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kingkaisen · 4 months ago

Note

hello. just recently started reading your dad!gojo fics and i am obsessed with them. i saw you mention taking requests for it, so i thought i would send something in. feel free to change any details.

i would like to request a scenario about megumi finally feeling maternal love. i noticed he's always afraid y/n and gojo will change their minds about adopting him and he always compares himself to yuji.

could i request some bonding time between megumi and the reader? maybe he opens up about his worries and feelings. i was thinking the reader could defend him when someone being rude to him as well, but any direction you go in, i will love. i just really am asking for bonding time between mother and son.

MY SON || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: After you & Satoru adopt Yuji and Megumi, Megumi can’t help but fear that you both will abandon him.

♡ — CONTENT: general angst with comfort, satoru being a great family man, mentions of depression, not eating, very brief mention of wanting to die, & happy ending. you & satoru have a biological child as well.

♡ — WORD COUNT: 4K

♡ — AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic is part of my Dad!Gojo series, but reading the other parts isn’t necessary.

Megumi’s eyes snapped open. Beads of sweat coated his forehead and neck as he was greeted by the darkness of his bedroom.

Another nightmare.

His fourth one this week.

They weren’t about curses or haunting memories of his past battles, not at all. But, what he did dream about was equally as terrifying; his belongings tossed out on the streets in garbage bags.

“We don’t need two adopted teenagers,” you’d say, glaring at him with utter resentment.

“We have Yuji. He’s the perfect son,” Satoru would add on.

Just like that, he’d return to his old, familiar title of an orphan. Just like that, he’d have to wonder what it felt like to be loved by a mother and father instead of experiencing it himself. Just like that.

He tried to shove the memory of those dreams away because that was all they happened to be. Dreams. A manifestation of his horrid fears. They weren’t real, right? Not some twisted form of foresight?

Megumi rolled over onto his side. The digital clock on his nightstand flickered to 3:47 A.M.

His left pajama pant leg was rolled up to his knee, and the neck of his blue t-shirt was damp with sweat — all signs of a rough slumber, though he had hardly slept at all.

He pulled the messy sheets and comforter over his body, but there was no chance of him falling back asleep. He never did after his nightmares, and it was evident based on the dark circles forming underneath his blue eyes. He’d just lie awake, and let his mind wander . . .

It wasn’t a dream.

It would soon become his reality.

He knew it.

He wasn’t your biological kid like his little sister, Maya. He wasn’t even half as energetic or enthusiastic as Yuji. That boy constantly showered you both with appreciation. Beyond that, Yuji's sudden appearance in your life was the main reason you and Gojo considered adopting Megumi in the first place, despite you both having known Megumi for years prior.

Why did you never consider adopting him before you met Yuji? Why?

It could only mean that his suspicions were correct. You and Gojo didn’t want him. You wanted Yuji and didn’t want to hurt Megumi’s feelings. So, you ended up adopting two teenagers instead of one.

And it was only a matter of time before you and Gojo would get fed up with him.

He should leave first instead of waiting for the day in which you both decide you’re better off without some moody sorcerer bringing the rest of the family down during board game nights and movie marathons.

He’d do it.

He’d pack his bags and leave.

No one would notice.

No one would care.

He was unwanted.

He wasn’t your son.

He was stowaway.

—

It was edging closer to 9:00 A.M., and there was an empty spot at the breakfast nook in the gourmet kitchen.

The table was packed to the brim with servings of toast, meat, eggs, and rice. Satoru took a bite of his egg, watching Maya spread jam on her piece of toasted bread as best as she could, all while Yuji gobbled down his food as if someone was going to snatch it from him.

“Slow down,” you approached, coffee in hand, ruffling your boy’s messy hair.

“Huh?” Yuji paused with a mouth full of food. He swallowed, then said, “Oh, sorry. Everything’s just really great!”

You took a sip of your coffee, frowning upon seeing that Megumi wasn’t at the breakfast nook.

“Did Megumi oversleep?” You locked eyes with Satoru.

“I’m pretty sure he’s awake,” Satoru said, grabbing a napkin before gently wiping strawberry jam off of his adorable daughter’s face. Speaking to the young girl, he mumbled, “careful now, Muffin.”

You took a tentative sip of your warm beverage. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

—

Three gentle knocks sounded from Megumi’s bedroom door.

“Megumi?” You called from the other side. “Breakfast is ready.”

There was a beat of silence, then, he weakly replied, “Not hungry.”

“Can I come in?”

Megumi sighed, but even so, he said yes, and you entered your son’s room to see him still in bed, curled up underneath his covers, the majority of his body hidden underneath the thick fabric.

“You barely touched your dinner last night,” you said, leaning against the frame of his door. “You’ve barely come out of your room at all. Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

You read enough books about raising teenagers to spot false tales. Even so, you didn’t press him, even when an enormous lump of worry started to form in your throat.

“Alright. Food’s here when you want it.” You grabbed his door handle, closing it slowly, awaiting his response, but one never came.

—

Two hours had passed. This time, when someone knocked on Megumi’s door, it was in the form of a rather silly tune, and that person did not wait for permission to enter. Megumi knew exactly who it was without emerging from underneath his comforter.

“Fushigubro!” Yuji peeled the layers of covers back and shook the boy’s shoulder. “Wanna see if Nobara’s free later? Maybe we can all catch a movie or something.”

Megumi didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the covers Yuji removed, and rehid himself as if the covers served as some sort of protective shield.

“You seem kinda tired,” Yuji tilted his head a bit. “Did you stay up late?”

“Go away, Yuji.”

“Why? You’ve been ducking me all week!” Much like the conversation between you and Megumi earlier, Yuji, too, waited for a response that never came.

With a heavy sigh, he started to leave his brother’s room. “Alright, your loss. Some pretty great stuff is coming out this weekend.” It was one, last, desperate attempt. An attempt that failed. With another sigh, Yuji mumbled, “See you later.”

—

The pitter-patter of small feet could be heard approaching Megumi’s door around noon. For Maya, Megumi at least built up both the patience and energy to turn over onto his side, facing the door as the little girl opened it and ran into his bedroom.

“Meg-mi! Come on, let’s play! Let’s play!”

He gathered all the energy he could muster to say, as kindly as he could, “Not right now.”

“But we always play,” Maya frowned.

“Maybe later.”

“Pleaseee?” She tapped her feet.

“Go away.”

Those words hurt her. Maya was almost five years old, and though she was one of the kindest kids one would ever meet, she was still incredibly sensitive. It was no surprise to see the young girl’s eyes widen with sadness and her bottom lip start to quiver. Megumi, who was the coolest person in the world to her, had never spoken to her in such a way. It hurt.

Her little sniffles grew louder as she left his bedroom.

—

By the time Maya made her way from Megumi’s room to the living room, she was practically drowning in her own tears. Through blurred vision, she sought out the hazy figure sitting on the couch, her arms outstretched.

“What’s wrong, Muffin? C’mere.” Satoru scooped her up, sitting her on his lap. “What happened?”

Hearing the commotion, you stepped into the living room, your eyebrows knitted together in great concern.

“Meg-mi didn’t wanna play,” she sniffled. “He-he said to go away!”

“I’ll play with you, sweetheart. We can play whatever you want until lunch is ready, hm?” Satoru wiped her tears away with the end of his sleeve. “Don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Okay,” she spoke with a little mumble. “Does Meg-mi hate me? ‘Cause he’s my brother . . . and brothers aren’t s‘posed to hate you.”

“No, no, he doesn’t hate you. I think he might just be a little sick right now,” Satoru paused. “Sometimes people want a little peace and quiet when they’re not feeling well.”

“And soup.”

“That’s right, and soup,” Satoru gave her a soft smile.

“How about I make you something special for lunch, Maya?” You suddenly caught the young girl’s attention, faking a bright smile with the hopes of cheering her up. “What do you want to eat?”

“I . . . umm . . . uh . . . sandwiches!”

“Sandwiches it is. Mommy’s gonna make you the biggest sandwich ever,” you promised.

“Let’s go play,” Satoru said to Maya.

She hopped off of his lap, running as fast as her tiny feet would carry her to the backdoor, where she and her dad would spend the next hour playing together in the enchanting backyard.

—

Beautiful sandwiches were stuffed to the brim with meat, veggies, and sauces — every sandwich customized to each specific family member’s liking. They were cut in half, resting on plates with apple slices served on the side.

