#i really like the way this one turned out but that might just be gif bias

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[selfloverrrrrr]

hey bae , this is my first time making a req 😭🙏🏻 , so i was thinking about where y/n is a prisoner sent to an all male prison and geto/gojo is the chief security guard who works there. he is very attracted to y/n and at night he goes non con y/n

i love your fanfic btw ❤️

Prisoner~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, Noncon, revenge, prisoner reader, chief secretary guard Gojo, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

This shitty people can't even investigate a case properly. First they put me in for the time crime I never did and now they're moving me to another jail?! The iron gates of Blackwood Prison creaked shut behind me, I found myself enveloped in a world dominated by rough faces and even rougher hands. I was the only woman among hundreds of convicts, a fact that made me stand out like a sore thumb.

The first few days were a blur of harsh fluorescent lights, cold meals, and the constant hum of male voices echoing through the concrete hallways. I kept my head down, learning the routines quickly - lights out at 10 PM sharp, wake-up call at 6 AM.

One evening, during dinner in the massive cafeteria, I felt eyes burning into my back. I turned slightly to see one of the guards standing against the wall. His name tag said 'Gojo'. He was tall, muscular, with an aura that demanded attention. His blue eyes seemed to follow my every movement.

As the days wore on, I started noticing Gojo everywhere. He seemed assigned to my wing more frequently than the other guards. Each time our paths crossed, his gaze lingered, a flicker of something - admiration? - passing through his steely expression before he quickly looked away.

One crisp autumn night, as the prison settled into uneasy quiet, I lay on my narrow bunk, straining to hear the faint scrape of metal against metal. Suddenly, my cell door clicked open. Gojo stood there, silhouetted against the dim hallway light, his muscular frame filling the doorway.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. His boots echoed on the cold floor as he approached my bunk. He didn't say a word, just reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me towards him.

"what are you doing?! why are you even here?!" I asked being shocked. Gojo smirked. His grip tightened. "Easy," he said softly, his voice low and urgent. "Thought you might need...company. It's tough being the only woman here"

"what do you mean?" I asked."You know exactly what I mean," he whispered, his face inches from mine. His hand moved to my waist possessively. "Being surrounded by all these hungry eyes...you must be tired of the constant stares, the unwanted attention." He paused, his thumb tracing circles on my hipbone. "I could..."

"I could make them all disappear," Gojo murmured, leaning in closer. His breath was warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "You'd be mine, and only mine. No one else would dare to look at you, let alone touch you." He desperately whispered in my ear.

"y-you should go" I said. "Should I?" Gojo chuckled. And I didn't notice when his fingers start to unbuckle my belt. "You really want me to leave you here all alone, with those little shits inmate dreaming about getting their hands on you?" He paused, his hands pausing at the button of my pants.

"w-what are you doing w-wai-" I finally realised but Gojo cut me off with a firm kiss, his lips crashing against mine. He pinned me against the bunk, his hands roaming over my body as he effortlessly pushed my pants down. I was about to protest when "Shh," he murmured against my lips. "Just let me take care of you tonight."

"N-No....leave or I'll tell the other officers" I said. Gojo pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. "Go ahead," he said confidently, his hand sliding into my underwear. "Who do you think they'll believe? The quiet little prisoner or the chief security guard?" He started to caress me slowly.

And I couldn't reply. I was silent. "Exactly," Gojo whispered, his fingers exploring further as he hooked his legs around mine to keep me from kicking him off. "Now, be a good girl and stay quiet," he warned, his other hand reaching up to cover my mouth. "Or I'll have to gag you..."

"please leave me I don't want this." I begged. Gojo's smirk widened. "Too good for a criminal's touch?" He pulled his hands away suddenly, his voice harsh. "Maybe I should make you scream instead. Give the guys out there what they've all been dreaming of." He unbuckled his belt threateningly. "Answer me honestly - do you want this or not?"

"I don't.... P-Please" I said. His expression softened slightly at the plea, but his hand remained on his belt. "You're making the wrong choice," he said softly, leaning in close. "You don't know those men they're ready to get their hands on you any time they want. Just for pleasure" His fingers traced my neck possessively. "I don't want you just for pleasure.... I want you permanently....all mine" he whispered.

Fear grabbed me by my neck. I couldn't even think anything when suddenly he kissed me again. He deepened the kiss forcefully, his tongue invading my mouth as he pressed his body against mine. His hands released my wrists to roam my body again, gripping and squeezing roughly. He only broke the kiss to start unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, the other still holding my head in place.

he took off his shirt and threw it on the floor. Gojo leaned down to capture my mouth again, his bare chest pressing against mine as he pinned me beneath him. His calloused hands explored my body roughly, leaving red marks in their wake. He broke the kiss again to nip and suck at my neck, marking me possessively.

Then he tore off my shirt. I wasn't wearing any bra. "You're fucking hotttt," he muttered, eyes darkening as he took in my exposed body. His rough hands traced my curves before moving to my breasts, squeezing and kneading. He lowered his head to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other.

"P-Please stop" I begged. "Too late for that," Gojo muttered, releasing my nipple with a pop. He raised his head to look at me, taking in my scared expression and half-naked body. He grabbed my pants and pulled it down with my panties. "Spread your legs," he ordered softly, his voice lower than before.

I didn't do anything. I was too scared. Gojo growled in frustration as I refused to comply. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I said, spread your fucking legs," he repeated, more forcefully this time. With lightning speed, he grabbed both my thighs and forcibly pushed them apart, settling himself between them.

I cried out. He unbuckled his belt and pants with one hand, kicking them off his legs. He was left in just his boxers, the bulge prominent. He hooked his arms under my knees, pulling my legs up and back, exposing me completely.

Gojo shoved his boxers down, freeing his rigid cock. Without hesitation, he thrust forward, brutally piercing into my pussy. He groaned loudly, not caring if the entire jail heard my screams. "Fuck, so tight..." he grunted, starting to pump into me violently.

Gojo reached between my legs to rub my clit roughly, the stimulation making my cries even more desperate. He fucked me mercilessly, his cock pounding into my pussy like a jackhammer.I was through my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he liked it so much. His thrust became harder and harder.

I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thrust I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh... I don't want this ..." I moaned. Suddenly I felt his teeth gazing at my neck. "No no no d-don't please don't Mark me please " I cried out. He just ignored my please and bite my neck harshly. I dig my nails more deeper into his back as he Marked me. He continued thrusting. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. He was panting.

He sits on the floor. The sound of his panting filled the room. Suddenly he started laughing. "I've heard you're in jail for a crime you didn't even. And you also don't have any family to help you.... and also I've heard that you are going out of jail this year. Don't worry darling, I know how to make you permanently MINE" He said darkly.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Ooo Yay! I can't wait to see what you thought about this UNHINGED fic 😂

On one hand, perfect makeout music. On the other hand, Dean is SOOOO freakin' jealous, but it's so frustrating that pushing down his own feelings for her has resulted in him being such a dick to her, before and during this moment. 😫😫

Oh yes, definitely setting the mood for the reader and Ben in the back seat lol. We all know that Dean has probably pulled the same thing in the past 😆 Dean is VERY jealous and it's only pushing the reader away from him more, but he can't stop it. He's stuck in a vicious cycle that is turning into one of Dante's circles of hell when Ben showed up LOL.

*snorts* I love both of these analogies. 🤣

Thank you! I was like... what else has a roadtrip in it? 😂

Deaaaaaan you complete and utter idiot!! What's even worse is that she did feel that spark with him when they first met, until he opened his big dumb mouth lmao.

He really has pushed down his feelings, a few people have pointed out to me that Dean is acting like the playground bully who likes a girl but can't express it in a healthy way and that is one million percent what's happening here lol. The reader did like him when they first met, but again he just didn't express his feelings in a healthy way and now he has to sit and watch Ben and the reader make out in the back seat of his car 😂

Lol sounds like the Winchester Way to me. 🫠

Absolutely 👏🏻 The reader is basically the male version of Dean tbh. Except she shoved down her feelings and then went to sleep with someone who looked exactly like Dean 🤣 Because that was also healthy right? lol

My heart was so torn throughout this entire fic, you have no idea!! The way she manages to pacify him loll. So sweet and sexy in a way, but also, you get the sense that she thinks Ben might just see her as a pretty face, even if he does care about her deep down? It makes you wonder where her heart is truly going to lie at the end of all this angsty love-triangle goodness.

Mine was too! I literally kept going back and forth from Ben to Dean, trying to figure out who she should be with. Because she has incredible chemistry with Ben and she understands him in a way that I think he's not used to. And on the other hand Dean understands her because she's a hunter, he's just being a stubborn idiot 🤣

AND you're right! The reader thinks that Ben only sees her as a pretty face at the moment. She doesn't understand that he has started to develop feelings for her. But I think that the reader also believes that Ben has the possibility to become more than just someone she sleeps with. That he could love her if she let him and if she loved him.

Oh my God this part was completely unhinged and it was hilarious! But the way Ben decides to "get rid of her" is unfortunately on-brand, not caring enough about the collateral damage, the risk of the reader getting hurt. 💔 Even though he does check on her afterwards, the way Dean protected her has my heart swinging back to him and melting in a whole different way!! 😫 Gah! This is so conflicting! loll don't do this to me, friend. 😂😂 I need to dive right into Part 3 so I get to see what happens between her, Ben, and Dean, and just who will confess their feelings first...

Yes see, I went to see Wicked with my friends the weekend before I wrote this and you have no idea how much I love the OC Iris that I made for this fic. I was also thinking "how many references to How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days can I put in one fic?" lol. I was sad that I had to kill her- but it had to be done. There needed to be a dramatic moment where Dean chose to save the reader and give the reader a little bit of doubt about Ben and also show the way he is (unfortunately). But Ben coming to check on the reader literally put me on the fence all over again because he was being soft for her 😭

I'm so sorry to do that to you my friend!! But admit it, you love the angst lmao 💞😉

Thank you so much for all your comments my lovely friend! I always love to hear what you think! And I can't wait to read what you think of Part 3! 💗

Part 2: It Is A Big Deal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Dean Winchester xf!reader,

POV: Reader POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems, ANGST

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. Cursing, Making Out, DEATH, Violence (only a little), Jealousy, Pining, Kinda Sad Vibes In Some Places, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex, Feelings, Angst, Self Deprecating Thoughts? References to Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). References to Future Sex. Soldier Boy Being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester (aka. being moody and super hot).

Listen While You Read: Jealous Again By The Black Crowes

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: It was so fun to come back to this universe again! Thank you so much to everyone for all the love and support that you've gave me in writing the first part and thank you for all the encouragement to write a part 2! And also please don't forget to check out Stranded by @justagirlinafandomworld that inspired me to write this fic!💗

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"Can the two of you stop playing find my tonsils and tell me where the hell it is I'm supposed to be driving to?" Dean grouses from the driver's seat while Sam leans over a road map squinting to look at the small print.

"Ready For Love" is playing over the speakers, barely audible over the thud of fat raindrops pummeling the windshield, blocking out the world around you, and sending the shadows racing across your skin where Ben and you are sitting in the backseat.

“Well, if you’d given me a few hours to fuck her at the motel instead of throwing a bitch fit-" Ben begins to say, turning his gaze your face to stare at the back of Dean's head with a lazy smile.

“Dean why do you care?" You interrupt Ben with red cheeks. "I know for a fact worse things have happened in the backseat of your car than Ben and me making out."

"Really? Because I can’t think of anything worse that you and him sucking on each other's tongues and helping the spread of mono." Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel and his shoulders tense.

He’s more wound up than a tinker toy.

It has been exactly thirty three minutes since Dean's mental breakdown back at the motel when Ben showed up. Furthermore, despite how much Dean had screamed at you at the motel, it appeared that he was still going to act like a two year old who wanted a cookie before dinner.

Sam's suggestion for the four of you to figure out why Ben was here had been a welcome distraction from Dean's spiral. It had prompted all of you to pile into Baby to try and find where it was that Ben landed in your universe and find a clue as to why.

But so far the trip had been less like riding in the Mystery Machine and more like riding with the Griswold's on their road trip to Wally World…

Dean had been supportive of trying to find a solution to what he deemed the "Ben problem," but it appeared that Dean was going to spend every waking minute getting on your nerves.

Honestly, what's new?

You didn’t understand why Dean was so damn argumentative whenever you showed up, it was like he lived to make your life as difficult as possible.

It had always been that way. Since the first day you met Sam and him at Ellen's bar forever ago, Dean had never once said something nice about you or to you.

He always found some little thing to nit pick, whether it be your aim, your research skills, or your technique when hunting and you were sick of it. Each time the two of you worked together, it was Sam's job to make sure it didn't end in bloodshed. Even Cas noticed Dean's underlying hostility towards you and when he asked Dean what was wrong, Dean had brushed him off with a "not now Cas."

Worse was the time that you got hurt (only a minor injury) on a hunt a few weeks ago when you got thrown into a glass cabinet while facing down a poltergeist. Dean had chewed you out for a good twenty minutes and even with Sam's ability to intervene, you'd broken Dean's nose for speaking to you like that, and then rushed off to your room in the bunker before he had a chance to see you cry.

It was the one thing that you never allowed yourself to do in front of Dean Winchester, cry. He didn't deserve your tears, especially not when he was being a total grade A asshole.

When Sam came in later to help you get patched up, you asked him why Dean hated you and Sam tried to convince you otherwise, but you knew the truth.

Dean Winchester hated you, and you had no idea why. So you decided to stop trying to make him like you, because if he was going to act like a total dick he didn't deserve you being nice to him.

You knew that was why you liked Ben more. Ben appreciated you (sort of), he wasn't mean, he listened to you (sometimes), and he did give you compliments… well, they all revolved around the way you looked and that was nice, but just you wanted someone to give you a compliment that had to do with something else. Or maybe just a simple "I see you."

Is that so hard to ask?

Your few flings in the past hadn't been anything special. You didn't have the kind of stable lifestyle that prompted or supported long serious relationships, especially with non-hunters. Not to mention you'd always had this fantasy about meeting another hunter who understood exactly what you went through and what you had gone through over the years. It was often difficult to find a non-hunter who could understand that.

The bunker was the first permanent address that you'd ever had. Your mother had been one of the best hunters in the US, known by all, and you never met your dad, which meant that growing up on the road was the only life you knew. She'd died a year before you started working with the Winchesters which meant that you didn't exactly have anyone that you cared about or anyone who cared about you.

The thought often brought the feeling of loneliness stirring in your chest, but you pushed it down, throwing everything you had into hunting.

Healthy right?

Ben's muscular arm is wrapped around your waist, his hand splayed over your lower back to keep you tight against his chest so there is no space between the two of you, while your hands locked at the back of his neck. You didn't usually like PDA that much, occasionally yes, but you'll admit that you were only allowing yourself to give in to Ben a little more, because you liked how much it annoyed Dean.

Yes, you thought that it was absolutely ridiculous how Dean was acting, but you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Because in all the years you'd known him, you’d never found one thing to hold over his head or one thing that really irritated him, and Ben was working like a charm.

It also felt really good to kiss him, but that was beside the point.

You understood that Dean was having a psychotic break with his constant proclamations that Ben "was him," but you wanted to at least understand why Dean was still hung up on it.

Ben isn't Dean. Sure they have the same face, but Ben is different… isn't he?

When you'd encountered Ben for the first time you had done a double take, but the more you were around him, the more you appreciated the way he treated you differently from Dean. Yes he was a little sexist, but Ben made you feel wanted and Dean had a way of making you feel stupid and often like a burden, as if you'd been plopped on his doorstep like a box of kittens and he was stuck with you.

There was only so much that you could take.

You didn't know what you'd done to earn such hostility. Dean was far from sexist, and you'd seen him interact with other people, it was just you he treated differently and it made you want to strangle him.

"Calm down kid-" Ben sighs.

"Stop calling me that!" Dean turns around to glare at the man next to you.

"Keep your eyes on the road." Sam says, not looking up from the map. He didn't need to.

"What a wonderful suggestion Sammy, but see I can't because I have no idea where the hell it is I'm going!" Dean snipes at his brother.

I swear at this point if Gabriel pops out of nowhere and tells me that this is all just a fucked up dream, I'd believe it.

"Stop being damn hormonal kid, and keep driving." Ben rolls his eyes and moves his lips to your throat, nipping and biting along the flesh visible over the top of your jacket, making you gasp softly and lean into Ben's warm embrace.

