marking its way down his chest and thighs. The sound of your breathy moans were permanently etched on his brain, going round and round his head like the most beautiful broken record.

He wasn’t sure when infatuation turned into love. All he knew is that he would do anything for you. He would die for you if it would keep you safe. You were both under no illusion that you were playing a risky game, one that you were almost certain wouldn’t end well.

But for the first time in your life, you could confidently say you knew what love was. Jun-Ho showed you affection and care you’d only ever dreamt of. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, and when his lips explored your body, he made your toes curls in the most exquisite way imaginable.

Yes, you knew this wouldn’t end well. Your husband was not a man who forgave and forgot. But Jun-Ho was determined to keep you safe. He would find a way to break you free of the chains the devil had ensnared you in. He’d find a way to protect you from the man who kept you in constant fear. He didn’t know how this would end, but he knew that he would risk it all for you.

[whyisthereacentaur]

Well put.

I would also add that one of the things they’re learning more about is how to interact with other people - how their actions and word choices and tone etc can cause a reaction that they maybe don’t have enough experience to predict yet.

I’ve found that if I’m in the scenario in that final paragraph, and I’m overwhelmed, that’s an opening for a life lesson too! I can tell them I need a minute and explain how I’m feeling, and that sometimes people just need a minute and it helps to be patient, can you remember a time when someone was giving you lots of jobs to do and it was too much? How did you feel? Etc etc etc.

I’m human and exhausted- if my patience fails in that moment or there’s no time for a long discussion, we debrief afterwards when everyone’s calm. I’d rather I could always be zen calm, and always have time to discuss at length, but when I fail, I can at least try to give them a model for a genuine apology, and talk about how everyone fails sometimes but it doesn’t make us “bad” and we can keep trying to do better next time.

They’re starting from zero on basically every aspect of personhood, and it’s so much more helpful to not just hear what to do (positively and proactively - what to do, not just what not to do!) but also why.

I don't get people who get mad when their kids ask them questions. Imagine making an entire brand new human being who doesn't know anything about anything yet, and regards you as their primary source of information, and when they try to learn to understand how the world around them works, you just go "how dare you question me you evil little imp."