Satoru and Maya would be inside soon to gobble their sandwiches down. Yuji wasn’t home, and would perhaps grab lunch with his friend, so you stored his sandwich away in a Tupperware container, popping it in the fridge for later.

You held on to Megumi’s plate. He had skipped breakfast. He hadn’t left his room all day.

Approaching his bedroom, his lunch in hand, you noted that his door was open. This little fact would have made you smile under ordinary circumstances, but today, it snapped your heart into pieces.

You knew well that Maya never remembered to shut doors. Therefore, it was easy to gather that she left it open earlier when she asked Megumi to play, and if it was still open, then that meant your son couldn’t even find the strength or desire to close it himself.

You stepped into his room as quietly as you could. You eyed the lump underneath the covers, hoping Megumi would emerge, but at best, you were only able to see the very top of his head. Even his black hair wasn’t as spiky today.

The plate clanked against Megumi’s nightstand as you sat it down. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of the covers, in sync with his slow breathing, you would have assumed he was dead.

It was motherly instinct that made your hand reach out, wanting to touch his shoulder or pull him in for a hug or even just pat his arm — anything. But you didn’t. You didn’t touch him at all. You only turned around and left, hoping that when you returned, it would be to collect an empty plate that needed to be washed.

—

The afternoon sun had warmed the big family home, casting gentle orange sun rays through the windows with drawn curtains, natural light filtering in.

A half-cold mug of tea sat on the coffee table in your den, right beside a closed novel you grabbed off of the bookshelf to read, but you had no desire to do so right now. Not when you could only think about your son.

It was time to check on him again.

His room, unlike the rest of the house, was dark. Chilly. His blackout curtains left the sunlight no chance of entering his space.

Megumi himself was in a slightly different position than he was when you stepped into his room earlier to give him his sandwich. He was still under the covers, still hidden, breathing slowly, but the shape of him indicated he was curled up into a ball.

The sandwich.

The plate was sitting on his nightstand. Not a piece of the sandwich had been nibbled on, not even a crumb. The untouched apple slices were starting to turn brown around the edges.

“Megumi . . .”

He shifted a bit but didn’t respond. Earlier in the day, he would have at least mumbled something, but now, he no longer bothered with doing that either. It was as if he was worsening by the hour.

You were on the verge of tears. What was wrong with him? What was going on with your boy?

—

Satoru joined you in the living room fifteen minutes later. During that time, you weren’t aware of your own endless pacing until your husband wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, halting your footsteps.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

“I’m really worried about Megumi,” you wasted no time pouring out your grievances, resting the back of your head against your husband’s chest. “He won’t eat. I thought it was my cooking at first, but he won’t take a bite, Satoru. He won’t leave his bed, he’s barely sleeping . . . if he was sick, I think he’d tell us. And it’s not like him to hurt Maya’s feelings.”

“I think he’s depressed. It’s rare when a sorcerer isn’t depressed.”

“None of his latest missions have been too . . . traumatizing,” You turned around in Gojo’s arms, looking up into his eyes. “Why would he suddenly start to act this way now?”

“Sometimes that’s just how it works. All we can do is continue to give these kids the world, and hope that it balances out the shitty job that comes with being a sorcerer,” Satoru planted a kiss on your forehead. “Want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no. “I want to do it. But I have a gut feeling he’s depressed about something else. I just know it.”

The white-haired man cradled your head, guiding it towards his chest. His other arm was still wrapped around your waist, and for a moment, he simply held you.

—

“Megumi?”

You stood at Megumi’s bedside. He didn’t answer at first, but you called his name again; this time, in a more pressing manner.

“Megumi.”

“Hm?” He mumbled. It was so low, that your ears almost didn’t catch it.

“Is it too lame for a teenager to spend a Saturday evening with their mother?” You questioned.

With a slow, exhausted tone, Megumi said, “It’s not personal, Yuji just likes hanging out with Nobara-”

“No, I mean- sorry. You misunderstood me. I’m not asking you about Yuji. I’m asking you if you’d like to spend time with me. Just you and me.”

For a brief moment in time, Megumi didn’t respond, nor did the covers rise and fall with the movements of his body. The teenager was holding his breath.

Suddenly, he pulled the covers down. For the first time in what felt like ages, you could see his face. It both sparked internal fireworks of joy and snapped your heart into pieces. You were happy to finally see him, but the sight of his pale skin, eye bags, and absolute misery glistening within his eyes broke you.

For Megumi, hearing your offer to spend time alone with him was confusing.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I want to have some quality time with you, silly. There’s a new cafe, just opened up down the street. I checked out their menu online and I really think you’d enjoy it,” you smiled at him. “Best black coffee in town, so I’ve heard.”

“Satoru must be busy,” Megumi mumbled, “If you’re asking me to go with you.”

“Satoru is napping with Maya and doing absolutely nothing with his life right now. I could go with him, but I want to go with you.”

It was no understatement to say that Megumi’s mind was often unkind to him. Right now, a thousand different thoughts were flooding in: Was this some sort of tactic to get him out of the house, leave him stranded somewhere, and tell him to never return? Or was it more so a Last Good Day sort of method, where you’d give him special treatment to lessen the incoming blow: hey kid, we don’t want you around anymore.

What if this was something else entirely?

What if this determined whether you’d love him as a son?

If he said no, if he continued to sulk in bed, would that make you despise him? Send him back to the unwelcoming school grounds run by, as Satoru called them, “conservative fools?” Reduce him to nothing more than an orphan once again?

But, maybe, just maybe, if he said yes . . . if he said yes, he could prevent that from happening. Maybe.

—

“Isn’t this nice?”

The quaint cafe was so new, Megumi could still smell the fresh paint, though it was faint. Beige and brown tones were broken up with green plants placed nearest the entrance, and the late afternoon sun only made the atmosphere that much more cozy.

Megumi stared down at the hot black coffee in his mug. “Did you really want to spend time with me, or did you just make that up?”

Your eyes snapped away from the menu in your hand. “Of course I want to spend time with you. Why are you having such a hard time believing that?” You wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but noting how he wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection, you sought against it. “Megumi, what’s going on? Please talk to me. I’m trying to hide how worried I am, but I-”

“Well, well, well, you look like shit,” an unfamiliar voice started to speak — or, rather, unfamiliar to you, as Megumi’s face twisted into one of discomfort as a teenage boy approached your table. “Surprised to see you out of the infirmary for once, Megumi. You sure that coffee isn’t too hot for you? I bet you-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” You put your menu down on the table, folding your hands. You gave the sorcerer student a threatening smile. “Please don’t speak that way to my son.”

“Son?” The black-haired bully started to chuckle. “Are you-”

“Yes. Son. Now walk away.”

“Who do you-”

“Walk away.”

There was no cursed energy involved, no cursed speech, yelling, or anything of the sort, and therefore, the stranger couldn’t determine what about your presence made him turn on his heel and head in the other direction. Perhaps, it was just plain old fear.

“I oughta put him in the infirmary,” you frowned, turning your eyes away from the retreating bully and back towards Megumi. “Who was that?”

“Just some jerk. Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Though he was an expert when it came to neutral and emotionless facial expressions, you tried to read him, and noted that, shockingly, a small, amused smile tried to tug on Megumi’s lips.

“What?” A confused grin appeared on your face.

“Nothing,” he took a sip of his coffee. “Um, thank you, by the way.”

“Of course.” Your smile fell into a more serious expression. “But back to what we were talking about. Why do you think I wouldn’t want to spend time with you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I’m just not as fun to be around as everyone else. Yuji, for example.”

The look on your face changed into one that was all too familiar. It was the look you gave him whenever he came back from a mission covered in bruises — the look of love and worry.

“Megumi, I need you to understand that Satoru and I adore everything about you. You are a joy to be around. You have this . . . this comforting and kind presence. We love your quietness just as much as we love Yuji’s hyperness. It just worries us when you shut us out completely. You won’t leave your bed, you won’t touch your food-”

“I know, I know,” Megumi took another sip of his coffee, avoiding your gaze.

“Please tell me why. I want to help.”

Megumi’s leg started to shake. He scratched at the skin surrounding his thumbnail.

“I just think you and Satoru will wake up someday. . .” he paused, taking a small breath. Right now, he wished he could die. “Wake up and realize you don’t want me around.”