Your eyes meet Dean's in the rear view mirror and just for a second you see something flash through them that isn't anger, but it's gone just as soon as you clock it.

What was that?

Dean slams on the brakes and Ben tightens his grip on your body so you don't go flying forward into the bucket seat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snap, curiosity gone, as you glare at Dean.

The tension in the car is high, popping and crackling around the four of you like popcorn. You still couldn't understand why Dean had such a problem with Ben. If anything you'd think that they'd get along a little bit.

"I am not being hormonal or whatever other chauvinistic shit that is about to come out of your mouth." Dean snarls, ignoring you, as he turns and narrows his eyes at Ben. "And I am not your chauffeur. So tell me where the hell it is I'm going so you can get the fuck out of my car and out of my life!"

Ben opens his mouth to retort something, no doubt that'll trigger Dean, but you speak before he can.

"Ben, do you remember anything about where you came through?" You ask him. You were trying to be more diplomatic even though Dean was making your blood boil.

Just because Dean is mad at me does not mean that he gets to take it out on Ben. Ben hasn't done anything wrong. He got sucked into this reality and immediately got pulled into Dean's soap opera.

Ben huffs out a sigh as he turns back to look at you. His gaze softens a little as his eyes meet yours, turning from a dark green to a jade. "There was a building-"

"Oh wow, how helpful!" Dean snarks. "Did you hear that Sammy? There was a building! Mystery solved!"

Ben whips his head in Dean's direction, the air in the car growing hot as Ben's skin begins to heat, but you gently lay your hand on his cheek to bring his gaze back on you. "Dean is an asshole. We all know." You say to Ben, reassuring him and ignoring the look Dean gives you when you say it. "Do you remember anything about the building?"

Getting Ben angry wasn't the way to get information out of him, he was, after all, more like Dean than you were willing to admit. And just as you'd seen Dean get worked over by numerous women, including Bella, sweet talking worked the best.

Well, it never worked when you tried to do it, because Dean refused to treat you any way other than an annoyance.

But two could play that game, especially with the way that Dean was acting right now.

Ben's jaw tightens and you know that he's biting back some remark to throw Dean's way, but you pull him closer, trailing your hand over his bearded cheek to keep his attention and gently bring your lips to his. You feel the tension shift from Ben's shoulders beneath the palms of your hands as he relaxes into the kiss, and this time Ben smiles when you pull away, giving your hips an encouraging squeeze. "It was a school or some shit. And there was a billboard for "World's Biggest Beer Can.""

"Okay. We can work with that." Sam says giving you a sympathetic look before pulling out his phone to type something in.

At least Sam is being normal about this whole thing.

Sam and you always got along, from the start he was the older brother that you never had, and it was refreshing. Not to mention Sam was your best and probably only friend. The hunter life was lonely and you found it difficult to make friends anyway, but something about Sam always stuck. He got your abnormal sense of humor, he gave the best hugs, and he stood up for you when things got heated between Dean and you. It was his idea for you to move into the bunker with him and Dean, and also him that convinced Dean to let you move in.

It had taken days for Dean to finally say yes. And when he did, he made you move into the bedroom next to his as if he wanted to keep an eye on you because he didn't trust you.

And as much as you hated living with Dean, living with Sam made up for it. You liked helping him research while Dean bitched and moaned about reading through dusty volumes, liked helping him clean up while Dean followed behind you as if you couldn't be trusted, liked helping Sam try to make dinner that ended up more burned than anything else until Dean stepped in and shooed the both of you from the kitchen so he could make something, and liked kicking back on the couch watching movies with Sam while eating copious amounts of popcorn.

Unfortunately, Dean didn't get the hint that you wanted him to leave you alone so he'd follow Sam and you, crack open a beer, and proceed to give a personal commentary on the movie the two of you were watching, occasionally throwing a look in your direction as if he was checking that you were listening to him. Weirder still was the fact that Dean would do that when Sam wasn't with you.

You noticed that sometimes, that no matter where you were in the bunker, Dean just happened to find himself in the same room. But that didn't mean he would speak, sometimes he would just be cleaning one of his guns or quietly reading through a dusty volume or writing something down in a notebook, but you swore sometimes you thought that Dean was looking at you. Each time you looked up though, he was looking down at whatever else it was he was doing.

It was those moments that made you think that things could be civil between the two of you, and then he'd get on your case for doing something he deemed "wrong" when you knew you did it right the first time as if you hadn't been a hunter as long as he had.

He probably does that because he doesn't trust me.

Dean grumbles something under his breath and turns his gaze back out the windshield, watching the wiper blades go back and forth over the glass, crossing his arms over his chest. Ben frowns and you know that he must have been able to hear whatever it was Dean said.

Why can't we all just get along for five minutes? Is that too much to ask?

"Alright I've got something." Sam says ending the uncomfortable silence in the car. "The World's Biggest Beer Can is in Northwood about ten miles ahead of us."

"Finally. At least someone is pulling their weight." Dean states before he hits the gas, the force throws you backwards into the seat.

Your gaze flicks up to the rearview mirror and notice that Dean is watching you again, but you turn away to Ben who smiles wide and pulls you back towards him for a kiss.

But deep down you can't help but wonder if Dean had been watching the two of you in his rearview mirror the whole time and why he cared so much.

The building that Ben remembers is in fact, an abandoned school.

The roof sags inward allowing rainwater to pool in the front lobby over black and white checkered tiles, the lockers are rusted and thrown to the floor at odd angles making you worry about the possibility of tetanus, and there is an ungodly stench that you can only describe as old gym socks, axe body spray, and unwashed feet.

Ben's nose wrinkles where he stands beside you, and you're sure that no matter what your sense of smell is experiencing it's a million times worse for him.

You press your lips into a tight line, toeing around a puddle of something gray and sticky that you can't identify, but know for a fact you don't want it in your shoes. Your eyes squint into the looming darkness that grows the more you stare down the forgotten hallways.

It’s always gotta be an old creepy building. Just once I want to get to investigate a donut shop or a burger joint or a Starbucks.

"Any of this looking familiar Captain Sexual Harassment?" Dean asks turning with his flashlight to point in Ben's face.

Ben shrugs and squints at the offending light. "I don’t fucking know."

"Enlightening." Dean huffs out a breath. "Well, guess we can split up and-"

Thank God I won't have to listen to Dean mutter things under his breath and freak out.

"Fine." You interrupt. "Come on Ben." You start to walk down one of the dark hallways, but Dean slides in front of you to block your path.

"No way. You're not going with him." Dean waves his flashlight in Ben's face again and you can see the twitch on the corner of Dean's mouth to see how much he enjoys blinding him.

Why does he always have to act like such a child?

"Why?" You demand.

"Because as soon as Sam and I get out the picture, Grandpa over there is going to pull you aside and fuck you in one of the classrooms." Dean says it without blinking, but it makes you flush red in embarrassment and anger.

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

Dean is so close that you can feel his warm breath on your face. His eyes are narrowed in anger, but you can see another emotion flick through them so quickly you think you imagined it. It was the same emotion that you thought you saw in the car, but you can't identify it, not yet.

Ben's hand comes down on Dean's shoulder, a wide smirk on his face. "Look kid, I get it. She's fucking hot and I know you think I'm trying to horn in on your action-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean exclaims shaking off Ben's hand.

"You're jealous because she decided to be with a real man instead of you." Ben shrugs. His gaze travels up and down Dean as if appraising him before he shakes his head with a chuckle. "I can't blame her. Someone like you couldn't handle her.

"I could handle her just fine!" Dean snaps back his face flushing as he forces his chest against Ben's, who only smirks back.

What did he just say?

Your entire body goes stick straight in surprise and you turn your head to stare at Dean. In all the years that you'd known Dean he's never once said something like that to you.

Sure there was the night you met…

You hadn't thought about it in years. You'd been back in town because Bobby had called asking you to help out some friends of his on a case and you'd stopped in to Ellen's bar to see Jo. Dean had come on to you and you'd splashed a beer in his face and also maybe pinned him down against the bar. It had been awkward the next day when you found out that Dean and Sam were the friends that Bobby wanted you to help out, but you pushed past all the weird feelings to help.

Dean had flirted with you that night and you will admit to yourself that you thought Dean was attractive before he opened his mouth, but since that night the two of you hadn't spoken about it. In fact, you were both perfectly happy pretending that it didn't happen.

Or so you thought.

Dean's dark green eyes flick to yours in realization. "That's not what I meant."

"Sure kid." Ben's smirk grows to Cheshire Cat proportions.

"Stop calling me that!"

The weird thing was, you'd seen Dean lose his temper, it always flared fast and hot broken up with sarcastic comments, but for some reason this felt different and you didn't understand why. It didn't feel like Dean just getting angry because Ben was getting under his skin, it felt like something else.

"Whoa!" You get between the two of them for the second time in an hour. "If you guys keep fighting like this I'm going to put you both in time out!"

"He started it!" Dean glares at Ben, who doesn't look the least bit upset.

"I don’t care who started it! You're grown men and you're still acting like toddlers. I shouldn't have to separate you." You snap waving around your flashlight at Dean.

"How about this?" Sam sighs from where he stands a few feet away. "I'll go with Ben and the two of you can try not to shoot each other."

"Why can't I go with you?" You sigh to your friend.

"You want to leave them together? Alone?" Sam raises his eyebrow.

Not really.

Sam takes your silence rightfully as confirmation, because the both of you knew if you left Dean and Ben together it would probably be a Thunderdome situation or a reenactment of the WWE.

"Maybe we shouldn't split up." Dean says looking at his brother.

"You scared kid?" Ben smirks. " No wonder she decided to fuck me instead of you. You’re acting like a little bitch."

"You son of a bitch-" Dean finally snaps and launches himself towards Ben, but your hand fists in the back of Dean's leather jacket to stop him from starting a fight that you know he won't win.

It wasn't that you thought Ben was a better fighter than Dean, it was that Ben had super strength and would have no qualms ripping Dean in half. And despite how much Dean annoyed you, you didn't want him to die. Sure he was a jerk, but he didn't deserve that after everything he'd been through, and Sam didn't need to bear witness to that.

"Fine." You say. "Ben please go with Sam."

Ben rolls his eyes and follows after Sam, leaving Dean and you standing in the lobby alone, the only sound the soft plop of water echoing down the empty hallway.

Great. Now I'm stuck with Dean in a creepy old building. It's a dream come true. The stuff of Disney movies.

"Why did you do that?" Dean snaps at you when Ben and Sam turn a corner out of sight.

"You should be thanking me! Ben would rip you in half without batting an eye!" You turn back towards the empty hallway and try to put as much distance as you can between Dean and you.

Distance is good, nice. It means that I can only partly hear his disapproval.

"You don't know that." Dean catches up with you, sweeping the path in front of you with his flashlight looking for holes in the floor.

"Yes, I do. I've seen him do it before."

By now you were aware that there was a chill in the air, it was unnatural, creeping down the hallway in a thin mist that made a shiver crawl down your spine. Dean must sense it too, because he pulls his gun at the same time you do.

That or he's doing it because he's about to go Rambo on Ben's ass.

Because that'll end well…

"If he rips people in half why do you like him so much?"

“He’s not a bad person if that’s what you’re getting at. Ben did it to save me.” You point your flashlight into one of the classrooms along the hallway noting the rotted desks tipped over onto the checkered floor. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ben's world was filled with more than a few crazed individuals, and when you'd been in his universe Ben had stepped in when a supe threw themselves at you. Truthfully, even though Ben did what he did to protect you, watching him pull someone apart with his bare hands made you sick to your stomach. Given what you'd seen, that was saying something. But you knew that Ben wouldn't hurt you, he wasn't that kind of man, and you weren't afraid of him.

“You’ve known him for five days! How can you tell after five days?!” Dean nudges a cardboard box with his boot sending a family of cockroaches scuttling into the shadows.

"Because I can!" Your lip curves up in distaste at the appearance of the roaches and try not to imagine all the walls infested with the little bugs.

You didn't like roaches. Especially ones that all of a sudden developed the ability to fly in your presence as if it were a miracle.

The two of you continue to walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps masking the constant dripping noise that comes from the floor above.

Your temper was flaring all over again. You didn't think that you needed to explain any of this to him. Dean never felt the need to discuss his extensive history with women with you and you didn't feel the need to discuss the ins and outs of your and Ben's situation.

"Come on-" He begins to say, but you don't want to hear it.

"Dammit Dean just fucking drop it." You throw your shoulder against a door at the end of the hallway, putting everything you have into it and a little more. You were getting frustrated at Dean's continuous commentary on your life. "I don’t want to talk about this anymore or listen to any of the ridiculous reasons why you think that it's any of your business who I sleep with."

“I think it is my business because you were about to reenact the scene from Titanic in the back of my car!”

“Oh please. I’m sure that you’ve reenacted it billions of times back there. Mr. Saturday Night!” You roll your eyes hitting the door again with your shoulder.

“It’s my car!" Dean shouts, moving you out of the way in a surprisingly gentle way, before he savagely kicks down the door. "I can do whatever I damn well please!”

I wonder if Sam and Ben are having a better time than us. It wouldn't be difficult to.

The door opens with a snap under the force of Dean's kick depositing Dean and you into a large auditorium. The seats are a faded gray and the curtains that hang from the sides of the stage, once blood red, were more of a muddled pink stained with splotches of dark spots and filled with holes the size of the Impala.

Crawling vines and ferns have begun to tangle over the empty seats and over the floors, absorbing anything in their path. The wooden stage is dilapidated and caving in on itself, the boards jutting upwards instead of laying flat as they should in some places from years of water damage. The carpet beneath your feet is squishy and moth eaten, and each step sends another cloud of dust into the air making the room hazy and you cough into your elbow.

"Not to mention he's me!" Dean continues, tramping into the room behind you.

"How many times are you going to say that?" You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying your best to keep it together.

"As many times as I have to, to get the point into your thick skull!"

You whirl around and poke your finger into his chest. "You know what Winchester? You can take all your opinions and shove them right up your uptight ass!"

"The two of you don't get along at all. Odd given how you seem to get along with my fiancé." A bored voice says from somewhere behind you. "But it is a lot more entertaining than I thought it was going to be."

Dean and you both lock eyes and turn to look in the direction of the voice, but there's no one there.

"Um, did you hear-" Dean begins to ask.

"Yes I did." You reply clicking the safety off your pistol.

"Just checking."

"Though I will say, with the way today is going for you and if this is you having a psychotic break, I wouldn't be surprised that you're having auditory hallucinations."

"Shut up." Dean sighs.

"Hello?" You shout, looking around the empty auditorium for some answer, but it remains empty.

Dean snorts. "Now who's craz-"

"Hello?" The voice mocks in a nasally voice. "Wow you're pathetic. I don't understand what he sees in you."

"You call me pathetic, but you're the one hiding. So why don't you come out?" A chair from the front row plucks itself off the ground and hurls itself at your head. You duck and it sails into the aisle behind Dean and you.

"You're not even that pretty." The voice continues and you can imagine a pout on the end of its words like a petulant child who wishes to get their way.

This is so fucking weird.

"Thanks." You reply dryly. "I like to think I've got a great personality."

"You don't." Dean mutters, making you throw an elbow into his side.

A high pitched giggle echoes through the space making it impossible to identify where it came from, until finally a woman materializes on the stage. You blink your eyes to make sure that she's really there.

Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and she's wearing a bright pink fur trimmed dressing gown. The kind you'd see on an eccentric billionaire's trophy wife who spent most of her day drinking gin martinis poolside while being fanned by cabana boys or the kind that she'd be wearing when she heard of her husband's "untimely demise." There's a silver diamond crown perched on top of her head and she's smoking a cigarette from a long white cigarette holder, while she lounges back on a golden throne.

What. The. Fuck.

"Do you see her too?" You whisper to Dean out of the corner of your mouth.

"You mean Glinda the Good Witch the later years? Yeah I can." Dean replies looking just as confused as you do. "You thinking Gabriel?"

"I thought he was dead."

"He's pretended to be dead before." He shrugs.

"Fair enough. Any reason why he's making us see her?"

"Maybe your new boyfriend has a fetish."

"Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to whisper?" The woman says, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Sorry. Um. Who are you?" You ask.

"I don't speak to homewreckers." Her face contorts into a sneer. You watch her eyes shift from Dean to you. "But I'll answer for your friend. I'm Iris, Benjamin's Fiancé."

If pigs could fly right now an entire fleet of them would be taking flight around you. You tried to wrack your brain remembering a single time that Ben said that he had a fiancé or was in a relationship at all, and you can't find a single moment.

Well… today officially sucks.

"Wow. Nice." Dean looks at you with a scoff. "Real nice."

"Hey woah, I didn't know he had a fiancé." You hold up your free hand in surrender. "He never said anything about a-"

"Hey gorgeous. Did you find anything?" Ben says materializing behind Dean.

"You're engaged?" You shout.

"No?" Ben looks confused. "Who told you that?"

You point a thumb over your shoulder to Iris, who is still lounging on the stage completely in her element. She giggles and wiggles her fingers in a cute wave.

"Hey Benny Wenny, did you miss me?" Her lips curl up in a wide smile when she rises from the throne, her bright blue eyes crinkling around the edges. The air around her seems to sparkle, sending scattered light out into the broken seats.

Ben is still staring up at the woman, looking utterly confused.

"You know that freak?" Dean whispers to Ben who is now standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Fuck no."

"Well, congratulations Benny Wenny." Dean snorts. "Guess you're getting married."

"I am not-"

"And don't worry, of course I'll be your best man." Dean continues, holding back laughter.

"Shut the fuck up kid!" Ben snaps at Dean, before turning back to the woman on the stage. "Look baby, I don't know who you are but-" Ben begins to say to the woman, who only laughs.

She throws back her head, golden curls bouncing with the force of her body moving, laughing for an unnatural amount of time before she locks her blue eyes on Ben again.

“Stop being silly. We met a few months ago at Legend’s party. We had a few drinks and then you came back to my apartment where we made love for hours-“ Her cheeks blush. “It was sooooo romantic. What I always dreamed about!”

“Um-“

“My parents are so excited to meet you and my little sister said that she’s so happy to have a big brother!” She giggles. “I even made us matching t-shirts to wear on our honeymoon and a scrap book of our children!" She holds up a magenta colored bedazzled photo album that’s the size of a medium sized dog.

Wow she put a lot of work into that.

“Children?” Ben stutters, his voice cracking on the end a little bit. It's the first time that you've ever seen him look afraid.

“What they’ll look like, where we’ll vacation each year, where we'll live, where you'll work-” Her expression turns sour, eyes flashing a dark pink as she glares in your direction. “But then you met that little whore who took you away from me and poisoned your mind.” She points a perfectly manicured pink nail at you. “So I decided to bring you here so you could help me kill her.”

“I’m sorry rewind-“ You say holding up a hand. “You brought Ben here? How?"

"I found a website while I was looking at destination weddings." She shrugs.

"There are websites about traveling through different universes that show up in the search engine-" Dean begins to say.

"DON'T QUESTION ME!" The girl shrieks and the entire room begins to shake.

"And you wanted Ben to be here because?" You haven’t lowered your gun. Frankly you had no idea what her powers were. She looked more like she would start tap dancing down the yellow brick road rather than start hurling chunks of the stage at you, but you needed a plan.

“Because we’ll get to share this moment together.” Iris sighs looking over at Ben again, who is just as shell-shocked as he was a moment ago.

“Killing me?”

Iris nods enthusiastically. “We'll make love on top of your dead body and no one will come between us ever again!” 

Dean snorts under his breath and you elbow him again, trying not to think of the image.

Please let this be Gabriel messing around with me. Because if it's not my life is officially a joke.

The three of you stand there for a minute looking up at where she prances on the stage in mixed stages of disbelief.

And just as Iris takes a step forward, a sandbag falls on her head. She crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes as Sam appears in the wings of the stage looking from her to where the three of you are watching.

"You guys okay?" He calls.

"Yeah." Ben shrugs. "Too bad about her though. She was hot."

He's kidding right?

"The crazies always are." Dean adds with a sigh, patting him on the back.

"I'm so happy the two of you are having this bonding moment, truly I am, but-" You begin to say, turning your back to the stage, but as soon as you do Sam goes flying across the room and into one of the fern plants.

"That was so uncool!" Iris squeals, hovering over the stage, her hands glowing an unnatural magenta color. "Ben and I are meant to be together, we're soulmates, perfect, fated, destined, and no one is going to stand in my way."

The entire room begins to tremble with the force of her anger, dust floats down from the ceiling as it begins to crack and crumble under her powers. You can feel the warmth of Ben's skin as he begins to power up the beam in his chest, burning through the air like a supernova.

There's a crackling sound that comes from above and you look up to see a giant piece of the ceiling falling in slow motion towards your body. Dean shouts your name, but he sounds far away, the sound ringing through the few seconds that you still have left before it crushes you.

But the hit doesn't come from above, it comes from the side.

Dean tackles you, just as the piano sized piece hits the ground where you had been standing a second ago, to the ground, cradling your head in his hands. Your bodies tumble into the moth eaten carpets as Ben explodes, the heat and power of the beam causing more of the room to fall around the two of you.

There's a terrible high pitched wail that's cut off abruptly mid scream and you don't need to be a genius to know what or rather who it was.

Dean covers your body with his and your hands come up under his arms to hold him tighter to you. You bury your face into the warmth of his coat where his throat and his shoulder meet with a whimper as everything around the two of you shudders and shakes. He doesn't pull away, his muscles tensing as he tightens his grip around you, his own face buried in your hair.

The room continues to shake and fall apart in the aftermath of the blast, dust and ash rising in clouds. But you can’t see any of it, Dean's body is shielding you from the room as it crumbles around the two of you, tucking you further beneath him the longer it goes on, making it impossible for anyone or anything to hurt you.

You could feel something curling in the pit of your stomach the longer you laid there under him, an odd feeling that you'd tried to push down whenever you were around Dean, a warmth that begins to spread like wildfire through your body everywhere the two of you are touching. His body is warm and heavy, but it's not oppressive, it lays over you protective and unyielding in the wake of the destruction.

The smell of him invades your senses, a mix of gunmetal, leather, and a spicy scent that tickled your nose. You'd smelled Dean's shampoo before, when it wafted out of the bathroom as you walked down the hallway, imprinting itself in your mind. It was how the impala smelled, always like Dean, and with it brought a feeling of comfort that you'd never known before.

It was odd.

"Are you okay?" Dean whispers, and you can feel the rumble of his words through his chest where it's touching you, his hips laying in the cradle of your thighs. He pulls back to look at your face, the rough grate of his stubble catching your chin as he does so. His eyes are wide with worry and it's the first time that you'd ever seen him look at you that way.

Dust and ash caught in his hair in graying clumps, sticking to the shortened brownish gold strands, the ones that were just a little shorter than Ben's. You longed to run your fingers through, to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

"I think so." You murmur, not used to the weight of his body on top of yours, but you're also trying not to notice how a part of you liked it. "Are you okay?" Your fingertips trail against the smooth leather of his jacket, working up to the back of his head, feeling just the subtle brush of the hair at the nape of his neck.

You don't miss the soft sigh that rushes out of Dean's chest when you do that, fueling the fire that was spreading in the pit of your stomach.

What is happening?

"Yeah." Dean's fingers brush your hair from your face, so quickly that you think you missed it, but the burn of his skin over your cheeks is the only reminder. You gasp softly with the movement, confused as to why Dean was acting this way, why he was worried about you, and why you liked it. Your arms are still wrapped around his body, fingers curled into the back of his leather jacket, but Dean makes no move to get up, he continues to look at you.

You'd never seen Dean look at you like that, look at you as if he wished to understand you, as if he saw you. No one had ever looked at you that way in your entire life.

"Dean!" You hear Sam yell from somewhere, followed by your own name.

It jolts Dean out of wherever his mind is and he gets off of you, but he helps you to your feet, one of his warm calloused hands taking yours to pull you up before dropping it as if he didn't do it in the first place.

The room is destroyed. The roof has completely caved in allowing the rain to soak through the remaining seats of the auditorium and into the musty carpets. The stage no longer exists, all that remains is a black blob of what you're sure used to be Iris, and although a part of you feels bad about the turn of events, you can't help but feel a little relieved.

She was going to kill me. You think to avoid the wave of guilt that washes over you.

"Ding dong the witch is dead." Dean mutters under his breath, but it doesn't make you feel better.

Fires burn over the edges of the stage, small and controlled, but sending rivulets of smoke into the air. You knew it meant that the fire department would be here any minute and that's the last thing you wanted to explain. That and the body on the stage.

Ben stumbles to his feet a few steps away from Dean and you, pushing off a piece of roofing that must have landed on top of him. His suit is covered in dust and drywall, but he looks okay. He's got that far-away look in his eye he always does after he uses his power.

You step towards him to make sure he's okay, but Dean stands in your way.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dean snarls at Ben.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Ben snaps.

"You almost killed us! Almost killed her!" Dean gestures towards you.

"I fixed the problem." Ben rolls his eyes and glances to you, as if trying to reassure himself that you're okay. You knew that Ben might have wanted to only have a physical relationship with you, but you knew that he did care about you in his own way. "You okay sweetheart?" He pushes past Dean, gently touching your face, tilting it up to his. "Did you hit your head?"

"No. I'm okay." You smile tightly at him, but a part of you can still feel the ghost of Dean's fingertips trailing against your cheeks to push away your hair and feel the weight of his body over yours. "Are you okay?" You ask, noting the way his eyes still are a little unfocused.

"Course I am." Ben scoffs. "Takes a little more than a building to bring me down doll."

You nod, while Ben's hand still continues to rest on your chin, and just as he leans down for a kiss, you see Dean's face in the corner of your eye and finally you're able to identify the emotion reflected in his gaze. It's the same emotion that you saw in the car when he stared at you in the rearview mirror. It's the first time that you've ever seen Dean look at you that way in all the years you'd known him.

It's hurt that flashes behind the green eyes you knew so well, shifting to jealousy on around the darkened edges the longer he looks at Ben and you.

And when Ben's lips touch yours, you feel guilt begin to creep along your skin and extinguish the sparks you'd felt moments ago in the pit of your stomach.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, I did not mean for this part to be a little sad... but oh my word 😭 BUT I also promise that the next chapter will have a happy ending ❤️

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for Part 3 please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @livya99 @zepskies

@winchesterwild78 @ladykitana90 @spnfamily-j2 @whyyouegg

@suckitands33 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @s0uz4s @schinug @just-levyy

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @minas-fantasies @ladysparkles78

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@lightdancingwords @kamisobsessed @justwhisperingfantasies

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@bitchykittenconnoisseur

[morgana-larkin]

Alright, here’s the arrival of part 3 of “Just Tired”. I’m so glad that there’s been so much interest in this series! I’m wanting to make this series as realistic as possible for someone going through it as I still struggle with the trauma for when I went through it, even though I escaped him at the end of 2021. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I was listening to Angel Eyes by ABBA as it seemed fitting lol. Would have posted this earlier but I was watching the chiefs get their asses handed to them. Go Birds! 🦅

Just Tired -Part 3

Warnings: Manipulation relationship, small masturbation part, Melissa going through some confusion

Words: 3.75

You awake at 5am to your alarm going off and you shut it off before you get ready. You hop in the shower and in there you can’t help your mind drift to Melissa and how beautiful she looks, even when she was downright ignoring you.

“Stop it, mind! She’s married.” You remind yourself. But that doesn’t stop your hand from wandering down to your clit and start circling it.

You lean against the shower wall and close your eyes as you picture Melissa being there. You imagine how her lips would feel all over you, how she might make you come. Would she want to use her tongue or her fingers or even a strap? You honestly wouldn’t say no to any of those if she was asking. You then feel yourself right at the edge and you start circling faster and then you come. You quickly have your shower and then you get ready and leave at 6:30. You walk up to her house at 6:58 and you knock on her door. She opens the door a few seconds later and she takes your breath away.

“Hey Y/n, just gotta grab my things then we can go.” She says and you nod.

“Alright.” You say and then take a step back and watch as she gathers all her things. When you step back you notice her ‘Go Away!’ welcome mat and you snort. “Nice mat.” You tell her as she steps outside and she smiles.

“It’s to ward off unwanted visitors.” She says as she locks the door.

“Does it work?”

“Most of the time, yes.” She says and you both walk to her car. “Apparently it doesn’t work on family.” She adds and you smile.

“Good to know.” You tell her. “So you giving me rides, does this make us acquaintances?” You ask her and she looks at you before starting the car.

“No, this is me just helping someone in need, and I’m not going out of my way to help them.”

“So you have a heart then.” You say and she rolls her eyes at you before bringing the car onto the street. “So is the husband not up?” You ask her and she shakes her head.

“He doesn’t get up until another half hour. He doesn’t have to be at the fire station until 9.” She tells you.

“He’s a firefighter?” You ask her and she nods.

“Yep.” She says and you take your phone out and go on your social media. You look up Melissa on Facebook and then you click on the name where it says who she’s married to and see a picture of him.

“And what exactly do you see in this… Joe?” You ask her and she looks at you quickly before turning her attention back to the road.

“Did you just look at my account?” She asks.

“Obviously. But what exactly do you see in him? I mean there’s ones much better looking than him.” You tell her and she quirks an eyebrow at you. “I’m gay not blind.” You tell her and she snorts.

“We met in college and he was really nice to me. He kept talking to me, giving me gifts that he knew I’d like, listening to what I say, wanting to spend all his free time with me, even before he asked me out.” She tells you and two words come to your mind when she says this, love bombing. You don’t say anything as it’s not your place and it was probably like over 20 years ago and you’re sure things are different now.

“So why are you so closed off?” You ask her to change the subject.

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” She asks.

“I don't normally, only when something catches my interest.” You say and she quirks an eyebrow at you.

“And I caught your interest?” She asks and you nod.

“You seem like an interesting person, and you wanting to say nothing about your life only makes you more interesting. You’re a mystery.” You tell her.

“And I like to remain a mystery.” She tells you.

“You know I could probably just ask Barb questions about if I really want, I mean you two seem close.” You say.

“Barb and I have been best friends for over a decade and she knows I like my privacy. She won’t tell you a thing.” She says to you and you lean back in the seat and pout.

“Are we close enough for me to at least know your favourite colour?” You ask her.

“It’s pink.” She says and you give her a weird look. “What?”

“The badass of Abbott likes pink? I would have never guessed that.”

“What’s wrong with pink?”

“It’s seen as a colour for little girls, especially when Barbie came out.” You explain.

“Alright, what colour do you like?” She asks.

“F/C.”

“Ok, interesting.” She says as she pulls up into the parking lot of Abbott and then you both get out and walk into the building.

*In the break room*

“I’m telling you that I saw Melissa purposely go up and start talking to Y/n. And not only that but it seemed like there was some attraction there as well.” Janine tells Jacob.

“It doesn’t matter for Melissa if there’s attraction, she’s married to a nice ma… she’s married.” Barb tells them. “She has never cheated on him and she doesn’t intend to. And has never thought about leaving him either…even though she should.” Barb adds and she gets a weird look from Janine and Jacob.

Just then you and Melissa both enter the break room and everyone looks at you both.

“What are youse looking at?” Melissa asks them.

“This is the third day where you get here at the same time.” Jacob says as you go to sit down with him and Janine.

“We just end up getting here at the same time. Is that a crime?” You ask them.

“Ok what about yesterday? I saw Melissa and you talking and smiling.” Janine asks you.

“Janine, what exactly are you asking?” You ask her and cross your arms.

“Is there an attraction between you two?” She bluntly asks. “You have mentioned you’re into hot older gingers and Melissa fits that.” She adds.

“Ok, first of all, Melissa and I were talking about our job yesterday as she was nice enough to give me pointers. Second of all, yes Melissa is a hot older ginger but she’s married and we’re not even acquaintances as Melissa very clearly told me that she barely talks to newbies.” You tell everyone and they shut up after that.

“So what pointers did Melissa give you yesterday?” Janine asks after a couple minutes.

“She told me to not do my lesson plan so far in advance and expect to fall behind, don’t be too stressed that it’s my first year of teaching on my own and she generously took a look at my first week lesson plan and said it was good and the kids will enjoy it.” You tell them and you weren’t lying as Melissa did actually tell you all those things.

“Melissa, you gave her that advice?” Barb asks her and Melissa nods.