Half of you expected some sort of punchline or fit of laughter to indicate that this was some kind of joke, but it never came. Your son only stared holes into the table.

“What? Why would you think something as ridiculous as that?” Your frown deepened. “Do you feel as if we don’t treat you well, or?”

“It’s nothing like that. I think you treat me better than I deserve,” Megumi scratched the back of his neck, though it wasn’t itchy. “But, I met Satoru when I was six. I met you the second you two started dating just one year later. I’ve been in your lives for years now, but you didn’t bother adopting me until you met Yuji last year. Don’t get me wrong, you and Satoru were teenagers when we met and he was nothing more than my teacher until recently, but I can’t help but think that I’m only here now because you would’ve felt too guilty had you adopted Yuji, and not me.”

The instrumental tunes playing softly within the cafe filled the silence as you took a moment to process Megumi’s words.

It was only for a couple of seconds, but to Megumi, it was enough time for him to start mentally preparing for the realization that, perhaps, he would be sleeping elsewhere tonight.

“Megumi, even when Satoru and I were just a few years older than you are now, we still tried our best to care for you as often as we could. I know it was nothing more than a warm meal every now and then or a new shirt for your birthday, but we still loved you.” Megumi looked up at you at long last, and you continued, “We should’ve adopted you sooner. You were always so independent and mature, so I guess we didn’t realize how much it would’ve meant to you. I’m sorry. But please don’t ever think we only adopted you because we wanted to adopt Yuji. Once we opened our minds to the idea of adoption in general, we adopted you because making you our son officially was a no-brainer. In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.”

In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.

Our very first kid.

We love you.

Those words were on a constant loop within Megumi’s mind like a broken record. The corners of his lips twitched, along with his eyebrows, and though his eyes were watery, it wasn’t from misery.

“I’m not used to anything like this . . . to people sticking around,” he couldn’t help but let one single tear fall.

“I know, hun. But you better get used it, because we’re not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere.” Reaching out, you touched Megumi’s hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. He tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “C’mon, let’s order. And don’t you dare try to order the cheapest thing. Order something you actually want.”

The teenager nodded, discreetly wiping away another tear, and together, you both got up and headed for the counter.

—

Dining on cafe food was an enjoyable experience. Megumi didn’t finish his plate, but he ate around half of it — it was better than nothing.

After returning home, you rested your head in Satoru’s lap as you recounted the details of the late afternoon. You both stayed that way, doing nothing but softly and lovingly chatting with one another — and exchanging a few kisses — until evening fell. Yuji came home with 3D glasses on his head, a cup of soda in hand, and the scent of buttery popcorn all over his clothes. By then, Satoru was tucking his little girl into bed while Yuji rambled on to you about the movie he saw, all before taking a shower and preparing for bed himself.

A few hours later, every member of the Gojo household was fast asleep — except for you. Your back was pressed against the headboard of your enormous king-sized bed — bigger than a traditional king-sized, truth be told — and Satoru’s arm was draped across your lap as he slept on his stomach. You flipped another page of your novel.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in your doorway, visible thanks to the warm light of your touch-controlled lamp.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked.

Megumi shook his head, “another nightmare.”

Of course, your comforting words weren’t enough to undo the depression itself. However, the fact that Megumi was coming to you instead of lying awake, alone with his horrid thoughts, was progress. Great progress.

“Why don’t you try sleeping in here?” You offered a smile. “Would you be comfortable with that?”

Megumi nodded. He left briefly to grab his pillow and a blanket from his room, but when he returned and tossed it down on the floor, you frowned.

“No, no, no,” you objected. “I’d kick Satoru out of this bed before I let you sleep on the floor. There's plenty of room at the foot of the bed.”

Though he was hesitant at first, Megumi eventually crawled over your silk comforter with his blanket and pillow. It was true. The bed was big enough for him to lay across the bottom of it horizontally and not touch Satoru, who was well over six feet tall.

Soon enough, Megumi started to sleep.

But said sleep wasn’t peaceful.

Looking up from the pages of your book, you noticed Megumi was tossing and turning. His blanket was no longer draped over his body but knocked onto the floor.

That was enough for you to shove your bookmark into your novel. It thumped lightly when you closed it before placing it on your nightstand. You moved Satoru’s heavy arm off of your lap — he groaned, but he didn’t fully awaken.

Quietly, slowly, you approached your restless son. God, how the sight of him suffering made your heart ache. Grabbing the fuzzy blanket off of the floor, you tossed it back over him. Then, as gently as you could, you raised the boy’s head, sat down, and guided his head to your lap.

Your soft fingers alternated between stroking his forehead and his hair. Your motherly touch was soothing. Unfamiliar. Healing.

“Everything’s alright, Megumi,” you whispered. “We love you.”

Megumi’s thrashing started to calm down. In his sleep, he released a deep breath, and the muscles of his face started to relax with every gentle brush of your fingers.

For the first time in quite a while, your son slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

— Next Part.

🏷️: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk angst #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #gojo x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader angst #satoru gojo angst #tw eating issues #tw depression #x reader #jjk x reader angst

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astonmartinii · 1 year ago

Text

the father who stepped up | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem gasly!reader

mr leclerc has been spotted with an all too familiar dog recently.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | BROTHER'S BFF MASTERLIST

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 1,094,523 others

yourusername: ceo of milf industries

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user1: i am NO better than a man

user2: i think enough time has passed... when do we get enzo's paddock debut

user3: i'm hearing monaco at least

pierregasly: this is false advertising

yourusername: enzo is my child, i am his mother

pierregasly: you're not cute enough to be a milf, sorry!

yourusername: just cause you've got the hairline of a grandpa is not mine or enzo's fault

pierregasly: MY HAIRLINE IS FINE

yourusername: PUSH BACK THE FRINGE

pierregasly: how dare you! this is a big insecurity of mine - you are NOT a girl's girl

yourusername: pierre why is mum calling me? PIERRE WHY IS MUM CALLING ME?

user4: i bet they have a get along shirt

yourusername: all i can say is that someone rocks it, and someone doesn't

pierregasly: are you still being mean while on the phone to mum????

yourusername: the hater grind never stops

estebanocon: enzo is getting so big 😭😭😭

yourusername: time flies, oh gosh i'm crying

estebanocon: motherhood does that to you

user5: i love how pierre and este are mortal enemies but y/n is besties with him regardless

yourusername: an opp of pierre is a friend of mine

charles_leclerc: cutest boy in the world

yourusername: i didn't know you had given up that title?

charles_leclerc: oh i-

pierregasly: STOP FLIRTING WITH HIM AND STOP BLUSHING IT'S JUST Y/N

user6: say it's just y/n as if it's NOT Y/N??

liked by charles_leclerc

pierregasly: I SAW THAT

pierregasly

liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 897,556 others

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly: what's the point of having a sister if you can't steal her dog

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user7: this pooch has to be one of the most spoilt and pampered dogs in the world

user8: i wish i died and was reincarnated as enzo

yourusername: oh sure, i'm sure i'm great for plucking your eyebrows and helping you text back girls (@francisca.cgomes you're welcome)

pierregasly: do you mind?

yourusername: did you really ever think you'd pull kika with your charm alone?

pierregasly: yes?

yourusername: the delusion of men should be studied

pierregasly: do i have to call mum again?

yourusername: you call yourself tripod, if anything i should be calling the POLICE

user9: i know kika must have the patience of a saint to deal with their bickering

user10: i fear for any man who wants to get with y/n cause lord knows at his big age pierre will be wheeling out the overprotective brother act

pierregasly: that's my god given right

yukitsunoda0511: not in the photo dump... i see how it is

yourusername: every girl for themselves sorry yuki san

yukitsunoda0511: i think pierre is just jealous of our looks

yourusername: i think that is exactly it yuki

charles_leclerc: yuki not in the post but i wasn't even invited 🤨

pierregasly: you're literally in italy?

charles_leclerc: and?

pierregasly: god forbid a man doesn't want to be bullied by you and y/n

yourusername: (pussy)

user11: not to be a freak but charles and y/n would be so cute together

pierregasly: say anything like that again and you're getting blocked

yourusername: they hate to see a girlboss winning

pierregasly: excuse me?

charles_leclerc

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tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: no paternity test needed

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user15: okay.... like... they're slay

user16: i'm personally going to celebrate now before the pierre tantrum

yourusername: oh i've already blocked his number lol

pierregasly: knock knock

yourusername: HELP HE DROVE ALL THE WAY FROM PARIS

user17: is charles dead? can we have a sign of life?

charles_leclerc: they can't get rid of me bitch

pierregasly: you're hiding in the bathroom I CAN HEAR YOU GUYS GIGGLING

yourusername: you're BREAKING AND ENTERING

pierregasly: i have a key?

charles_leclerc: for emergencies?

pierregasly: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I NEED TO BEAT YOUR ASS

yourusername: not his ass!!!! it's so cute :(

pierregasly: not the time

user18: i can't - why are they having a conversation in the comment section when they're separated by a single door

pierregasly: WHY IS ESTEBAN HERE????????????

estebanocon: 1. i love drama and i love annoying you 2. y/n called me as back up

yourusername: you're being insane and i needed the lanky man to escort you out!

pierregasly: i just want to talk

yourusername: I CAN HEAR THE SOCK

charles_leclerc: THE SOCK?

estebanocon: i can confirm he has the sock

yukitsunoda0511: why don't i know what the sock is :(

yourusername: it's a sock full of loose change that you swing as a weapon @ MEN OF ITALY PLEASE MOBILISE YOUR GOD IS IN DANGER

charles_leclerc: tell enzo i love him :((((((

pierregasly: WHY IS MAX HERE AS WELL?

maxverstappen1: i am nosey

maxverstappen1: and esteban left the door open

danielricciardo: i am also here

alexalbon: me too, @yourusername can i have some of the dessert in the fridge?

yourusername: is the entire population of monaco in our house?

charles_leclerc: with that many witnesses he can't do anything

pierregasly: WHY DID YOU GUYS GIVE THEM ENOUGH TIME TO GET OUT AND LET Y/N GET HER SOCK

pierregasly: HELPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

user19: what the fuck have i just read?

user20: are alpine down a driver?

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, estebanocon and 1,789,467 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: did you guys know i recently became an only child?

view all comments

user23: now this could either mean that she has disowned pierre or that we did actually witness murder by sock

user24: enzo down an uncle

maxverstappen1: i am more than ready to take his spot

danielricciardo: me too

alexalbon: me three

pierregasly: i'm still alive?

yourusername: GHOST 🫵🏻

charles_leclerc: someone get the sage STAT

pierregasly; do not try and cleanse me away

yourusername: then stop STINKING UP THE GAFF WITH YOUR ATTITUDE

pierregasly: THEN STOP FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND

charles_leclerc: 🤓👆 she's actually in love with me

yourusername: that's true i am actually in love with him

pierregasly: there's a difference?

yourusername: your fuckboy is showing... kika i'm so sorry

user25: we got a 'LOVE' guys it's real

yourusername: we have a child, this is so real

charles_leclerc: locked in for life 🫰🏻

estebanocon: he just passed out in the sim

yourusername: good 👍🏻

charles_leclerc: he'll come around at some point, but for right now i love you too much to care

yourusername: i love you too charlie x

charles_leclerc: i love you more

yourusername: NOT POSSIBLE

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, arthurleclerc and 2,309,877 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: two years strong, no pierre tantrum can stop that :P

view all comments

user26: this is my official countdown to another pierre meltdown.

pierregasly: TWO YEARS? TWO YEARS? 730 DAYS? I CAN'T BE BOTHERED/CAN'T DO ANY MORE MATHS THAN THAT?

charles_leclerc: bro is proving why we didn't tell him in real time

pierregasly: i will choke you

charles_leclerc: you can't kill enzo's dad and be an absent uncle?

pierregasly: I AM NOT AN ABSENT UNCLE WHERE ARE YOU?

yourusername: newsflash bozo we thought ahead and are at a super secret second location

pierregasly: are you at max's?

yourusername: yes.

pierregasly: i knew you were too lazy to leave the building

yourusername: but you don't have a key to his place 😤

user27: y/n is real for that

maxverstappen1: EVERYONE BEHOLD I AM ABOUT TO COMPLIMENT CHARLES: enzo is very well trained and good with the cats

charles_leclerc: why thank you max

maxverstappen1: he must get it from his mother

charles_leclerc: rude! i thought this was a compliment to me?

yourusername: if it is my trait, it's singularly mine god lord it hasn't been passed down to all the gasly kids

pierregasly: i can read that you know

yourusername: you can read? next you're going to tell me you're potty trained as well

pierregasly: that's it i'm calling mum again

charles_leclerc: btw she already knows about us - i got permission from your parents

pierregasly: SO EVERYONE KNEW

yukitsunoda0511: i didn't :(

pierregasly: you're not in the family yuki that's not a big surprise

yukitsunoda0511: that's not what you said the other day... :((((((

pierregasly: i can't win these days

user28: first the alpine tractor and now this, pierre can't catch a break

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,784,560 others

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

pierregasly: i guess we're bffs for life now

view all comments

user32: balance has been restored to the force

user33: the way it only took some puppy dog eyes from both charles and enzo and the past three week civil war was forgiven

yourusername: thank god, you really aren't made to be a drama queen, keep it for the radio

pierregasly: you're just lucky you chose a guy i like

yourusername: you forced me to hang out with him my whole life, so really this is all your fault.

pierregasly: ????

yourusername: it's always a man's fault

pierregasly: i give up. you win. sure it was my fault

user34: y/n ain't never losing an argument i feel sorry for pierre and charles

charles_leclerc: she's never wrong 🫡

yourusername: this is how it should be ladies

charles_leclerc: how does it feel to be the third favourite to your parents now?

pierregasly: really? i can get the sock back out?

charles_leclerc: i'm sorry!!!

pierregasly: but you are right, y/n is the favourite

yourusername: baby is always the favourite

arthurleclerc: true

charles_leclerc: 🙄

pierregasly: 🙄

yourusername: are we done being dramatic now? can i come to races and can we go to dinner?

pierregasly: don't you dare wear red

yourusername: too late :P

pierregasly: excuse me

yourusername: i've always been wearing red in some way every race

charles_leclerc: i can confirm

pierregasly: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

fin.

note: finally back with my fave ever trope and the pics of little leo just gave me that burst of inspiration. leo is so cute and so is the ice cream, charles really coming for babygirl of the year

#f1 imagine #f1 social media au #f1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc social media au

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menagerofmischief · 8 months ago

Text

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily.

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling.

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage.

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them.

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track.

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen.

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up.

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around.

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room.

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks.

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation.

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?”

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice.

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3.

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room.

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair.

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips.

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.”

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out.

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go.

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks.

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders.

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face.

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need.

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

1K notes · View notes

kxsagi · 2 months ago

Note

hihi how r uuu, uhm i’d like to request aaaaaa like idk a series of odd compliements reader gives the bllk boys they didn’t know they needed like uhm idk “I love the way you floss” or smth like that. i’d also really like nesssss. Please and thank you

“𝐮𝐦… 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

a/n: could not think of a better title idea HELP

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, and karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

you: “you look like the type of guy who separates his m&ms by color and then eats the most powerful-looking ones last.”

isagi: “... thank you?”

this man does not know what to do with that information. he’s touched?? confused??? you once told him, “your jawline is the only line i trust.” and he almost cried.

he gets so flustered and honored every time. he literally started journaling them.

one day you told him, “you look like if a golden retriever was in a tax evasion scandal.”

and he was like, “... wait what?”

itoshi rin

you: “you give off the energy of someone who’d survive a horror movie just by being too emotionally unavailable to die.”

rin: “what the hell is wrong with you.”

but deep down, this man thrives off your madness. he will sit in silence for 10 minutes and then mumble: “i would survive a horror movie though.”

you once told him, “you remind me of the moon. distant, cold, and capable of controlling tides and my mood swings.”

he was silently smiling for the rest of the day. never admitted it.

itoshi sae

you: “you look like you’d ghost me for 3 days then show up with a smoothie like nothing happened.”

sae: “i’ve literally done that before.”

you: “yeah i know. that’s why it’s a compliment.”

he thinks you’re deranged. but he also thinks you’re funny.

you told him he looks like a sexy ikea instruction manual and he actually laughed.

but then you said he gives off “divorced stepdad with a dark past” energy and he was like “okay that’s enough.”

nagi seishiro

you: “you remind me of a cat that accidentally became god.”

nagi: “mm. sounds troublesome.”

he doesn’t care what you say as long as you’re saying it to him while he’s lying on your lap.

you called him “a walking paradox of soft boy and threat to societal productivity,” and he sleepily went, “cool.”

he repeats your compliments to himself when he’s bored.