“I don’t like communicating with newbies but the kid looked like she was gonna have a panic attack, I wasn’t gonna sit by and do nothing.” Melissa tells her.

“Oh Janine and Jacob, would you help me hang a few things that require 2 people?” You ask them and they immediately nod.

“As long as it’s not on a ladder.” Janine says and you nod.

“You’re not climbing a ladder, it’s not high.” You tell her.

Melissa watches from her desk as you and Jacob hang some stuff up and Janine directs you both to make sure it’s straight. Melissa’s mind starts to wander. She doesn’t know why but you seem to have caught her interest a bit. Her telling you her husband doesn’t forgive her just honestly slipped out and she doesn’t why she said it. Of course her husband forgives her every time. And then she tries to remember when was the last time he said he’s sorry and she can’t remember.

“I’m telling you it’s straight.” She hears Janine says.

“It doesn’t look straight to me.” She hears you counter. She then gets up and leans against her doorframe with her arms crossed. She sees you and Janine a few feet away from her and you’re looking at your board.

“You two are loud.” She says and catches both of your attention.

“How about we ask Melissa?” You tell Janine.

“No, she’ll just side with you as you’re friends.” Janine counters.

“Ya, we’re not friends.” Melissa says and goes to stand beside Janine and looks at the board. “And it’s not straight.” She says and sees you sticking your tongue out at Janine. “It’s a little high on the left.” She adds and then goes back to her door. “Try to keep it down this time.” She says and then walks inside her classroom.

At lunchtime she gets there before anyone else does and takes a few seconds to decompress as she gets her salad out. Everyone else comes in about a minute later and Barb gets her lunch and sits down and immediately notices Melissa is looking stressed.

“Are you alright?” Barb asks her.

“Ya, just a headache.” Melissa says softly.

Barb knows that she’s lying. But she also knows Melissa enough to know that she’s not ready to say anything and she’ll tell her when she is ready.

“Want some ibuprofen?” You ask since you heard as you were at the coffee maker. “I always carry some as I can get some painful cramps when menstruating. And that’s probably too much information.” You immediately say and it gets Melissa to crack a smile.

“It’s not that type of headache, but thanks hon.” Melissa tells you and you nod.

“Want some coffee? New batch is ready.” You offer and she nods and gives you her coffee mug.

“Thanks kid.” She says as you hand her the mug back with coffee.

“Y/n, do you have any plans this weekend?” Janine asks you as you join her and Jacob at the table.

“Probably just watch the game, I hope the Eagles hand the cowboys their asses.” You say and you don’t notice Melissa smiling at that comment.

“What about you?” You ask her and she goes into some detailed plan about what her and Tariq are doing this weekend.

When lunch ends, you all get up to go but Melissa stops you and Janine.

“Just wanted to let you both know that around February is when I do this Peter Rabbit art project with the kids and each of your second graders can join as well.” She says to you both.

“Oh that sounds exciting. What do they usually make?” You ask her.

“A rabbit face from paper plates.” She says.

“Oh that sounds fun, definitely count my class in as it sounds exciting. Y/n is your class going to join?” Janine asks.

“Definitely count my class in as well, they’ll enjoy that.” You tell Melissa and she nods before she goes back to her classroom.

At the end of the day, you pack up your things and you head out the door and you run into Jacob and Janine and you have a conversation with them for a few minutes before they both head to their cars. You start to head to the bus stop when Melissa stops you.

“My car is the other way.” She tells you and you turn around to face her.

“I didn't know how long your offer was by driving me home.” You tell her.

“Until you can get gas in your car.” She says and you smile before following her to her car. You both don’t notice everyone watching you both as you get in Melissa’s car.

“Thanks again.” You tell her as you do up your seatbelt and she pulls out. “So how long have you done the Peter Rabbit project for?” You ask her.

“Since I started working here, almost 15 years ago.” She tells you. “By the way, do you really think I’m hot?” She asks you and you furrow your eyebrows. “You told Janine that in the break room this morning.” She clarifies.

“Well of course you are. You honestly don’t need all that makeup.” You tell her and you see her smiling and a hint of a blush on the cheek that you see.

Melissa gets home a few minutes after dropping you off and she immediately goes to the kitchen for a glass of wine. She takes a deep breath after she takes a few sips and puts her head in her hands. She keeps getting compliments and praises from you and she doesn’t know how to react. She then realises that it’s been awhile since she received any from Joe and a tear slips down her cheek but she quickly wipes it off.

“Don’t cry, I’m not sensitive.” She tells herself and takes a big sip of her wine.

She has 2 glasses of wine and ends up falling asleep on the couch. When Joe gets home, he leaves her be and goes to reheat leftovers and watches tv in the bedroom. Melissa gets home a couple hours later and immediately goes to eat. After she eats she hears the tv on upstairs and goes to see Joe.

“Finally awake?” Joe asks her and she nods her head.

“You could have woken me up.” She tells him.

“I wanted to watch tv by myself anyway without being asked for cuddles or any kisses.” He tells her.

“I’m sorry, I know sometimes I might be too needy and I’m trying not to be.” She tells him and she goes downstairs to watch tv by herself.

She falls asleep on the couch again and wakes up around 4am. She gets her phone out and sees that it’s dead so she charges it as she makes breakfast. She eats and then she puts some in a container for Joe when he gets up. She gets ready for work and then she goes outside a few minutes early and sees you pull up on your bike.

“I woke up late but I don’t remember biking being this tiring.” You tell her and she shakes her head at you.

“You can leave it in the backyard for now.” She tells you and you nod. You come back out a couple minutes later and you get in the car.

The car ride this time was pretty quiet as you tried to make conversation but wasn’t getting replies. She pulls up 10 minutes later and you both get out and walk inside. This time you actually don’t head to the break room, you turn into your hallway and head to your classroom instead. It takes Melissa about 30 seconds to notice as she was in her own world and wanted to question you but you were too far ahead.

“Did you and Y/n not arrive at the same time today?” Barb asks her.

“No, I saw her come in, she went to her classroom for whatever reason.” Melissa explains.

“Interesting thing yesterday, I saw her get in your car when we were all leaving for the day.” Barb says and everyone looks at Melissa.

“Oh, well that’s none of youse businesses.” Melissa says. Right after she says that, you walk in and you head straight for the coffee machine.

“Y/n, we all saw you go in Melissa’s car yesterday.” Janine immediately tells you and you shrug.

“Cool.” Is all you say and pour yourself a cup and head back to your classroom. Janine and Jacob sensed something must be wrong and follow you out.

“So Melissa, now that we’re alone, want to tell me what’s happening?” Barb asks Melissa.

“On Tuesday I saw Y/n on the side of the road in my neighbourhood and she said she ran out of gas. I’ve just been giving her rides as she lives like a minute away from me, that’s all.” Melissa explains.

“Well that’s nice of you.” Barb says and really looks at Melissa. “Is something wrong?”

“What do you think of Joe?” Melissa asks her and Barb tilts her head.

“What do you mean?”

“Well Y/n has actually given me compliments in the week she’s been here, more compliments than Joe has given me in the past year. So what does that say?” Melissa asks her.

“That Joe doesn’t give compliments.” Barb simply says. “Melissa, I’ve given my opinion on Joe many times over a decade ago and you always gave reasons why I was wrong. I stopped trying as you kept defending your marriage with him.”

“Well you never had a lot of nice opinions about him but you never knew him like I do.” Melissa states.

“You’re right, I don’t. And I hope he’s changed since then.” Barb says and goes back to her cup of coffee.

*Your classroom*

“So you went on a date 2 months ago with a girl, but stayed friends and she invited you to watch the game at a bar this weekend?” Janine says and you nod.

“I thought like everyone else that she’d just forget me and we’d never talk again.” You tell them.

“So you have a new friend, what’s the problem?” Jacob asks you.

“She’s a little crazy.” You tell them. “I’m just hoping that after the game, she never wants to speak to me again.” You add.

Melissa gets to her classroom and sees your door is closed but can see Jacob and Janine standing near your desk from the little window on the door.

The morning goes by quickly for Melissa, and before she knows it, it’s lunchtime and she heads to the break room and gets her lunch.

“So I was notified this morning by a parent of one of my students that I’m getting.” You say to Janine and Jacob.

“And what did they want?” Janine asks.

“They wanted to let me know that they tested their daughter over the summer and apparently this kid is dyslexic.” You tell them and that catches Melissa’s attention and she turns around to look at you.

“Do you know how to teach a dyslexic child?” Melissa asks you and you shake your head.

“No, but I could just google some ways to help her.” You tell her and she nods and goes on her phone.

You go to your classroom and an hour later Melissa walks in and closes your door behind her and walks up to your desk where you’re arranging some papers.

“Melissa, what can I-”

“Can you switch the dyslexic kid over to my class?” She asks you and you tilt your head.

“Why?” You ask her.

“I can help her better.” She states and you furrow your eyebrows.

“Look I know I’m new but I’m pretty sure I’m not an idiot.” You say and she sighs.

“It’s not about you being new, it’s the fact that you can’t relate to her.” She says and the gears in your head are turning until it dawns on you.

“You’re dyslexic?” You ask her and she nods.

“I haven’t had a student who’s dyslexic and I feel like I can help her the same way that I was.” She says and you smile.

“Of course, want to go to the principal to make the transfer right now?” You ask her and she looks taken back.

“Wait, you’re not going to say no?” She asks and you shrug.

“Since you’re dyslexic then you might be the best teacher to help her.” You tell her and you go to your door. “Come on, let’s go see Principal Coleman.” You say and she follows you to Ava’s office.

“What do you two want?” Ava asks you.

“We want to transfer a student from my class to Melissa’s class.” You tell her and she rolls her eyes before she gets to one of the women in the office and you follow her.

“Can you do a classroom transfer?” She asks her and the woman nods. “She’ll help you with that.” Ava tells you both and you nod.

“Thank you.” You say and you and Melissa get the transfer done. “I’ll also send you the email that the parents sent me. They said a couple ways that they’ve noticed have helped her.” You tell Melissa on the way back and she nods.

“Ok, thank you.” She tells you and you nod.

“I’ll also notify the parents and tell them about the transfer.” You tell her and she nods. “Do you mind if I tell them that you’re dyslexic as well?” You ask her.

“No, that’s alright. It’ll probably make them happier that their daughter’s teacher has the same thing.” She says.

“Alright, I’ll forward you the email right away.” You tell her and go inside your classroom.

Melissa receives the email a few minutes later and sees the ways to best help her and writes it down.

She goes through the rest of what she needs to get done and finishes about an hour before the day ends. She stays on her phone for the rest of the day and waits a few minutes for you in the parking lot.

“You waited for me?” You ask her as she’s leaning against her car.

“Well I offered you rides, plus your bike is at my place.” She says. “I’m gonna drive to my place and you can bike home.” She tells you and you nod.

“Sounds good.” You say.

Melissa drives you both to her place and you go to get your bike right away.

“Hey Melissa.” You say as you come out with your bike and she looks at you. “I can probably actually just bike to and from school.”

“You ran out of breath biking for like 5 minutes. How are you going to survive for another 30 minutes?” She asks you and you shrug. “Mm, I’ll see you Monday at 7.” She tells you and then goes inside. You put your helmet on, get on your bike and start biking back home. Melissa watches from the window as you leave and she sighs. “What the fuck am I doing?” She says out loud and goes to get some wine and chocolate.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

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Let me know if you want to be added!

[vampiresbloodx]

I wonder how good your hands feel around my neck.

pairings: Vi x reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings/contains(18+ ONLY): smut, reader has a vagina, Vi loves her some tits, clubbing, tattoo artist!vi, innocent!reader, porn without plot/plot what plot, top!vi, dirty talk, flirting, daddy vi, fingering

You have the absolute filthiest thoughts that come to mind while getting tattooed. Some you really can’t control, they just appear and you end up fixated on them for hours, before you know it, your session has ended. 

Vi, short for Violet, is the first artist who’s ever tattooed you ever. With her pink hair, to her muscles that are covered in ink. You can’t help but wonder how strong she is, you know she’s talked about how she did boxing one time, she even tried karate, many forms where she gets to fight and use her hands. 

You know she’s good with her hands. 

When you first got your tattoo done by her, you focused on the way her fingers moved the entire time and how the art came alive on your skin, the needle not even bothering you. She was impressed at how long you can stay still. 

You were slightly surprised yourself. You didn’t mind the pain, the pain had slowly turned into pleasure meeting halfway. That’s what made it all worth it. 

You’d work more hours just to save more money so you could see her again, you thought at first you loved her style, how she worked, all that. But then you realised it was more than that. 

Almost you wanted to stop going to her, and you did for a while, focusing on other things in your personal life. Actually trying to hang out with your friends and go outside instead of only going to work and the few shops and stores you went to. It was nice for a while, you did miss her, which felt stupid when she didn’t know you at all. She was just a girl that gave you a few tattoos, some of your best. 

And then you saw her again. 

You went out with a couple of friends on a saturday night, you couldn’t describe the shock you were in when you saw a familiar pink haired girl who was at the same bar as you. Even in a big city, it's strange how you can see the same faces again. 

She was actually here. 

You couldn’t contain how much your heart was racing, you weren’t even paying attention to anything your friend was saying, she grinned when she saw who you were staring at. 

“Hey, is that-” 

“That’s no one,” you interrupted quickly, looking away.

She smiled more. 

“Just go and talk to her, it won’t be as weird since you two already know each other.” 

You shook your head, “that would still be fucking weird and you know it.” 

She shrugged, “maybe a little. But what if I told you she’s coming your way right now?” 

Wait, what? 

Before you could ask any more questions as you thought she was messing with you, it turns out she wasn’t. Just as you turned around to look where Vi was, she was really walking towards you, in your direction, maybe she might just walk past, not even notice you, maybe she saw someone else instead. 

And of course your friend ditched you. 

You heard your name being called. 

It never sounded so much nicer coming from her mouth. 

“Vi? Hey” you tried to act smoothly, as if you didn’t know she was already here. 

“I have to say, you look good, like really good.” 

Did she just?... 

Were you actually dreaming right now? 

“You look great yourself” you decided to say back, it didn’t seem like it would hurt if you flirted back a little. 

She really did though. She wore black ripped jeans, loose tank top that showed a bit of her abs that you couldn’t help but look at shamelessly. God you were obsessed with her. You had an issue. But right now all you could think about was how her hands would feel around your neck as she fucked you silly. 

You didn’t see how much closer she got to stand next to you, until your hands brushed against one another. You couldn’t focus. With the loud music blasting in your ears, the lingering touches. What did she want? 

“Where are your friends?” she asks, her eyes never leaving yours, as you bite down on your bottom lip. 

“She left, of course.” 

“She left a pretty girl like you all by yourself?” she hummed, tilting her head to the side. “Can I keep you company for a lil while? I can make it worth your time.” 

How could you ever deny her? 

You followed her back to her place, you haven’t gone home with someone in a while, you’re happier it was with her than any other stranger. 

She held your hand with a strong grip, leading you the way, making sure you were always with her. The silence between you both wasn't even uncomfortable, you actually enjoyed it. 

It was the thrill of her that was exciting to you, you craved more. 

You laughed with her as her hands roamed your body, touching you wherever she pleases and where you wanted her to be. You let her. And then you found yourself begging for more, it wasn’t long until she had you where she wanted you to be, on top of you as she teased you, slowly taking your clothes off. 

“I hate to take these pretty clothes off, but I think i’d be more happy to see your naked body” she licked her lips, you made a noise as she raised an eyebrow at you. “Someones getting needy.” 

“Please, just touch me” you whimpered.

She spread your thighs apart, keeping one hand a tight grip on them to make sure you don’t move as much. You liked it. The way she stared at you had you squirming. 

“But i'm already touching you?” she teased, and so easily, she slipped a finger inside your wet pussy, moaning at how well you fit her, she wanted to fill you up. 

“God baby, you’re soaking” she groaned, thrusting her finger in and out slowly on purpose, hearing you whine louder, she loved how vocal you got the harder and faster she fucked you. 

Her other hand played with your tits, as she groped you and fondled with them, you were on cloud nine, why didn’t you do this sooner? You both wondered. She really wanted to taste you badly. She wanted to make you cum on her face, make you ride her, hear just how loud you can get. 

She added another finger in and another, stretching you out as she imagined how fucking sexy you’ll look riding her thick strap on, as you cried sweetly. 