“cat god… huh.”

mikage reo

you: “you have ‘sugar daddy but emotionally available’ energy.”

reo: “well damn. i– thank you?”

you’re feeding this man’s ego like it’s on life support.

he literally changed his phone bio to “emotionally available sugar daddy.”

you called him “the human version of a platinum credit card with a conscience.”

he was ready to marry you on the spot.

bachira meguru

you: “you give off ‘feral art student who eats glitter’ energy.”

bachira: “omg you get me.”

he ADORES your compliments. the weirder the better.

you once told him, “you’re like if van gogh and a raccoon made a baby.”

he deadass teared up.

he started complimenting you back in the same fashion.

“you look like the reincarnation of a chaotic rainbow.”

you two are an unstoppable force of bizarre love languages.

kaiser michael

you: “you look like a man who knows he’s the villain but would still win in a romcom.”

kaiser: “i am the romcom.”

he is EATING your compliments up.

you once told him, “you have the aura of someone who would sue god for character defamation.”

he printed that. framed it.

you told him, “you give main character energy, but like, the delusional kind.”

he paused. “wait… what do you mean by delusional?”

shidou ryusei

you: “you look like you’d propose during a bar fight with blood on your face.”

shidou: “i totally would actually. baby you get me so well.”

he’s OBSESSED with your compliments.

he once made you sit down and repeat the one where you said he “radiates sexy chainsaw energy.”

he made it his discord status.

you told him he gives off “if chaos was hot” energy.

he licked your cheek. you regret everything.

karasu tabito

you: “you look like a guy who uses sarcasm to hide how much he actually cares. like if a middle finger could love.”

karasu: “... shut up.” (translation: i’m blushing.)

you once told him, “you have rizz that’s so potent it’s FDA regulated.”

he snorted so hard he actually dropped his phone.

you called him “the reason sarcasm was invented,” and he leaned in like: “say that again, but slower.”

510 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 2 months ago

Text

— nonsense

summary: You and Matt decide to finally move in together.

word count: 5.0k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: the fourth installment! there's a lot more to come with these two! also, yes, the title is a sabrina carpenter song. basically, this is a bunch of small little scenes combined into one fic. enjoy!

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, periods & cramps, mentions of injuries, kidnapping (it's not what you think, believe me)

series masterlist

Your alarm went off thirty minutes ago. You should’ve already been up and eating breakfast but every little shift sent a sharp pain radiating.

You heard footsteps and someone stopping at the bedroom door. “You have work, don’t you angel?”

“Fuck off, Matt.” You mumbled into your pillow. Your eyes opened abruptly, set in a shocked expression. “I mean—I—”

Matt's lips twitched into an amused smile. "Wow. Good morning to you too."

You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow. "Sorry. That came out meaner than I intended."

He chuckled quietly, stepping closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand found your lower back, rubbing gently. "What's wrong?"

You sighed heavily, turning your head to the side. "Cramps. My insides feel like they're trying to kill me."

Matt hummed sympathetically, still gently rubbing your back. "Did you take anything?"

You shook your head weakly. "Couldn't get up."

"Stay here," Matt murmured softly, already standing. "I'll get you some ibuprofen and a heating pad."

You blinked tiredly at him, mildly surprised. "Since when do you have a heating pad?"

He smirked, pausing at the doorway. "Since I realized you needed one monthly."

You huffed, fighting a smile. "You're too observant, Murdock."

He tilted his head playfully. "Comes with the territory."

You pulled the blanket closer, shifting slightly as another sharp pain twisted your abdomen. Matt returned quickly, handing you two pills and a glass of water, then plugging in the heating pad and placing it gently against your lower stomach.

"Better?" he asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You sighed in relief, sinking into the mattress. "A little. Thank you, Matty."

He smiled gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're welcome, angel."

You closed your eyes, relaxing slightly. "I should really get up for work."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Call in sick. You've earned it."

"You sure that's not just you trying to tempt me into staying in bed with you all day?"

Matt smirked, carefully stretching out beside you. "Maybe. But you're in pain, so I'm officially insisting."

You sighed dramatically, turning your face into his chest. "Fine. But what about you? Shouldn’t you be going?”

Matt chuckled softly, wrapping an arm gently around you. "Foggy and Karen can handle the office without me for one day. Besides, Foggy practically threatened me yesterday, saying I haven't taken a day off in weeks."

You laughed quietly, turning your face further into his chest. "He's right, you know."

"Unfortunately," Matt admitted, rubbing soft circles into your back. "And you need someone here to make sure you're okay."

You smiled softly against him, mumbling, "I'm fine. It's just cramps."

He hummed skeptically, lips brushing your forehead lightly. "You can barely move."

"Okay, yeah, true," you admitted, sighing. "But I don't want you to miss work just because I'm stuck here feeling awful."

Matt tightened his arm around you gently. "Believe it or not, angel, spending a lazy day in bed with you isn't exactly a sacrifice."

You huffed a soft laugh, pressing closer. "You really are shameless, Murdock."

"Only when it comes to you," he murmured warmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Now relax."

You smiled tiredly, shifting slightly to ease closer to the warmth of his body. "This heating pad's nice, but you're better."

He chuckled softly, fingers tracing slow patterns along your spine. "Glad to know I'm good for something."

You closed your eyes again, feeling the steady rise and fall of Matt's chest beneath your cheek. "You’re good for lots of things. Like cuddles, back rubs, and apparently emergency heating pads."

He smirked gently, nudging you lightly. "Happy to help."

You sighed contentedly, your body finally relaxing under his gentle touch. "Remind me again why I never took sick days before we started dating?"

Matt smiled softly, brushing a gentle kiss against your temple. "Because you're stubborn and insist you can handle everything on your own."

You mumbled quietly against him, "Rude. But accurate."

He chuckled again, the sound warm and soft. "Just let someone take care of you for once."

You tilted your head up slightly, eyes meeting his fondly. "Only if that someone is you."

Matt smiled warmly, tilting his head down to brush his lips gently against yours. "Always."

You sighed softly into the kiss, settling comfortably against him again, finally content to spend the day exactly where you were—safe, warm, and wrapped tightly in Matt’s arms.

---

When you woke up a few hours later, the bed was empty, and there was a refilled glass of water on the bedside table, along with a small bouquet of flowers in a dingy vase.

You smiled softly, sitting up slowly and reaching out to gently brush your fingertips over the petals. "Matty?" you called out, voice thick from sleep.

The apartment door clicked shut softly. "You're awake," Matt's voice replied gently from the hallway.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly. "Barely."

Matt chuckled, stepping into the room, carrying a grocery bag. "Feeling any better?"

"A little," you admitted, smiling warmly. "You got me flowers."

"Yeah," he said softly, smiling sheepishly. "They're probably not that nice, but the guy at the corner shop said they were fresh."

"They're perfect," you said gently, "Thank you."

Matt smiled softly, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed and placing the grocery bag in your lap. "I got you a few other things, too."

You raised a curious eyebrow, pulling the bag open. Inside were your favorite gummies and—your eyebrows lifted in surprise—a pack of pads. The exact brand and style you usually bought.

Your lips twitched upward in amusement. "You bought me pads?"

Matt huffed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, I... had some help from a very nice older woman in aisle three."

You laughed, pulling the pack out and inspecting it. "And she helped you pick out exactly the right ones?"

Matt smiled wryly. "I described the package. And mentioned something about 'ultra' and 'overnight protection'. She was very understanding."

You grinned widely. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh. "I think you meant 'embarrassed,' but sure."

You shook your head, leaning forward and kissing his cheek softly. "No, I meant amazing."

Matt smiled gently, tilting his head toward you. "Well, I remember how miserable you'd get back when we were kids. You always made me steal gummies from Sister Maggie's office for you."

"Yeah," you smiled softly, nostalgic. "You were my accomplice in crime even then."

Matt chuckled softly, brushing your hair away from your face. "Some things never change."

You leaned against his shoulder, sighing contentedly. "Thank you for doing all this, Matty. You didn't have to."

Matt pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "I know. But you're worth it."

You smiled, pulling the gummy bag open. "Want one?"

Matt shook his head lightly. "Those things smell overwhelmingly sweet. I'll leave them all for you."