“Who knew you were such a slut, behind how innocent you showed yourself to others” she chuckled. She felt herself getting more turned on, getting off on how wet you are for her. “You gonna come for me, baby? Make a mess on my fingers? I want you to come.” 

You let out a sweet release of a beautiful cry, she wanted more. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as your body shook. Still you craved her touch. You didn’t just want it to be over, and she didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. 

“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving me.” 

“No, I need you.” 

“Good girl, now come use me as a seat, would you?.” 

[multific]

Back From The Dead

Simon Kalivoda x Reader

Summary: Months after Simon Kalivoda’s tragic death, you visit his grave, never expecting to see him again. But Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, a miracle. 

Shadyside had a way of swallowing people whole, leaving nothing but ghosts behind.

That’s what you told yourself when you stood at Simon Kalivoda’s grave, fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers in your hands. 

It had been months. 

Long enough for the town to move on, long enough for people to stop whispering about the massacre. 

But you never moved on.

How could you? 

He wasn’t just another name on the news. He was Simon. 

Loud, ridiculous, reckless Simon who swore he’d live forever.

And yet here you were, talking to a headstone.

“I hate this,” you muttered, kneeling in the dirt. “You weren’t supposed to go out like that. Not you.” Your voice cracked, and you clenched your jaw. “And now I’m standing here, talking to you like a crazy person, hoping you can hear me wherever you are.”

The wind howled through the trees, rustling the leaves around you. A chill ran up your spine, but you ignored it.

“I miss you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I thought was possible.”

A sharp crack echoed through the cemetery. It was like twigs snapping underfoot. 

You froze. 

Slowly, you turned, expecting some drunk kids messing around. But there was no one there. Just rows of gravestones, shadows stretching long beneath the moonlight.

You swallowed hard and turned back. 

Only to come face to face with Simon.

Your breath caught, the world tilting sideways. You couldn't even scream.

He looked… real. Solid. Alive. 

Not a ghostly figure or a vision, but Simon.

He was standing there in his stupid ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie, hair messy as ever.

Your heart hammered. “What the-”

“Holy shit.” His voice was rough like he hadn’t used it in a long time. His wide, disbelieving eyes scanned you before he let out a breathless laugh. “I-am I dead? Wait, no-was I dead?”

You stumbled back, hands shaking. “This isn’t real.”

Simon looked just as freaked out as you, staring at his own hands before touching his chest. “I-this is so fucked up.” His eyes flicked back to you, desperate. “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?”

You didn’t know what to say. You could barely breathe. Your mind screamed at you to run, but your heart-your heart told you to move closer.

“Simon,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “It’s really you.”

Tears blurred your vision as you reached out, hesitantly brushing your fingers against his arm. Warm. Real.

He was real.

That was all it took. Suddenly, you were throwing yourself at him, and Simon caught you without hesitation, arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go. 

He smelled the same, faint cologne, cheap shampoo, a hint of candy.

“I thought you were gone,” you choked out against his shoulder.

Simon exhaled shakily, squeezing you tighter. “Me too.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “What happened? I-” He swallowed hard. “I remember the axe. The pain. And then… nothing.” His brows furrowed. “How the hell am I here?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Simon let out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed you.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if this is real and I get a second chance...” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “I don’t wanna waste it.”

Your throat tightened. “You never wasted anything, Si.”

He huffed. “That’s not true. I wasted so much time pretending I didn’t want more with you.” His voice dropped, more serious than you’d ever heard it. “I want it now. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed him.

And when he kissed you back, warm and alive and real, you knew one thing for certain.

Simon Kalivoda might have died that night.

But somehow, some way, he had come back for you.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, you were allowed a single miracle. 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[pomegranatelifethis]

A Bond That Grows in the Shadows

**My native language is not English**

A Bond Grown in ShadowsThe young heroes of the Titans and Young Justice were doomed to be consumed by the chaos of their lives. Their days were filled with battles, losses, and sacrifices. Many believed that being a hero only required strength and courage. But in reality, the greatest price was loneliness.And no one knew that better than the man who preferred to disappear into the night: Batman.He had taken on more responsibilities than he could bear. His nights were spent protecting Gotham, and his days were consumed by his own internal battles. For years, he trained, protected, and—whether he meant to or not—taught the young people around him his greatest fear: the fear of being alone.You knew that loneliness all too well, didn’t you?Because he had rejected you the moment you were born.Growing up without a father didn’t make you weak; it made you tougher, more resilient. But still, hadn’t you once wished for a shoulder to lean on? Hadn’t you, just for one night, hoped to hear a voice in your dreams?You could never tell anyone. No one could know.And when fate brought you face to face with him years later, you didn’t want to remember.But Batman’s piercing gaze had a way of opening the dusty pages of the past.---When you arrived at the Young Justice base, you wanted to retreat like the others. The exhaustion from the mission weighed on both your body and mind. But Batman, as always, noticed every little detail.When you heard his footsteps approaching, you instinctively tensed your shoulders.Then, his firm, commanding voice broke through the room:“(Name).”The room fell silent.The other heroes turned their gazes toward you, and for a moment, you wished you could disappear. But Batman’s eyes told you that escape was impossible.His brows were furrowed, his face as rigid as ever. But when you looked closely, you didn’t see anger. You saw concern.“I’m fine, really,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.Batman’s eyes only narrowed further.“You might fool yourself here, but not me.”And in that moment, you knew there was no point in resisting."Medbay. Now."---Sitting in the cold, antiseptic-scented room, you watched as Batman removed his gloves.You flinched when his hands, calloused but careful, brushed over your injuries. His touch was firm, yet oddly gentle.You knew it was impossible to hide anything from him. And that terrified you more than anything else.The silence between you was thick, almost suffocating.Finally, he spoke.“Why did you hide it?”You averted your eyes. With a faint smile, you shrugged. “I figured I’d handle it somehow. Besides... everyone had bigger problems.”Batman exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second.Then, unexpectedly, he said:"Being a hero doesn’t mean carrying everything on your own."Your breath caught for a moment.Those words… why did they affect you so much?Batman hesitated for a moment before placing a firm hand on your shoulder.His touch was heavy but… reassuring."Next time, don’t hide your wounds."His voice was softer this time. Almost… protective."It’s our responsibility to lighten your burden."You nodded slightly. His words didn’t sound like an order. More like a… promise.But could you really accept that?Batman lingered in the room for a few seconds longer, as if he wanted to say something else. But then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the medbay.And for the first time, you realized that someone actually cared.That was more terrifying than anything else.

A Bond Grown in ShadowsThe young heroes of the Titans and Young Justice were doomed to be consumed by the chaos of their lives. Their days were filled with battles, losses, and sacrifices. Many believed that being a hero only required strength and courage. But in reality, the greatest price was loneliness.And no one knew that better than the man who preferred to disappear into the night: Batman.He had taken on more responsibilities than he could bear. His nights were spent protecting Gotham, and his days were consumed by his own internal battles. For years, he trained, protected, and—whether he meant to or not—taught the young people around him his greatest fear: the fear of being alone.You knew that loneliness all too well, didn’t you?Because he had rejected you the moment you were born.Growing up without a father didn’t make you weak; it made you tougher, more resilient. But still, hadn’t you once wished for a shoulder to lean on? Hadn’t you, just for one night, hoped to hear a voice in your dreams?You could never tell anyone. No one could know.And when fate brought you face to face with him years later, you didn’t want to remember.But Batman’s piercing gaze had a way of opening the dusty pages of the past.---When you arrived at the Young Justice base, you wanted to retreat like the others. The exhaustion from the mission weighed on both your body and mind. But Batman, as always, noticed every little detail.When you heard his footsteps approaching, you instinctively tensed your shoulders.Then, his firm, commanding voice broke through the room:“(Name).”The room fell silent.The other heroes turned their gazes toward you, and for a moment, you wished you could disappear. But Batman’s eyes told you that escape was impossible.His brows were furrowed, his face as rigid as ever. But when you looked closely, you didn’t see anger. You saw concern.“I’m fine, really,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.Batman’s eyes only narrowed further.“You might fool yourself here, but not me.”And in that moment, you knew there was no point in resisting."Medbay. Now."---Sitting in the cold, antiseptic-scented room, you watched as Batman removed his gloves.You flinched when his hands, calloused but careful, brushed over your injuries. His touch was firm, yet oddly gentle.You knew it was impossible to hide anything from him. And that terrified you more than anything else.The silence between you was thick, almost suffocating.Finally, he spoke.“Why did you hide it?”You averted your eyes. With a faint smile, you shrugged. “I figured I’d handle it somehow. Besides... everyone had bigger problems.”Batman exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second.Then, unexpectedly, he said:"Being a hero doesn’t mean carrying everything on your own."Your breath caught for a moment.Those words… why did they affect you so much?Batman hesitated for a moment before placing a firm hand on your shoulder.His touch was heavy but… reassuring."Next time, don’t hide your wounds."His voice was softer this time. Almost… protective."It’s our responsibility to lighten your burden."You nodded slightly. His words didn’t sound like an order. More like a… promise.But could you really accept that?Batman lingered in the room for a few seconds longer, as if he wanted to say something else. But then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the medbay.And for the first time, you realized that someone actually cared.That was more terrifying than anything else.

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ too late to speak .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

𓏵 879 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, unestablished relationship with reader, angst, hurt/no comfort

might give this a part 2 with a happy ending if I feel like it or anyone asks (-ω-；) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul always knew you were kind.

Not just polite or charming, but truly, genuinely kind. The kind of person who greeted everyone by name, who asked how their day was and actually listened to the answer. The kind of person who saw past his sharp businessman’s smile, his smooth-talking arrogance, and treated him as if he was worth more than just a contract.

But that was just how you were with everyone.

He told himself that, over and over again. That you were just friendly. That there was nothing special about the way you spoke to him, that he was foolish for thinking he meant anything more to you than the next student you happened to befriend.

So he waited.

Waited for a sign. For proof that you might see him the way he saw you. Because Azul Ashengrotto didn’t take risks he couldn’t afford to lose, and losing you—the idea of you rejecting him, looking at him with pity—was something he could never gamble on.

So he said nothing.

And in turn, neither did you.

You used to think Azul would be the one to confess first.

He was strategic, after all—always had a plan, always thought five steps ahead. If he wanted something, he found a way to get it. And for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, maybe, you were something he wanted, too.

You caught the way he lingered whenever you spoke, how his usually quick-witted tongue tripped over itself when you leaned a little too close. The way his gaze softened when he thought no one was looking.

You noticed it all. And it made your heart race, made your stomach twist in that agonizing, hopeful way.

But Azul never acted. Never said a word.

So, eventually, you convinced yourself you had imagined it.

That if he truly wanted you, he would have done something by now.

That maybe, despite the way you thought he looked at you, despite the way you wanted him to look at you—he never actually felt the same.

But you had to be sure.

So you tested him.

"Azul, I need your help."

He looked up from his ledger, barely registering your words at first. He had spent the past hour going over the Lounge’s weekly earnings, making adjustments, analyzing profit margins—but all of that became meaningless the moment you stepped into his office.

You were smiling. You always smiled.

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing his pen down. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. That wasn’t like you. You were usually so confident when asking him for favors, teasing him about his endless contracts and over-the-top business plans.

This time, though, you looked... nervous.

"I... well, you know I’ve been spending a lot of time with—" you said a name. Azul barely heard it. His mind had already started ringing, a dull roar drowning out the sound of your voice.

No. No, no, no.

Not that name. Not them.

"I think I like them, Azul," you admitted, fingers gripping the hem of your uniform. "And I—I want to tell them. But I don’t know how to do it without making a fool of myself."

Your heart was pounding. It was humiliating, really, standing here, asking him of all people for help with this.

Because you weren’t just asking for advice. You were waiting. Watching.

For the slightest change in his expression. A flicker of something—anything—that might prove you hadn’t been wrong.

That all those moments weren’t just in your head.

That Azul wanted you.

But Azul didn’t react.

He blinked once, his expression unreadable, and then—he smiled.

The same careful, practiced smile you had seen him use a hundred times before.

"I see," he said, voice perfectly even. "Well, that is quite the dilemma."

A laugh escaped you—light, relieved. That was that, then.

It was never real, was it?

Azul had never liked you the way you liked him.

His throat closed up. His hands curled into fists beneath his desk.

You—you were asking him for advice on how to confess to someone else.

He should’ve seen this coming. He did see this coming, deep down. But he had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of rejection to reach for the one thing he wanted more than anything.

And now?

Now you were asking him to help you love someone else.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Azul?" Your voice was so soft, so sweet. So unfair.

He forced himself to smile. To laugh.

To play the part of the perfect, unaffected friend.

And when you beamed at him, oblivious, he knew—he had already lost.

You had your answer.

It stung. More than you wanted to admit.

But at least now you knew.

At least now, you wouldn’t spend another second waiting for something that was never going to come.

You smiled at Azul, one final test, but he didn’t hesitate. He launched into his usual confident spiel, offering you advice like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t crushing your chest with every word.

And for the first time, you really believed him.

Azul didn’t want you.

Not like that.

And if that was the case, then maybe moving on really was the right choice.

[imjustatorturedpoet]

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter 7: I remember now.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3💘

word count: 6.1k

————

”Lights out in ten minutes. Please prepare for bedtime."

The announcer’s voice echoed through the dormitory, artificial and indifferent.

Your group moved with quiet urgency, working together to execute Gi-hun’s plan. The idea was simple—cluster the beds together to create a barricaded sleeping area, a makeshift shelter beneath the bunks where mattresses could be laid out on the floor. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than being exposed.

There was an unspoken understanding between you all—this wasn’t just about comfort. It was about survival.

Dae-ho, Jung-bae and Young-il handled the heavier lifting, dragging the mattresses around.

Others were watching. Observing. You could feel it. Some players had already claimed their spots in isolated corners, eyeing the way your group worked with something between curiosity and calculation.

Meanwhile, you and Jun-hee gathered pillows and blankets, tossing them onto the newly formed sleeping space. You weren’t just setting up beds—you were creating a stronghold. A space where no one could slip in unnoticed. Hopefully.

Jung-bae exhaled loudly, adjusting one of the mattresses with a skeptical glance. "Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there."

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. "Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us."

Dae-ho crouched beside Jun-hee. "What? Who?"

Young-il approached, wordlessly extending his hands to help you move the stuff around. You should have ignored him. Pretended not to notice. Pretended you were too busy, too focused, too anything to acknowledge him. But you weren’t rude.

Even if you wanted to be. At least, not to him.

Your fingers twitched around the fabric in your grasp, the weight of his presence pressing against your senses like an unwelcome reminder. You had barely spoken since dinner. Since the vote. Since the moment his name had been paired with a word you weren’t prepared for. Wife.

The thought still sat heavy in your chest, thick and cloying.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t naïve. You knew what kind of man he was. Controlled. Always a step ahead. He could say so much without saying anything at all. And yet, earlier, when that word had slipped into the conversation, he hadn’t said much of anything at all.

And that was what bothered you most.

Not the fact that he was married—okay, maybe that did bother you a lot—but the fact that when Gi-hun said it, Young-il hesitated. Froze. And looked at you.

Like there was something he wanted to explain but didn’t.

Like he had expected something from you.

And that was dangerous.

Because what the hell was he expecting? And more importantly—why did you care? You only met him yesterday.

Right?

It should have felt that way, but it didn’t. There was something about him—something that lingered just beneath the surface, threading through your thoughts like an old memory you couldn’t quite grasp. Like a name on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

And if you had met him before, if he really was the man from the rain—then why was he acting like you were strangers?

You clenched your jaw, shoving the thoughts down as you forced yourself to move.

Without a word, you handed him a blanket. Your fingers brushed his for half a second longer than necessary, and you swore you felt the slight shift in his posture, the way his grip adjusted just a little too slow.

You ignored it. You had to ignore it.

Because if you didn’t, you’d start thinking about the way he looked at you across the dormitory earlier. Or the way his hand had rested on your thigh at dinner. Or the way his voice dropped when he spoke to you alone, low and deliberate, like he wasn’t just speaking—he was choosing.

And you couldn’t do that.

So, instead, you exhaled sharply, turned away, and pretended that handing him that blanket hadn’t felt like handing him something much heavier.

Gi-hun continued, his voice steady but firm. "The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s part of the game they designed."

Young-il, after positioning the last mattress beneath one of the bunks, finally spoke. "Gi-hun, I think you’re overreacting. Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that."

The shift in the room was immediate.

Gi-hun’s head snapped toward Young-il, his gaze was full of hurt and anger. "In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here."

He stepped closer, his posture rigid. "You have no idea how people can change in this place."

Silence stretched between them.

Young-il didn’t flinch, but something unreadable flickered in his expression. Then, after a beat, he inclined his head in a slow, measured nod. "Alright. I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry."

The words came easily, too easily. You weren’t sure if he meant them or if he simply didn’t see the point in arguing.

Gi-hun studied him for a moment longer before finally shifting his focus back to the group.

"We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out. I’ll take the first watch. You should decide the order for the rest."

——

September 6th. The day the world ended. Not for everyone—just for you.

The speckled linoleum stretched endlessly beneath you, tiny cracks splitting across its surface like fault lines. You traced them with your eyes, again and again, mapping their paths like they meant something, like they were trying to tell you a story. But there was no story. No meaning. No reason.

The hallway was silent. Not the kind of silence that came with peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind. The kind that swallowed you whole, that pressed against your ribs until it hurt to breathe.

The machines had stopped beeping. The nurses had stopped moving. The world had stopped making sense.

Jonah was gone.

You thought maybe if you didn’t move, if you sat still enough, you could pretend it wasn’t real. If you kept your hands in your lap, fingers curled so tightly into the fabric of your jeans that your knuckles ached, then maybe you could keep yourself from shattering. Maybe you could stop time. Maybe you could pull him back.

But you couldn't.

Because the machines had stopped beeping. Because the nurses had stopped moving. Because the world had stopped making sense.

Now you were truly and utterly alone.

Your body didn’t feel like yours. It was too heavy, too empty, too cold. Your arms felt like they weren’t connected to you, your legs stiff and numb. You weren’t crying. You weren’t breathing. You weren’t anything.

You just sat there. Frozen. Hollow.

Somewhere, a clock ticked. A door opened. Someone whispered. The world kept moving.

Didn’t they know? Didn’t they realise?

Everything should have stopped. The walls should have cracked, the ceiling should have caved in, the earth itself should have split apart. The sun should have burned out. The sky should have fallen. Something. Anything.

But it didn’t. People were still walking. Talking. Breathing.

And Jonah wasn’t.

Your stomach clenched.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair.

He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be laughing, teasing, rolling his eyes at you. He was supposed to be alive.

But the machines had stopped beeping. The nurses had stopped moving. The world had stopped making sense.

A buzzing sound curled at the edges of your mind, dull and persistent. Your ears were ringing. Or maybe that was just your brain, trying to drown out the truth. Trying to drown out the nothingness swallowing you whole.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to sob. Because all the love you had for your brother was clawing at your chest trying to get out. You loved him so much. You still do. Where are you going to put it now?

You also wanted to rip the stupid linoleum tiles off the floor, to claw your nails into the cracks until they bled, to make the world feel the way you did—broken, jagged, wrong.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. So you just sat there. Alone.

And the world kept turning. Your fingers twitched, but they didn’t feel like yours. Your skin was ice cold, just like his now. You wanted to do something—anything—but you couldn’t.

Because if you moved, if you let the weight settle fully, you might shatter.

You didn’t know how long you sat there. Time had lost its meaning. It stretched and folded in on itself, minutes bleeding into hours, into nothingness.

Then you heard it. At first, it was distant. A sound curling at the edges of your awareness, fragile, barely there. But then it sharpened. Louder. Raw. Broken.

A sob, choked and gasping. Then another. And another.

It clawed its way through the heavy quiet, through the walls you had built around yourself.

Your breath hitched. You knew that sound.

It was the same one crawling up your throat, pressing against your ribs, desperate to escape. The one you wouldn’t let out. The one you didn’t want to. Because you knew once it was out, it would never stop.

Your head lifted, your gaze pulling away from the lifeless floor for the first time.

And then you saw him. Sitting on a bench at the far end of the hall, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed low. His body curled in on itself, his fingers digging into his skull like he wanted to rip something out.

The man from the rain. Young-il?

You didn’t know how you knew—it was just instinct. Recognition without reason. Like something deep inside you had already decided before your mind could catch up.

For a moment, he didn’t see you. Then—he lifted his head. And your eyes met. Something in your chest cracked, sharp and sudden. A hollow ache you didn’t have a name for.

You didn’t know why you moved. Maybe instinct. Maybe something else.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs shaky, unsteady. He watched you as you walked toward him. He didn’t tense. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there, his gaze flickering between you and the floor.

You hesitated when you reached him. Too close. Not close enough.

Without thinking, you sat beside him. Neither of you spoke.

The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled voices of nurses in another room. The world kept moving. It always did.

A sharp, shaky exhale. A sound caught between a sigh and a sob.

"She’s gone."

His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and hollow.

You didn’t ask who. You didn’t need to. You already knew.

"So is he," you murmured.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. But something in the space between you shifted, heavier, thicker.

You didn’t tell him you were sorry. You didn’t tell him it would be okay. Because it wouldn’t. Because words were meaningless here. Instead, you reached into your pocket.

Pulled out a cigarette. Held it out to him without a word. He looked at it. Then at you. Then back at it. And then, finally, he took it.

You pulled out your lighter, flicked it open, let the flame dance between you. He leaned in, letting the fire catch, the orange glow casting flickering shadows across his face.

For the first time, you really looked at him.

The exhaustion was carved into his features, deeper than just a sleepless night. His shoulders were hunched, his jaw tense, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he brought the cigarette to his lips. But he was still beautiful. In a cruel way.

You exhaled, lighting your own, taking a slow drag. The two of you sat like that, side by side, smoke curling around you in quiet spirals.

Strangers. But not alone. After a while, he spoke.

“You asked for my name.”

You exhaled, watching the smoke drift toward the ceiling.

"Does it matter?”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. But there.

"No. Guess not."

The silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating. It just was. You didn’t know how long you sat there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But eventually, your cigarette burned down to the filter, the ember flickering out.

But you still sat there. Till he ran out of tears.

You stood first. He didn’t stop you.

You took a few steps toward the door before pausing, glancing back over your shoulder.

He was still there. Watching.

Your lips curved, just slightly. Not quite a smile, but the closest thing to one you had in you.

And he nodded. Like he understood. Like he had always understood.

——

Your eyes snapped open, your chest heaving, lungs pulling in air too fast, too shallow.

The ceiling above you blurred in the dim light of the piggy bank, your pulse pounding in your ears.

You turned your head, struggling to piece together where you were—what was real. The steel bed frames above you, the concrete walls, the distant sounds of breathing. The dormitory. The games.

A nightmare. But not really. More like a bad memory, finally breaking through the thick walls your brain had built to keep it out.

Your brain does that—it buries things, tucks them away in the darkest corners, convincing you they never existed. Just so you wouldn’t hurt anymore. But now, the barriers had crumbled, and the truth stood bare. You remembered.

You looked at the makeshift bed to your left, but it was empty. Glancing at the stairs, you saw that Young-il was taking watch.

Your stomach twisted painfully, like you were going to puke. You pushed yourself up slowly, careful not to disturb Jun-hee beside you. The cold floor bit into your palms as you steadied yourself.

Young-il’s eyes scanned the room with quiet vigilance. The light cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unreadable. Detached.

But you knew now. You knew. Finally.

Before you even processed what you were doing, you moved. Crawling out from under the bed, you crossed the small space between you. He didn’t react when you sat down beside him, only his eyes flickered to you for a moment.

For a long moment, you said nothing.

The weight of it sat in your chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe. You stared at your hands, your fingers twisting together in your lap.

Then, finally, your voice came—soft. Unsteady.

"Why did you lie?"

Young-il stilled. A pause. Now, he looked at you.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “I remember now.” The words came out quieter than you intended, almost fragile.

Young-il didn’t look away. His dark eyes studied yours, with a hint of regret. For a second, you thought he might pretend not to know what you were talking about, might brush it off the way he always did. But he didn’t. He exhaled slowly, a breath that barely made a sound. “I know.”

You blinked. That was it? No denial? No feigned confusion?

Your fingers curled against your knees. The memory was still raw, still bleeding at the edges. Jonah, lifeless in that hospital room. The cigarette smoke curling in the dim hallway. The way the man from the rain—no, Young-il—had sat there, just as lost, just as broken.

"You knew who I was this whole time," you whispered. He didn’t answer.

I wasn’t imagining things.

Your chest ached, something sharp and tangled clawing its way up your throat. “And you—” Your breath caught. You weren’t sure which hurt more: the fact that he had remembered you and still chose to lie, or the fact that, for a while, you had believed him.

Young-il’s gaze flickered downward, toward his hands. He rolled his knuckles absently, like he was testing the weight of the silence between you. Then, finally, he spoke. “I thought it would be easier that way.”

Easier? You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Easier for who?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw twitched, his eyes flicking back to you. And this time, for the first time since you’d met him, there was no smirk, no teasing remark, no shield of indifference. Just something quiet. Something almost… resigned.

“For both of us,” he murmured. You stared at him, the breath hitching in your throat.

Easier. Like it was some kindness. Like pretending he didn’t remember wouldn’t make it worse when the truth came crashing down. Like there wasn’t a big hole inside your chest. You clenched your jaw, looking away, focusing on the cold concrete beneath you.

“That’s bullshit,” you muttered, barely above a whisper.

Young-il sighed, tilting his head back against the metal railing. The exhaustion was etched into every inch of him now, but you didn’t care. You weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“I needed to know,” you said, forcing the words out before you lost your nerve. “I needed to know if I was crazy. If I was just seeing things. If—” You exhaled sharply. “If you were real.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Young-il exhaled and looked away, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

“You were real to me too, you know.”

And just like that, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hit him or let yourself fall apart right there beside him. The silence between you stretched for a moment before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

You raised your eyebrows. “About what?”

He clarified. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her sooner.”

You already connected the dots, but you still let him speak of her. He needed this. And you secretly did too.

“She was very sick,” he said. His voice was calm but carried a weight that made you hold your breath. His eyes fixed on the ground as he continued, “Acute cirrhosis. She needed a liver transplant, but she was pregnant.”

Your eyes widened, and your face fell as his words sank in. He kept going, his tone growing heavier. “When the doctor warned her about the risks and advised ending the pregnancy, she wouldn’t hear it. She was resolute. determined to carry the baby, no matter what would happen to her.”

You stayed silent, letting his words wash over you, as he went on. “When she felt worse everyday and no donor appeared, I borrowed as much money as I could from my brother to find a solution. But it was not enough.”

You turned your gaze away, unsure what to say. His voice softened but didn’t lose its seriousness. “I was desperate. A criminal heard about my situation and offered me money. I borrowed from him. But when you’re a police officer, that kind of stuff will get you fired. But I didn’t care. She needed it. My boss, however, saw it as a bribe. He fired me the next day. I’d devoted my whole life to that job. It was one of the few things I truly enjoyed, truly loved doing.”

You frowned deeply, feeling an ache in your chest for him.

“Then I was invited to join the games,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “I was gone for a week. As you probably noticed, in the hospital. By the time I won…she was dead.”

That’s when you noticed his eyes, glistening with tears. They silently fell, the weight of them was undeniable.

“It was horrible. There were so many times I became angry. Angry at my boss. Angry at those who didn’t step up to donate a liver. Angry at the world. But I was mostly angry at myself for leaving her when she needed me the most. That evening with you in the hospital… I wasn’t angry then.”

The room felt heavier with every word he spoke. You listened intently, unable to look away as he continued.

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly. “And now, I have decided to come back. Because the last time I was here I felt useful for once.”

The tears in his eyes and on his cheek caught the dim light, making them shimmer as he gave a single, solemn nod.

His voice was steady but carried a note of vulnerability. “I didn’t- I couldn’t tell Gi-hun. Couldn’t tell anyone actually. Except you. Talking about her is really hard for me. But, with you it seems natural in some way.”

He took a deep breath.

”All I wanted was to play these games and… find the slightest bit of purpose in life. Even if it was the last thing I did.”

Suddenly, all the anger you had felt towards him the last few hours had completely vanished.

He was just a broken soul. Like you.

“And I think I found it again. I mean- what were the odds?”

Oh my god. Did he mean me?

You swallowed. Then, softly—almost too softly—you answered. "Better than you think."

You stared at him, at the way his hands curled into fists against his knees like he was bracing for something. The space between you felt heavier than before, like it was holding something fragile, something unsaid.

Then, before you could think about it, before doubt could creep in, you moved.

Not just a brush of fingers. Not just a hesitant touch. You reached for him fully.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jumpsuit as you pulled him in, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting beneath your feet. Like letting go wasn’t an option.

And for a second, he didn’t react.

He stiffened—caught off guard, unprepared. For a single, agonising second, he didn’t move. You almost thought he wouldn’t.

Then, he exhaled fully. Like he let go. Slowly, his arms came up. His hands pressed against your back, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. If he should.

But then something broke.

He tightened his grip, pulling you flush against him, his chin resting near your shoulder, his breath uneven against your neck. His fingers curled into the back of your shirt, not rough, not desperate—just there, like he needed something to hold onto just as badly as you did.

Neither of you spoke.

The dormitory around you disappeared, swallowed by the sound of your own heartbeat, by the way his breathing evened out against your shoulder. His warmth bled into you, steady, grounding, like an anchor in the middle of something vast and merciless.

His fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt. The message was clear, don’t let go.

You exhaled, barely above a whisper. “I get it.”

Young-il let out a soft, humourless laugh, the vibration of it sinking into your skin. “Oh, I bet you do.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

And you did.

Not just because of Jonah. Not just because you knew what it was like to lose someone who was supposed to be there forever. But because you understood the hollow space grief left behind. How sometimes, survival wasn’t about living. Sometimes, it was about finding something—anything—that kept you moving. Even if it didn’t make sense. Even if it killed you a little more every day.

Young-il buried his face in your soft hair and inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake something off. But he didn’t let go. Not yet.

“When I saw you here…” His voice was quieter now, lower, almost lost between you. “I thought I was imagining things.”

You swallowed. “Me too.”

He huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence. Or if it meant something.”

A long silence stretched between you. Then, softly, you said, “It means something. And… I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. If I had known—”

Young-il stilled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

You felt him exhale again, his breath ghosting against your neck. His grip on you loosened, just slightly, like he was grounding himself. Then, finally—reluctantly—he pulled back.

Not all the way. Not far. His hands lingered at your waist, your arms still loosely looped around his shoulders. His face was close now, closer than it should have been, his eyes searching yours for something unspoken.

You weren’t sure if he found it. But he nodded. Like he understood. Like he had always understood.

You pulled back fully and moved to sit beside him. But his hand remained on your waist. Like it belong there. It felt like that, at least.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore—it just was. Steady. Quiet. A fragile sort of peace.

You pulled your knees to your chest, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. His face was unreadable, but his shoulders were no longer tense, his breathing even. He looked… tired. More than tired. Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the games.

Eventually, you let your head tip to the side, resting against his shoulder. You expected him to shift away, but he didn’t. He just stayed there, solid and warm.

Minutes passed like that, the two of you sitting together in the dim glow of the piggy bank. The distant sound of steady breathing filled the dormitory, the world outside this moment fading into something far away.

For the first time since arriving here, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

As your head rested against Young-il’s shoulder, the exhaustion finally started catching up with you. Your body, tense for so long, slowly began to relax against him, the warmth of his presence lulling you into something close to rest. Not quite sleep—but something softer. Something quieter.

A small noise from behind you made you stir. You pulled back from Young-il. The absence of his warmth made you shiver slightly, but you ignored it, pushing yourself upright.

Dae-ho. You barely noticed him at first, still caught in the haze of half-awareness, but when you finally blinked, you saw him standing a few feet away, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

His gaze flickered between the two of you, something unreadable flashing across his face before he exhaled and stretched his arms above his head.

“My turn?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.

Young-il nodded. You both stood up and made some space for 388. Dae-ho settled into the spot where Young-il had been, shifting his weight as he adjusted to the watch position.

“You should both try to get some sleep,” Dae-ho muttered, his usual easygoing tone softened by the quiet of the room.

Young-il hummed in response, offering you a hand. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. Neither of you spoke as you padded back toward your sleeping area, careful not to disturb the others.

When you reached your beds—placed right next to each other—you both hesitated.