You laughed quietly, popping a gummy in your mouth. "More for me."

Matt squeezed your shoulder gently. "Do you need anything else?"

You shook your head, settling comfortably against him. "Just you."

Matt smiled softly, his arm wrapping around you as he murmured warmly, "You already have that, sweetheart."

---

“Foggy!” You call out from Matt’s office, quickly walking to his with Matt slowly trailing behind. “Tell Matt that if anyone is moving into the other’s place it should be him moving in with me.”

Foggy looked up, mid-bite of his sandwich, his eyebrows raising. "Oh no, I am not getting involved in this."

"Come on," you insisted, crossing your arms. "My apartment is clearly nicer. And bigger. And cleaner."

Matt scoffed softly behind you. "Cleaner is debatable."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "I don’t keep expired milk from three months ago."

Foggy grimaced. "Matt, seriously?"

Matt sighed, shaking his head slightly. "It was one time."

"More than once," you corrected.

Foggy looked between you two, amused. "Have you guys even decided you're definitely moving in together yet?"

Matt leaned against the doorway. "Apparently we skipped that step."

You huffed, nudging him with your elbow. "We practically live together already. It just makes sense."

Matt tilted his head slightly, voice softening. "I know. But you don’t exactly have rooftop access."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, so your argument is 'Daredevil access'? Seriously, Matty?"

"Practicality," he countered gently, lips twitching. "That rooftop has saved your spider-friend from awkwardly tapping on windows how many times now?"

Foggy snorted quietly, muttering into his sandwich, "Poor kid probably has trauma from interrupting you two by now."

You pointed at Foggy triumphantly. "See! Another reason my place is better. Less interruptions."

Matt sighed heavily. "Foggy, whose side are you even on here?"

Foggy held up his hands innocently. "I'm neutral territory. Switzerland."

Karen walked by, pausing at the door. "What's going on now?"

Foggy gestured vaguely. "Matt and Y/N can't decide whose apartment they're officially moving into."

Karen smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Isn't Y/N's apartment bigger?"

"Yes," you said quickly, grinning. "Thank you, Karen."

Matt exhaled sharply, clearly losing ground. "I'm sensing some bias here."

Foggy shook his head sympathetically. "Buddy, maybe it's just a good idea to let this one go."

You turned to Matt, grinning triumphantly. "See? Even your partner agrees."

Matt sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We'll move into your place."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Just like that?"

Matt tilted his head toward you, lips quirking up slightly. "I’m a lawyer. I know when I’ve lost a case."

Foggy chuckled quietly. "Smart man."

You leaned closer, slipping an arm around Matt's waist. "Don't worry, devil boy. I'll still let you keep your little rooftop play area."

Matt huffed quietly, sliding his arm around your shoulders. "You're too kind."

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Someone has to be."

Foggy made a face, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Please move soon. Watching this flirtfest daily is killing me."

Karen smirked, nudging Foggy lightly. "Don't lie, you secretly love it."

Foggy rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe a little."

Matt smiled softly, squeezing your shoulder gently. "Fine. We'll start packing soon."

You beamed, satisfied. "See? Compromise."

Matt chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I don't think this qualifies as compromise, angel."

You grinned widely. "That's because I won."

Matt smiled softly, voice warm. "You always do."

---

A few weeks later, Matt’s apartment was completely boxed up. The only thing left to do was move everything to your place.

Matt tilted his head slightly as he reached his apartment door, pausing as he recognized the familiar, slightly awkward voice coming from inside.

"—really didn’t mean to drop it, Y/N, I swear!" Peter said hurriedly. "It just kind of… slipped."

You sighed patiently. "It's fine, Pete. Just… be careful. Some of this stuff is fragile."

"Right," Peter said sheepishly. "Sorry. Again."

Matt opened the door, stepping inside with an amused expression. "Should I be worried?"

Peter spun around quickly, knocking another box off the table. He caught it mid-air, face flushing as he carefully set it down. "Hey, Mr. Murdock."

You smirked, folding your arms. "Peter offered to help."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "And how's that going?"

"Great," you said dryly. "If you ignore the minor heart attacks from the near-constant drops."

Peter winced. "I'm usually way more coordinated. This isn't normal, I swear."

Matt chuckled softly, setting down his cane. "Relax, Peter. We appreciate the help."

Peter exhaled, clearly relieved. "Oh, good. Because I was starting to worry you'd regret letting me in."

You grinned, nudging his arm. "Never. You’re always welcome, web-head. Just maybe handle fewer breakable things?"

Peter smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, good plan."

Matt tilted his head toward you, smiling faintly. "How much more is left?"

"Just these few boxes," you said lightly. "The movers already took most of the furniture this morning."

Peter’s eyes widened. "Wait, movers were an option? Why am I carrying boxes?"

You snorted. "Because movers cost money, and teenage superhero labor is free."

Peter laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Well, when you put it that way…"

Matt smiled, reaching out and catching your hand gently. "Let’s finish this up."

You squeezed his fingers lightly. "Finally ready to admit my apartment’s better?"

He sighed softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe."

Peter looked between you two, eyebrows raised. "Wow. You guys are really serious, huh?"

You smirked. "Moving in together tends to indicate seriousness, Pete."

Peter laughed sheepishly. "Right. Obviously."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Let’s get these boxes out before Peter breaks anything else."

Peter groaned quietly, picking up another box. "I said I was sorry!"

You laughed softly, patting Peter’s shoulder as you passed. "We know. But you make it so easy to tease."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Everyone says that."

Matt smiled, reaching out to squeeze Peter's shoulder reassuringly. "You're doing fine, Peter. Come on."

Peter brightened, lifting the box carefully. "Thanks, Mr. Murdock."

Matt smiled softly, gently pulling you toward the door. "Let’s get home."

You smiled warmly. "Gladly."

---

Matt would never admit it, but your apartment was much nicer than his. The bed wasn’t hard and lumpy, the floors didn’t feel like they were going to give out, and it didn’t smell like mold and asbestos.

"You’re thinking very loudly," you teased, nudging Matt lightly from your spot beside him on the couch.

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, a small smile forming. "What makes you say that?"

"You’ve got that little crease," you murmured, reaching up and tapping gently between his eyebrows. "The one you get when you're stubbornly refusing to admit something."

He chuckled softly, gently catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. "I wasn't aware you were keeping track of my facial expressions."

"You have a limited selection," you teased lightly, leaning comfortably against his side. "Makes it easy."

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "I suppose you're proud of yourself, then."

"Extremely," you said warmly, cuddling closer. "Especially since this apartment is objectively better, and you know it."

Matt sighed dramatically, tilting his head back against the couch cushions. "I admit nothing."

You laughed quietly, running your fingers idly along his chest. "Mhm. Just like you won’t admit you actually like my throw pillows."

Matt scoffed softly. "Those things are purely decorative. There's no practical use."

You smirked, poking him lightly. "Except when you pass out on the couch after a rough night and wake up using one as a pillow."

He paused, lips twitching. "That's a coincidence."

"Three times in a week?"

Matt huffed, smiling despite himself. "Fine. Maybe they have some use."

You beamed victoriously. "And the scented candles?"

Matt groaned softly. "Those things are overwhelming."

"You mean pleasant," you corrected, grinning. "Lavender is relaxing."

He sighed heavily, amusement clear on his face. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "Just a little."

Matt chuckled softly, fingertips tracing idle patterns on your arm. "I just think you're enjoying finally getting your way."

You hummed, amused. "You say that like I don't always get my way."

His lips curved upward slightly. "True."

You rested your head comfortably against his shoulder, fingers tangling with his. "I'm glad we finally did this."

Matt tilted his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Me too."

"Even if it meant surrendering your moldy apartment?" you teased lightly.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your hand. "Even then."

You smiled warmly, settling against him comfortably. "I'm happy you're here, Matty."

He exhaled softly, his voice quiet. "I'm happy I'm here too, angel."

You nudged him playfully. "Now say my apartment's nicer."

Matt huffed softly, shaking his head slightly. "You're impossible."

"And yet…" you murmured, smirking up at him.

He smiled gently, finishing quietly, "Here I am."

---

Matt stumbled slightly as he climbed back into the apartment, easing himself carefully through the window with a quiet grunt.

You glanced up from the couch, eyebrows raised. "You do remember we have a perfectly good front door, right?"

He paused, lips quirking up. "I thought you were asleep."