For a moment, the only thing that existed was the space between you. The unspoken understanding hanging in the air, thick and palpable. Then, at the exact same time, you both moved.

Neither of you said a word. You just pushed your mattress toward his. He mirrored the action, closing the distance until there was no gap left. Until it was just one space instead of two.

It wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about warmth. It was about not being alone.

You settled in first, pulling the thin blanket over your shoulders as you lay on your side, facing him. Young-il followed suit, his movements slower, more deliberate.

In the dim light, your eyes met. No words. Just a glance. Just a silent agreement.

You exhaled, closing your eyes. You felt Young-il shift slightly beside you, the faintest rustle of fabric as he adjusted, and then stillness.

For the first time in a long time, your mind wasn’t plagued by nightmares.

——

You barely noticed it.

Your body was warm, your mind floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, caught in that hazy space where the world didn’t quite feel real yet. The concrete floor beneath the thin mattress should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. Not really. Not when there was warmth pressed against your back, solid and steady.

Not when there was an arm draped over your waist.

Your breath hitched, the realisation hitting all at once. Your body stiffened. The weight of it was undeniable—the firm press of muscle through the thin fabric of your uniform, the slow, even rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Young-il.

A slow warmth crept up your neck. You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of where your bodies touched. His arm wasn’t just resting against you—it was holding you. Not tight, not restricting, but there. His hand was relaxed against your stomach, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of your uniform.

You should move. You should wake him up. You should do something.

But you didn’t. It felt too nice, too right.

You stayed still, barely daring to breathe, your mind racing through the events of last night. The weight of his grief. The way his voice had cracked when he spoke of his wife. The way you had pressed yourself against him in that desperate, suffocating hug, needing him to hold you together just as much as he needed you.

And then, the mattresses.

The quiet, unspoken decision. The way neither of you hesitated when you pushed them together, filling the space between them, letting your bodies rest closer than they should. You hadn’t thought about what that meant last night—hadn’t let yourself.

Now, in the dim morning light, with Young-il’s arm wrapped around you, you couldn’t ignore it.

A slow inhale. A shift. His breath stirred against the back of your neck—barely there, but enough. Enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Then, a pause. A slow tensing of his body. He was waking up.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, squeezing your eyes shut, pretending to be still asleep.

For a second, neither of you moved. His breathing slowed, like he was processing what he was feeling. Then, you felt it—the tightening of his grip, his fingers twitching slightly against your uniform like he was anchoring himself, pulling you closer to his chest.

The warmth of him seeped into you, steady and grounding, his presence a solid weight against your back. You could hear the slow, even rhythm of his breathing, feel the faint rise and fall of his chest as it pressed against you with every inhale.

It should’ve been suffocating. It should’ve been uncomfortable. But it wasn’t.

You stayed still, barely daring to breathe, unsure if you even wanted to move.

Young-il’s arm was firm. There was no hesitation, no awareness of the line you had crossed last night when you’d pushed your mattresses together. Just quiet, instinctive closeness.

You weren’t sure how much time passed like that. A few minutes? An hour? It didn’t matter. Because for those few stolen moments, you weren’t in the dormitory. You weren’t in the games. You weren’t fighting for your life. You were just warm.

Then, the music started.

That familiar, eerie swell of classical strings echoed through the dormitory, signalling morning, pulling you both out of the fragile cocoon of sleep.

You felt the shift before anything else. The tensing of Young-il’s body. The slow, dawning realisation sinking into him like a stone. His breath hitched, and then his arm moved. Fast.

He withdrew from you like he’d been burned, fingers jerking away from your waist as he shifted back onto his side of the mattress. You felt the absence immediately—the cold rushing in where his warmth had been. For a moment, neither of you moved. You opened one of your eyes, hoping he wasn’t looking at you, to see what he was doing.

From the corner of your eye, you caught it—Young-il rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze flickering anywhere but at you. He looked flustered.

You almost laughed.

But instead, you waited. Just a second longer. Then you stretched, exhaling like you had just woken up, rolling onto your back and blinking blearily at the ceiling.

You made a sleepy sound of protest at the music, rubbing your eyes before glancing at him. “Morning already?” you muttered, voice groggy.

Young-il cleared his throat, sitting up fully. “Yeah,” he said, voice a little rough.

God, his morning voice was sexy.

You didn’t mention the waist-situation. Didn’t acknowledge the way his arm had been wrapped around you, the way his body had been pressed against yours. And neither did he.

But when you sat up beside him, feeling the ghost of his warmth still clinging to your skin, you swore you could feel the weight of something else, too. Something unspoken.

Around you, players began to stir, and the familiar voice of the announcer filled the dormitory:

“The third game will begin momentarily. All players, please prepare.”

You stretched, exhaling a quiet groan as the weight of sleep clung stubbornly to your limbs. The dormitory stirred around you—murmurs of waking players, the rustle of blankets, the low, grating snore of Dae-ho still lost in whatever dream he was still having. Jung-bae shifted nearby, Jun-hee rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Next to you, Young-il sat still, watching. His expression was unreadable at first, but then—there. A small, amused smile.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice lazy, playful. “Didn’t mean to stare.”

You blinked at him, catching on immediately. Tease.

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed yourself up, shaking off the lingering fog of sleep as you followed the others toward the centre of the dormitory. The room was cold, your movements sluggish as your mind struggled to fully catch up. You were walking along side Gi-hun as you tumbled a little bit.

Then—warmth. A touch. Steady, deliberate. Fingers curled around your waist, stopping you mid-step.

Your breath caught, your body tensing on instinct. But before you could react, Young-il was already there, closer than before, his hand firm at the dip of your waist. He pulled you closer into him. Like it was nothing. Like it was natural.

“You walk like you’re still stuck in your dream,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, amusement threading through it. “Thought you were gonna run into me.”

Your skin burned where he touched you. His thumb pressed slightly against your hip, the motion slow, absentminded, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. But you were.

You exhaled sharply, smirking up at him. “So instead of moving, you just—grab me?”

Young-il smirked. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

Your lips parted, but no retort came. Because he was right. And you hated that.

His smirk deepened, like he could hear every thought running through your head, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. And then, just as easily as he touched you, he let go, stepping past you without another word.

Leaving you standing there, fully awake now, pulse hammering against your ribs, his warmth still ghosting over your skin. You exhaled, steadying yourself before moving forward, ignoring the way your body still buzzed in the wake of him.

The guards herded you through the dormitory doors, leading you into the labyrinth of the massive staircases. With every step, the tension in your chest coiled tighter. Another game. Another chance to live or die.

The uncertainty was suffocating. What if it was something unfamiliar again? What if you weren’t good at it? Worse—what if it was a game that turned you against the very people you had come to rely on? The thought sent a sharp pulse of unease through you.

Eventually, you were guided into a large room, the path ahead obscured by a heavy white curtain. Four triangle-masked guards stood at the forefront, weapons gripped tightly, their presence a silent warning. The crowd stilled, uneasy whispers fading into tense silence.

The curtain began to slide open.

The announcer’s voice rang out, calm and detached, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

"Welcome to your third game."

[factual-fantasy]

27 Asks! Thank you! :}} 💞

@peaspods

I might not be understanding, but I'm imagining this as people opening up commissions so people can give them money and they can turn around and donate that money to me..

I fear that this would create the opportunity to scam people.. "I'm taking commissions on behalf of Factual Fantasy! They're very sick so please commission me!" only for them to run away with the money they make..

I've been thinking a lot about setting up some kind of commission/donation thing because I'm starting to kind'a need the money.. but idk, I'm just kind'a run down and need some time to keep thinking about it. Thank you very much though <:)))

@zecromgen5

Thank you very much! :) And I've been hanging in there.. there hasn't been much improvement to my health or my mental state. The fact that in April it will officially been over a year since my health started to decline, and the fact that I'm going to spend my birthday at home collapsed on the couch has made me feel very sad <:( But I'm doing my best to work on it.. I'm hoping this new advice from my doctor helps me feel better <:)

And something good HAS happened actually, I got my tablet/FireAlpaca to work again! :))

XDD SJKFJSH AWW! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD

I've only seen a bit of it from Markiplier. So far I'm 50/50. Somethings I like and others I don't care for 😅

@neo-metalscottic

Thank you so much! :D 'm glad you've liked my recent artwork!! :}}}}

Also for Homes eyes, that was just meant to represent its oppressive presence and the fact that its watching them in that moment.. 👁️👁️

And I don't have any plans for any of the neighbors or Wally to figure out the house is alive. My AU is more like "a day in the life of" thing. Having someone discover Home is alive would move the plot forward. Which I don't feel like doing <XDD

Now communication... Home understands the concept, but he has no way of communicating other than creaking the floorboards and slamming doors..

I've heard about the well. That could work for Cliffjumper and Breakdown maybe.. and the twins perhaps.? But wouldn't they have to have Tailgates body in order to revive him? Hmmm.. idk actually,,

I've watched the bayverse movies, most of Prime and a few other things here and there. I didn't mind the bayverse movies that much, but I can see why a lot of people don't like them <XD

I just imaging trying to consume more than one Transformers media would be a lot to take on.. and I also don't like the animation styles of most other transformers shows 😅

(That's actually how I decided to watch Prime. I took a look at all the shows and went "this one looks ugly, this one looks ugly,, this one looks REALLY ugly.. Oh, this one doesn't look half bad. TFP it is then!")

@acreaturecalledkyfa

I've watched Markipliers first video on it. So far I'm not sure how I feel about those two 😅

The way I immediately opened YouTube and went looking for it XDD

@fandomcenteral (Link in ask)

Thank you so much! :DD This will come in handy!

@mason-gaylord

Aw! Thank you so much!! 🥰🥰

@im-nice-but-i-dont-like-you

Jangles would be a helicopter probably, Gerald would be a tank, Cici would be a Miata and Bibi would be a slightly raised up Miata XDD

Aw, I'm honored that you miss them <:}} Though I don't know if I'll draw them anytime soon.. I'm really not into inserted OCs anymore <:(

I'm waiting on Markiplier to release more videos on it <XD

@fadlingartisanfreakwinner

I like to imagine that Pokémon can learn dozens of moves. But 4 is the limit for official Pokémon battles. So any wild Pokémon in my comics can use/learn as many as they want :0

And yeah, they had that chat eventually. I just never got around to drawing it 😅

@wolfie-777

Nah nah its just iced tea XDDD

@whereismycupofcoffee

:DDD Thank you so much!! :}}}}

AAAA THANKYOU SO MCUHH!! :DDDD

@nuggybee

Yeahh,, Sky has its ups and downs. I'm currently in one of its downs. It seems like I'm let down by everything they're releasing 😓

@smithanonsworld

I feel like I've never seen a rabbit that color... its so cute 😭💞💞💞

@heaventhehedgi3

That sounds like me! Though I don't draw Octonauts anymore 😅

I'll keep it in mind! :0

🥹🥹🥹Aw... that's so sweet! Thank you so much!! 😭💞💞

@captain-skyler1987

You made an account just to follow me? :DD Aw that's so sweet! :) Thank you!

Also I'm sorry to hear you got the flu :(( I hope you're better by now!

I also have not played Dandy's world 😅

@stargirldrawsx3

The first thing that came to mind was very anxious all the time 😅

@network-warrior-01

Ah, that was an April fools post. <XD There is no drawing

[zepskies]

Aww thanks for the shoutout, my friend! This format for HCs is just so fun, right? It's really cool for me to see how it's caught on in the fandom of Jackles characters! And now, I'm very excited to dive into some Valentine's Day fluff. 😍😍

Dean-o:

Dean isn't big on Valentine's Day and romance. Not because he thinks it's an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn't know how to be romantic.

Oooh this is so true for Dean. He's only had like, what, two real relationships in his life? With Lisa, I feel like we got a sense that they were loving partners, but the show didn't dive all that deep into what their relationship actually looked like romantically. (One of my biggest gripes honestly. Outing myself here: I shipped Dean x Lisa hard back in the day and was heartbroken when they broke her and Dean up and wrote her and Ben out of the show the way they did. 😭)

But anyway lol, back to your lovely headcanon. I love this because Dean really does show that he cares in his actions -- not in big grand gestures, but in the little every day things, as well as in the way he would protect and care for his girl, "taking care of you when you're injured," etc.

What a lovely turn in the ending though!! He decked out the Dean Cave, I love it!! 😍 That's a big gesture he could 100% pull off. 💕

Ahaha not him getting flustered because he's not used to being given unconditional affection. *breaks my heart and knits it back together at the same time* 🥹

Benjamin:

LOL "old school" is an understatement with this guy for sure, but it very much tracks that he'd go all out for V-Day. He's got money to burn, and I feel like he'd enjoy trying to impress his girl with all the fanfare of a beautiful night out. (I explored that idea in Lost on You for sure.)

💀💀 omfg you nailed him there. 💯 😂

Dear lord I get so freakin' weak for the hand on the small of the back. 😭 plss

But I cacked at the "not being an award for bad acting." 😂😂 Ben does have that old-school charm in spades though, so I don't blame her for letting some of that caveman mentality go. lmao

However this:

omfggg Ben. So accurate, and somehow it's still sexy 😅 (there might be something wrong with me. It's fine.)

I also like the contrast between Dean's card and SB's card at the end -- Ben's not asking questions. He's more straightforward and demanding that you're his. 👌🏽🫠

Beau Beau:

Awww sweet cowboy sheriff. 🥹 He really is making up for past mistakes and going all out!

LMAO I loved this entire section for so many reasons -- Beau's southern charm and chivalry, the good dose of realism coming from the reader, plus that one at the end making me cackle. 🤣

I really like how she manages to surprise him back though. What a perfect gift for Beau, giving him quality time, and some peace and tranquility. 💗 I would love a lakehouse cabin getaway with this guy. Feel like that would be the perfect cozy vibes. ❤️

Russ:

Very on-brand indeed that he's the one you can't quite pin down (at first). 😅 His job really would make things difficult to make a relationship work, even with the reader soldiering through and trying to be unaffected that she thinks he won't be around for Valentine's Day.

His homecoming is so very sweet though! What a lovely reunion moment. 🥹

I loved ALL of these HCs, Wayne, but I'm torn between Dean and Beau on this one. So very sweet for this hopeless romantic!~ 💞

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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[bettystonewell]

So I woke up to 100 followers this morning, and I was really surprised.

THANK YOU!

I’m still learning my way here, but hopefully I’m getting better.

I know people on all different platforms do celebrations like writing prompts and stuff, but a) I’m a slow writer and b) I’m lazy. So I thought, now might be a good time to release this:

TO YOU I BELONG

SNEAK PEAK

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺⏱️

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

From Chapter 7: Honeydaying

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out.

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No.

Not if.

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet.

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear.

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

Main Masterlist

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@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007

If you’d like to be added to a Taglist for this series or for any of my other Dean works, please lmk or add yourself HERE

[be4chywritez]

shot to the heart (and the nose) | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

You come from college and Luke is smitten...maybe a little too smitten

beachy’s masterlist🐚

requests are open!

Growing up next door to the Hughes family meant one thing—hockey was a religion.

It was loud, it was competitive, and it was everywhere. If the Hughes brothers weren’t on the ice, they were playing in the driveway, tracking in mud from the lake, or tossing pucks against the garage door until Ellen threatened to take their sticks away.

And you?

You were the neighbor kid. Not quite in the mix, but not completely out of it either.

Your families were close—vacations together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas parties in the winter. You and the Hughes boys had spent years at each other’s birthday parties, running through sprinklers, roasting marshmallows, and competing over who could eat the most popsicles before Jim made you all go inside.

But if hockey was the Hughes brothers’ thing, quiet was yours.

Luke, in particular, had always been the opposite of quiet. He was the one making up rules for backyard games, the one yelling over everyone else, the one who would get so frustrated when you’d rather sit and watch than dive into the chaos.

He never bullied you for it, not in the way other kids might have, but he pushed—nudging you toward the action, insisting you could keep up, making sure you weren’t left out.

Jack and Quinn weren’t much different. Jack, the natural show-off, would always try to impress you (even if you weren’t watching), and Quinn, forever the responsible older brother, would make sure you didn’t get completely trampled by their energy.

Then, of course, you all grew up.

You spent high school buried in books and extracurriculars, aiming for an Ivy League acceptance letter. Luke spent it on the ice, chasing the NHL dream.

By senior year, your friendship had faded into nothing more than polite nods and see you at Christmas waves across the room.

And then you left for college.

Luke got drafted.

Life moved on.

Coming home after months at school was weird.

The air smelled the same, the roads felt the same, but you didn’t feel the same. Maybe it was the time away, or maybe it was the fact that being home again made you realize just how much things had changed.

The car rumbled up your street, your mom chatting about how good it is to have you back while you stared out the window.

And across the driveway, in the Hughes' kitchen, three heads turned in unison.

Jack was the first to react. He dropped his sandwich. Fully dropped it. “Holy shit.”

Quinn, still chewing, furrowed his brows. “What?”

Luke didn’t say anything, just stared.

Because there you were, climbing out of the car—same face, same features, but different.

College had done something to you. Or maybe you’d just grown into yourself.

Jack nudged Luke’s arm, grinning. “Dude. You seeing this?”

Luke was seeing it. That was the problem.

You were tan, your hair was different, your shorts were short, and fuck, had your legs always looked like that?

“Oh my god,” Quinn muttered, leaning against the counter. “Luke, close your mouth.”

Luke snapped his mouth shut, scowling. “Shut up.”

Jack just smirked. “Bet she still won’t talk to you.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

A few days later, you were walking up your driveway when you spotted Luke in his front yard.

He had his shirt on this time (unfortunately so) wearing a Team USA tee with the sleeves cut off, and ripping shots into the net with a ridiculous amount of force.

You should’ve known better.

Really, you should have known better.

Because one second, he was shooting.

And the next—

Crack.

Right to the face.

“Holy shit!”

Luke dropped his stick so fast it clattered against the pavement. In seconds, he was in front of you, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you or not.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I didn’t see you,” he rambled, eyes darting between your nose and your expression. “Are you—holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your face. “Luke. What the fuck.”

“I swear I didn’t see you—”

“No shit.”

Luke winced. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.” He ripped his shirt off in one smooth motion, bunching it up before carefully pressing it against your nose. “Here, hold this.”

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“Sacrificed my shirt for you? Yeah.”

“Oh, so chivalrous.”

Luke huffed out a laugh, tilting your chin up slightly to examine the damage. His hands were warm, calloused from years of hockey, and being this close to him was… distracting.

His eyes flickered over your face, studying you.

“You look… different,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You swallowed. “So do you.”

Luke smirked. “Yeah?”

And that was when you realized—he was still holding your chin.

And smiling at you.

And looking so unfairly good doing it.

You exhaled sharply. “Quit smiling at me.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I feel weird.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

His grin widened, slow and lazy. “Huh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said easily. “Just thinking I should smile at you more often.”

You groaned, shoving his chest. “Oh my god.”

Luke just laughed, but then his expression sobered. “C’mon, let’s go inside. Mom’ll kill me if I leave you out here bleeding.”

Before Luke could even pull you up, the door to the Hughes house slammed open.

Jack and Quinn came speed-walking—borderline running—toward you, eyes bouncing between Luke, you, and the blood dripping down your face.

Jack, of course, spoke first.

“Oh my god, did Luke hit you?”

You groaned, still pressing Luke’s (formerly white) Team USA shirt to your nose. “You say that like he didn’t just slapshot a puck into my face.”

Quinn sighed, looking so unimpressed. “Jesus, Luke.”

Luke, still crouched next to you, lifted his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t see her! I was just—”

Jack cackled, pointing at Luke like he’d just won the lottery. “You obliterated her!”

“Jack,” you deadpanned. “Not helping.”

Jack waved you off. “No, no, because this is insane. You come back from college looking totally different, and the second Luke sees you, he shoots his shot—literally.”

Luke groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jack, I swear to—”

Jack ignored him. “I mean, I knew he was gonna lose it when he saw you again, but this—this is next level.”

Luke shoved him. “Can you shut up?”

Quinn, ever the responsible older brother, rolled his eyes. “Alright, let’s get her inside before she passes out in our driveway.”

Jack smirked. “Or before Luke confesses his love again.”

Luke shoved him harder.

You just sighed.

The moment you stepped into the house, the familiar warmth of the Hughes home hit you—laundry detergent, whatever Quinn had been cooking earlier, and a faint trace of hockey gear.

And then—

“Oh my god!”

Ellen practically flew down the stairs, eyes zeroing in on your face.

Jim followed behind her, frowning. “Jesus, what happened?”

Jack, still very much enjoying the situation, grinned. “Oh, you know. Luke saw her for the first time in, like, a year and immediately tried to take her out.”

Luke groaned. “That is not what happened.”

Ellen, ignoring them, cupped your face as gently as she could, careful not to touch your nose. “Sweetheart, oh my gosh! You’re hurt!”

Jack, ever the instigator, added, “She is hurt, but also—she looks amazing, right?”

Ellen’s eyes flickered over your face—well, the parts of it that weren’t covered in blood—and beamed. “Oh, honey, you are stunning! Look at you! College has done wonders for you.”

You blinked. “Uh—”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Ellen, she’s bleeding.”

Ellen waved him off. “Yes, yes, I see that, but look at how grown up she is!” She turned to Quinn. “Quinn, tell me she doesn’t look gorgeous.”

Quinn, handing Luke an ice pack, huffed out a laugh. “She does.”

Jack smirked. “Luke sure thinks so.”

Luke whipped around. “Jack, I will actually—”

Jim chuckled, finally stepping in. “Alright, El, let’s fix her up before we start matchmaking.”

Luke, still looking like he desperately wanted to disappear, guided you to the kitchen table and sat you down. “Okay, let me—uh—yeah, just—” He fumbled with the ice pack, hands slightly shaky.

You raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Just—quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like—” Luke exhaled sharply. “Like that.”

You smirked. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

Jack howled. Quinn raised his eyebrows.

Ellen gasped like this was the best news she had heard all day.

Jim sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

Luke groaned.

And you?

You just smiled.

It was going to be a great summer.

[wendichester]

⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃⋆ 'til death do us part,

summary. you catch a pattern at a couple's retreat and have to go understand. cue in sam's new (fake) wife!

pairing. sam winchester x reader ; fake couple

wordcount. 694

"You ready?"

Sam’s voice is smooth, deep, warm like honey. You nearly roll your eyes, but instead, you lace your fingers with his and plaster on your best adoring-wife smile.

"Of course, darling," you purr, giving his hand a little squeeze for effect.

The ruse is simple enough: a small-town cult disguised as a religious retreat, luring in young married couples for “spiritual renewal.” The catch? None of them ever leave.

So here you are, hand-in-hand with Sam Winchester, wearing a simple gold band on your finger that’s heavier than it should be.

The woman at the check-in table beams at you both, her gaze flicking to your joined hands. "Such a beautiful couple," she says. "How long have you been married?"

Sam barely hesitates. "Three years," he says easily. "Met in college. Love at first sight."

You feel your cheeks warm. You hadn’t rehearsed that part.

The woman sighs dreamily. "How wonderful. Well, we’ll get you both settled in. We encourage closeness, so no separate rooms here. Just you, your spouse, and the universe binding your souls together."

Oh, fantastic.

Sam keeps up the act flawlessly, rubbing slow circles against the back of your hand with his thumb as you follow her down a candlelit hall. Your fake honeymoon suite is small but cozy, with soft lighting and a single bed in the center.

The door shuts behind you, leaving you alone with Sam and the inescapable tension crackling in the air.

"Three years, huh?" you tease, slipping off your shoes.

He shrugs, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "Seemed believable."

"You got a whole love story planned out?"

Sam smirks. "I could come up with one if you want."

You roll your eyes and flop onto the bed, feeling the mattress dip slightly under your weight. "Nah. I think I like this arranged marriage thing we’ve got going on."

Sam chuckles, running a hand through his hair. He’s too comfortable, too good at this. You should be focusing on the case, not on how right his last name looks on your fake I.D.

You clear your throat. "So, what’s the plan?"

"Figure out what they’re really doing here, take down the bad guys, save the day," Sam says. "Same as always."

"With a side of marital bliss," you add dryly.

Sam tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like calling me your husband."

You smirk. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like it."

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you, something unreadable behind those sharp hazel eyes.

For a second, the whole act slips into something dangerously real.

"Maybe I do," he finally says, voice quieter now.

Your stomach flips.

You should say something snarky, make a joke, something, but your mouth is suddenly dry, and Sam is still looking at you like that.

Like maybe pretending doesn’t feel so much like such a burden.

The case should be your first priority. The weird chanting you heard earlier, the way the other couples here seem too happy, the fact that you might be in real danger if you don’t figure out what’s going on.

But all you can focus on is the way Sam’s fingers brush against yours when he leans down, resting his weight on his hands beside you.

"Maybe we should get some sleep," he murmurs, his voice softer now, heavier.

You nod, pulse thrumming in your throat.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The space between you crackles with something unsaid, something waiting.

But Sam pulls back first, shaking his head like he’s clearing a thought from his mind. "Big day tomorrow."

"Right," you say quickly, swinging your legs onto the bed and yanking the covers up.

A beat of silence.

Then Sam reaches over and turns off the light.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, hyper-aware of every breath he takes beside you. Of the warmth of his body inches away.

Of the fact that you’re still wearing his last name.

And that maybe he was right and you like calling him your husband. That you wouldn’t mind keeping his last name.

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[inferno-0]

| IRONHIDE X Human!Reader? |

➤ Ironhide is just stubborn

➤ People are primitive creatures. Such a phrase always pops out of Mecha's vocolizer when mentioning human culture and people in general. Cruel, having no idea of morality, constantly destroying what they fear. No other simple solutions, only the study and extraction of all the sources of life until the victim himself begins to fear them. They are so small, but they lead a lifestyle like parasites in a foreign body. Crawling, crawling through all the cracks that are possible on the way. Creepy. If you were bigger, almost on par with them, then he would not even dare to set foot on this planet if he already knew what you were creating. I would never do that.

But still, he is here, in front of you.

The uniqueness of your species might have surprised Ironhide. Despite the opinion that the Bot has in relation to people, the Bot can sometimes be interested in your natural phenomenon. Cybertron never thought that you were human, you could twist your limbs so flexibly at an angle that was unnatural for him. He was used to bots turning the manipulator and the rest of their frame, thanks to the gears and good movements of the mechanisms, but he could never believe that your thin threads inside all the organs could twist a lot there. Ironhide is really amazed. But despite this, all the character that people present bring him out.

It is quite difficult to convince the Autobot otherwise, especially after your "kind" decided to do terrible things to Bumblebee. Ironhide is a rude person, he does not give him any privilege of communicating with people, although he adheres to this so-called "code". Part of its CPU is certainly excited to find out what else you can do, but the rest prefers to stand its ground. He could do this forever until you made your argument in the direction of his planet and inhabitants as well. The rage he showed you was remembered for a long time.

But you were not a bad person, you listened attentively to everything dissatisfied and partially agreed. It's just that the words that you received have already gotten out of control and you have already had to defend your people, citing someone else's as an example.

Destroy your planet because of political inequality? Not to share power?

Not to be able to join the front ranks? Because of this? You've been straining your fists for so long when you haven't got an answer. The irritation of the different kinds looked terrible. Someone else's huge cannon could shoot at any minute, one more extra word and only ashes will remain of you.

You don't know how long it will take for Ironhide to finally believe in your words.

[cherryeclipses]

undone

Stu Macher x Reader

Summary: what it's like being Stu's girlfriend. no use of Y/N

one shot, fluff, smut implied, cheating, stu would not be a good boyfriend lets be honest but he's so cute.

word count: 1K

kind of shit writing - sorry, I didn't really have an idea of where I wanted this to go. NOT PROOFREAD OOPS

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Stu Macher was a known player, everyone in school knew it, that didn't stop you from agreeing to go out with him. He asked you out by passing a note to you in class, well, throwing, might be a better word. The crumpled notebook paper hit you in the back of the head, forcing you to spin around in your chair to glare at the idiot who had thrown it. 'Read it' Stu mouthed, the room silent as everyone worked. You rolled your eyes, picking up the paper from it spot on the floor.

Me and you, date 2nite? The note read. You looked up at the eager boy and shook your head, turning back around to finish your history paper. Although he was gorgeous you had heard stories about how he would hit on anything that moved. So not your type.

After class Stu stopped you, "c'mon baby, just give me a chance. I promise I'm not that bad." He drawled. You looked past him, trying to find your friends. Stu picked up your hands, holding them, his touch felt soft and almost genuine, he never took his eyes off you. You gave in, "one date Macher. One." "Yes!" He fist pumped into the air "I'll pick you up at 8."

That was a year ago, you had been going steady with Stu for the last few months. He really surprised you on that first date, picking you up in his dad's car, he took you to a nearby diner before dropping you off home. Not asking for more. After spending a night with him you noticed how charming he really was.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Stu was hardly the romantic type, for your second date he drove you to 'his spot.' A secluded area, just off the highway, overlooking the water. You could only imagine how many other girls he'd taken to the exact same spot, Stu constantly reassuring you that you were special and he'd never taken anyone else there. One thing lead to another and your clothes had been abandoned and the two of you had found your way to the backseat.

He redeemed himself the next day by bringing you flowers he stole from the neighbours front yard on the way to school. A bright bunch of every colour you could imagine.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

He loved to cuddle, on the occasion you would spend a night with Stu he was attached to your hip like glue, spooning you all night. One hand in your hair and the other holding yours; making sure you wouldn't leave him. It felt comfortable, it felt right.

Stu was generous in bed, always making you finish first and hard. Giving you all you could want. It was impressive.

In the mornings he would make every excuse not to leave. Holding you tightly to him in bed, begging for a shower together or breakfast. Sprinkling your face and neck with gentle kisses, whispering pleas in your ear, until you caved and it made the both of you late for school.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

At school Stu constantly flirted with other girls, promising you that he was just being friendly but you saw the way he would wrap his arm around those girls. It made your heart sting but also encouraged you to stay. Toxically, you wanted so badly to be the girl that changes him. His best friend, Billy Loomis assuring you that Stu was in love with you.

You weren't fond of Billy. He made you uncomfortable, but he and Stu were attached at the hip. Uncomfortably close. You never knew what it was specifically but you knew deep down Billy Loomis was bad news.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

It was no secret Stu loved horror movies, he was horrified when he found you hadn't seen all of the halloween films. Making it his mission to show you all of his favourite horror movies. You enjoyed spending time with him, curled up on the couch together, but god forbid you took your attention away for even a second - Stu would be rewinding the film to show you what you had missed! "See, see here! See how the killer is just around the corner, they've all let there guard down and -" Stu grips your head between his hands, forcing you to look at the tv screen, excitedly rattling off what you were about to miss when you tried to kiss him. You giggled, sure it was a bit strange but everyone has their passions, right?

You loved wearing Stu's shirts and sweaters, the boy was so tall that his clothes engulfed you. They felt warm and smelt like musk and firewood. Stu would always grin proudly, stating that they look better when you wear them.

Stu would bring you gifts every now and again, necklaces, sweets, lipstick - all stolen of course. But it was the thought that counted. He would leave them in your locker or slip them into your pockets with a sly smile and a wink.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.

Stu thew the wildest and best parties. Having one of the biggest houses and often absent parents was a deadly combination as a teenager. Almost every month he would host a huge party, inviting everyone he could think of, but even with 100s of people vying for his attention he would always come and find you. Making sure to steal you away for a few minutes of alone time. Stu always knew how to make you feel special and wanted.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.

Everything with Stu felt like it was going well, you thought you had finally changed the bad boy player into a somewhat respectable boyfriend. That was until everyone around you started dying. When you heard the news of Casey Becker and Steve Orth being murdered you confided in Stu that you were meant to see Casey that night but had to stay home to study. You sobbed into his chest, mumbling about how you could've been there to help. This was the moment you first noticed it. Stu didn't care. As you cried, he rubbed your back softly but looked as though his mind was elsewhere. "I'm sorry. " You sniffled, "this isn't just about me, are you okay? I know you were friends with her too." He stiffened. "Okay? I'm fine, the bitch got what was coming to her." You were shocked, you knew they had dated but you didn't think it was that serious and besides Casey was dead, how could Stu be that horrible.

As more of your friends were killed you started to notice something change in your boyfriend. He was distant and started to hang around Tatum more often, only coming to see you during class. Even after you broke up with Stu it was only after he died you learnt the truth about who he really was.