"You hoped I was asleep," you corrected softly, standing and crossing the room toward him. "Bad night?"

He sighed quietly, leaning against the wall. "Not great."

You reached for his mask, pulling it off gently. He winced slightly as your fingers brushed over a bruised cheekbone.

"That looks painful," you murmured softly.

"It's fine," Matt said automatically.

You shot him a skeptical look, lightly pressing your fingertips to his ribs. He flinched visibly.

"Sure it is," you muttered. "Come on, let’s get you patched up."

He followed you into the bedroom without protest, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. You grabbed the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and antiseptic.

Matt tilted his head slightly. "You seem annoyed."

You shook your head lightly, kneeling between his knees as you dabbed antiseptic on a cotton ball. "I'm not annoyed, Matty. I just don’t like seeing you hurt."

He exhaled softly. "I know. I'm sorry."

You sighed quietly, fingers brushing gently across a cut above his eyebrow. "Don’t apologize. Just be more careful."

He smiled faintly. "I try."

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you, though?"

Matt chuckled softly, wincing slightly. "I really do."

You hummed quietly, focused on cleaning the cut carefully. After a moment, Matt’s fingers curled around your wrist gently.

"Are you mad?" he murmured quietly.

Your eyes softened immediately, shaking your head. "I'm not mad. Just worried."

Matt exhaled, head dropping forward until his forehead rested against yours gently. "I'm okay, sweetheart."

"You say that every time," you whispered quietly.

He nudged your nose gently with his own. "And every time, I mean it."

You sighed softly, leaning back slightly to apply the bandage to his cut. "I know. I just wish you'd—"

"What?" Matt interrupted softly, fingertips brushing along your jaw.

You hesitated, shrugging slightly. "Let me help more. Tell me what's going on out there. Not just patch you up afterward."

Matt’s thumb brushed gently over your cheekbone. "You already do more than enough."

You smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. "But I worry less when I know more."

Matt paused, considering your words. "You want me to talk to you more about Daredevil?"

You nodded gently, meeting his eyes sincerely. "I want to share that part of your life, too. Even if it's hard sometimes."

Matt exhaled slowly, a small smile forming. "I didn't realize you felt that way."

You tilted your head slightly, lips quirking. "Well, now you do."

Matt chuckled softly, leaning forward to brush a soft kiss to your lips. "Alright, angel. I'll talk to you more about it."

"Good," you whispered warmly, returning the kiss gently. "And maybe try not coming home bruised so often?"

Matt smiled softly, fingertips sliding lightly through your hair. "I'll do my best."

You sighed dramatically, resting your forehead against his again. "I suppose that's the best I'll get from you, devil boy."

Matt chuckled softly, his voice warm and gentle. "Unfortunately for you, yes."

You smiled quietly, reaching up to gently trace the line of his jaw. "Lucky I love you anyway."

Matt’s expression softened completely, his thumb brushing gently across your bottom lip. "Yeah. Lucky me."

You leaned in again, kissing him slowly and tenderly, the warmth of his touch reassuring you that, at least for now, he was safe and right where he belonged.

---

A week later, you met Matt on the rooftop of the apartment building, you had gotten off work late since you had to finish your quarterly reports.

“Why’d you want me up here, devil boy?”

Matt smiled slightly, tilting his head toward you. "Remember when Stick first showed up at the orphanage?"

You raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "Uh, yeah. Mostly because you wouldn't stop showing off all the cool spins and kicks you learned."

He huffed quietly, shaking his head. "That was me trying to impress you."

You smirked. "Worked, didn't it?"

He chuckled softly, stepping closer, his voice gentle. "You remember how to throw a punch?"

You blinked, confused. "Uh… yeah?"

Matt tilted his head skeptically, clearly amused. "When's the last time you actually did?"

You paused, squinting slightly. "Okay, never. But I think about it a lot—especially at work. You’d understand if you knew my team."

Matt laughed quietly, shaking his head. "I thought so."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. "Are you implying something, Matty?"

Matt smiled softly, reaching for your wrist gently. "I'm implying that I should probably teach you. Just in case."

You raised your eyebrows, amusement dancing in your eyes. "You think I need to learn how to punch someone?"

Matt squeezed your wrist softly, tugging you gently toward him. "I'd feel better if you knew how."

You huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. "Fine. Show me your moves, Daredevil."

Matt grinned, stepping back slightly. "Alright. Feet apart, shoulder-width."

You mirrored him, adjusting your stance. "Like this?"

He hummed approvingly, circling you slowly. "Good. Keep your weight balanced. Hands up, protect your face."

You raised your fists awkwardly, eyebrows knitting together. "Now what?"

Matt smiled faintly, his voice warm and encouraging. "Punch forward with your dominant hand. Quick, firm motion. Rotate your hips into it."

You tried, punching awkwardly into the air. Matt shook his head, stepping close behind you and gently placing his hands at your waist.

"Turn your hips," he murmured softly, guiding your movement gently. "Like that. See?"

Your breath hitched slightly, heart skipping as you felt his solid warmth against your back. "Yeah, got it."

"Again," he said softly, stepping back slightly.

You punched forward again, more confident this time. Matt smiled, nodding slightly. "Better."

You smiled back, lowering your fists slightly. "Think I could take you in a fight now?"

Matt chuckled quietly, stepping closer again, fingers gently brushing your jaw. "Maybe if I were unconscious."

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. "Wow. Rude."

He smiled softly, tilting your chin up gently. "You know I'd never underestimate you, angel."

Your gaze softened, and you smiled warmly, reaching up and brushing your fingertips gently across the smooth red fabric of his suit. "Good. Because you'd lose."

Matt laughed quietly, pressing his forehead softly to yours. "Probably."

You smiled, closing your eyes as you tilted your head up, capturing his lips softly. He hummed quietly against your mouth, pulling you gently closer.

You pulled back slightly, smirking softly. "Thanks for the lesson, devil boy."

He smiled warmly, voice quiet. "Anytime, sweetheart."

---

Turns out, knowing how to throw a punch wouldn’t help you in this situation.

You had left Stark Tower and made your way to the parking garage, only to have a rag thrown over your nose and mouth. Your pepper spray—along with your keys and purse—fell uselessly to the ground.

When you woke up, your hands were tied behind you as you sat on an uncomfortable metal chair. You blinked at the large man standing in front of you; you were so drugged up you swore it was Jason Momoa.

“Aquaman? I thought you weren’t real.”

The man blinked slowly, looking momentarily baffled. "I’m not—I'm not Aquaman."

"You sure?" you squinted at him, shifting uncomfortably. "Because you're huge. Like, Jason Momoa huge. Not complaining or anything—wait. Actually, I'm definitely complaining because you've tied me up. Why exactly am I tied up? Did Stark fire someone again? Is this about Levi flooding the lab? Because I already told HR, it's not my fault he’s a walking disaster."

The big guy's jaw ticked, clearly confused. "What? No—this has nothing to do with Stark."

"Nothing?" Your eyebrows shot up, almost offended. "Nothing? Seriously? I'm literally lead engineer. I'm a pretty big deal, okay? I mean, there’s tons of classified stuff I know—security protocols, blueprints. If you're kidnapping people, I feel like I should be targeted for my career, at least. It just seems rude otherwise."

He stared at you, mouth slightly agape. "You—you talk a lot."

You scoffed indignantly. "Okay, rude again. But it's not like you've asked me any decent questions. Aren't you supposed to interrogate me? Who taught you how to kidnap? Actually—please don't answer that. I really don't want details. I’ll be honest, I'm not really good with scary stuff. Horror movies? Instant nope. I can't even get through Coraline. That movie traumatized me as a child. Button eyes? Seriously, who thought that was okay for children? I'm genuinely asking."

"Stop," the guy groaned, rubbing his temples. "You need to—"

"Is this because of Daredevil?" you asked suddenly, realization dawning. "Oh my God, is this because you saw me kissing him? Because, look, he's cool and everything—but do you know how annoying it is to have your entire identity revolve around being Daredevil's girlfriend? I've got a master's in engineering, okay? From MIT. MIT! But all anyone cares about is that I kissed Daredevil."

The man stared at you blankly, entirely exhausted already. "I—we don't care about—"

"And honestly, he's not even the coolest superhero I've met," you continued conversationally. "Spider-Man brings me snacks sometimes when he visits. He climbs in through our window. Kind of like you guys did—wait, you didn't come through a window, did you? I was totally knocked out, so I'm genuinely curious."

He let out a deep sigh. "We brought you through the front door."

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Really? Interesting choice. Wait—did you take my purse? Because my pepper spray is in there, and it's really expensive. Stark Tech-level expensive. I need it back."

He rubbed a hand down his face, visibly exhausted. "You're seriously not gonna shut up, are you?"

You shrugged innocently. "You're the interrogator. You're supposed to make me shut up. Are you new at this?"

He looked toward the door, muttering to himself. "I need backup."

"Maybe try someone a bit friendlier," you suggested helpfully. "Good cop, bad cop kind of thing? You seem like the bad cop type—no offense."

He turned sharply toward the door, calling out desperately. "Hey! Someone get in here. Please."

Another man stepped inside, eyebrows furrowed. "What's the problem?"

"She won't stop talking," your interrogator groaned. "She hasn't even answered one question."

You narrowed your eyes indignantly. "You haven't asked me any questions!"

The new guy folded his arms, annoyed. "Fine. What's Daredevil’s real name?"

You scoffed loudly, giving him an incredulous look. "Oh, right, because I'm definitely gonna tell you that. Listen, buddy—I have confidentiality clearances so high even the president would need permission to know half the stuff in my head. Do you really think I'd tell you Daredevil's name?"

The interrogators exchanged a long glance, clearly regretting their choices.

You leaned forward slightly. "Okay, fine. I'll give you one guess. Go ahead, guess his name."

"I'm not playing this game," the big guy muttered tiredly.

"You're really no fun," you huffed, leaning back. "It's Steve, by the way."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Steve?"

You nodded confidently. "Yep. Steve Daredevil. That's definitely it. Wait—shit. That actually sounds believable. Forget that. His name is Bruce Wayne."

The second man frowned. "Isn't that Batman?"

You sighed dramatically. "Wow. You caught me. Fine. You got me—his name is Daredevil."

The big guy clenched his fists, looking increasingly desperate. "Jesus Christ."

You perked up slightly. "Oh, are you religious? Because honestly, Daredevil's kind of Catholic. It's complicated. He does this whole guilt complex thing and confession and—"

"Stop," he groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples again. "For the love of God, stop talking."

"You literally kidnapped me to interrogate me," you said incredulously. "I feel like this is your fault."

The second guy shook his head slowly. "Honestly, she's got a point."

"Thank you!" you exclaimed. "See, this guy gets it. What's your name?"

He blinked, confused. "Um—Joe?"

You smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Y/N. See, that's how proper introductions work."

Joe stared at you, utterly bewildered. "Right."

"Listen," the first guy finally snapped. "We're supposed to be threatening you. Can you just be quiet for a second so we can threaten you properly?"

You frowned deeply. "Not a fan of threats. Especially vague ones. Can't we skip it?"

A loud thud echoed from outside, followed by muffled shouts.

You brightened immediately. "Oh! Hey, sounds like he's here."

The two men shared another tired look.

A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Matt—fully suited as Daredevil, jaw clenched tightly.

The big guy exhaled in relief. "Thank God. Please—take her."

Matt tilted his head slightly, clearly confused. "Excuse me?"

"He means please save me, Daredevil," you clarified helpfully. "Because I’ve been kidnapped by really ineffective interrogators. You really should give them some pointers."

Matt sighed, clearly suppressing amusement. "Did you... annoy them into submission?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Honestly, probably. But to be fair, they kidnapped me because of you. Not even for the highly confidential Stark Tech info I have. It's insulting, honestly."

Matt stepped further inside, voice quiet but amused. "I'm sure your ego will survive."

You shrugged dramatically. "Barely."

The big guy huffed again, exasperated. "Dude, seriously—take her."

Matt smirked faintly, voice dry. "Are you surrendering?"

Joe nodded rapidly. "Yes. Please."

Matt stepped toward you, quickly untying your wrists. "You okay, angel?"

You stretched slightly, rubbing your wrists. "Yep. Just annoyed. Next time, they should really pick someone who doesn't ramble when nervous."

Matt sighed softly, fighting a smile as he gently guided you toward the door. "I'll pass that along."

You shot a wave back at the two kidnappers. "Nice to meet you, Joe. Aquaman—please consider a different career."

Matt shook his head slightly as you stepped outside. "You are impossible."

You smiled sweetly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "And yet—"

He exhaled softly, finishing quietly, "Here I am."

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n #matt murdock #matthew murdock #daredevil #daredevil born again #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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nayaesworld · 6 months ago

Text

My favorite Dork

Terry Richmond x Black!Fem reader

Part 2

“Who that right there?” Your crossed eyes tried hard to focus on his extended finger as it pointed towards the tv screen. Head filled with little to no thoughts or answers that could save you from his incessant pounding into your pussy. If he could just ease up a little then maybe just maybe you could gargle out a answer, fuck it it it was the wrong one..you didn’t care.

Your eyes finally steadied enough for you to focus on the tall,pale, blonde animated character. A few names filtering through your pretty little head as he slowed his strokes enough for your toes to uncross and you became confident in your answer…perhaps too confident.

“Trevor..that’s Trevor” you breathe out quickly, hoping to impress him with your listening skills.

“Aww Peaches baby.. really wanted you to be right and prove me wrong. Guess you weren’t listening as well as I thought you were.” A faux pout came across his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“You know what happens to sluts that don’t listen…the ones that don’t retain information they were told to?” His heavy hand smacked your cheek just enough for your heavy eyes to widen. Your face heating up from the contact and your rising arousal.

Your shaking hands grip his arms as you shake underneath him, body preparing to release a violent gush of water onto him. You craved to be manhandled and flung about his spacious bed like a lifeless sex doll. To hell with anime…animation..animators. Fuck em all.

“Ouuu Peaches I felt that, give it to me. Because when you do we’re starting from the beginning..can’t have my baby out here not knowing her material, by the time I’m done with your sexy ass you’ll be speaking fluent Japanese.” Pillow soft thighs squeezed tight around his midsection and your pussy came like a geyser, pent up energy in the form of his favorite liquid.

“Bubby please.. I’m sorry I’ll be better just please..my pussy can’t take it.”

“You sure..looks like she can take it to me. Deep pussy swallowing up my dick just fine. My sweet peaches and her sweet pussy.” He pecked your forehead, quickly rubbing the back of your thighs.

“On your knees..I don’t want you to miss one second since you can’t seem to remember the names of characters I’ve been repeating for the last 40 minutes.”

Your sore limbs slowly but surely allowed your body to be molded into the newest position, your soft belly and breast resting on the cool sheets beneath you with your ass tooted up as high as he could get it. Playful slaps to your ass had you swallowing your spit. You wanted—needed that Sephora trip and your chances of winning looked slim.

“Ass so perfect and fat it belongs on an Anime..like look at this shit. I want this everyday..and everytime you deny me and act like you can’t take this dick, this pussy will pay the price for it.” A series of slaps to your pussy lips had you drooling, the slight sting coaxing forward more sticky liquid from you.

“Yesss bubby I wanna be better…just please fuck me now.” You sucked your thumb and sighed in content, eyes wet and waiting.

The opening title to Castlevania played loudly in the background as your cheeks bounced against his pelvis. He played with and gripped the flesh until you begged for more, then filled you to the hilt with his thick dick. The wet queefs battling against the volume of the tv as the animated characters battles against cruel priests and demons. In a way y’all were two of the same. You currently battled a hefty dick attached to a man with a sickening face card and a stroke that had you thinking sitting out for 9 months wasn’t too bad.

“Wanna try again Peaches…you want bubby to ease up on you hmm, take it easy on my princess?” He stroked the soft hairs at the nape of your neck almost putting you into a coma.

But you were going out like a bitch. And mama didn’t raise no punk, it was now or never. You had to get the next one right, a Sephora trip depended on it. And by the time he breathed out the next question to you like a freaky professor, you had the right answer plus a little more to throw him off his high horse. You made the mistake of calling the tall raven haired vampire fine and that earned you a pinch to your clit.

You fucked back onto him, shadows of your eager ass throwing playing out on the walls. He moaned and whimpered softly behind you, dick being squeezed and squished into your soaking pussy. You wanted a pretty, white creampie to decorate your pretty brown skin. You felt his hot breath on the back of your neck and his chest slick with perspiration as the effects of solid good pussy broke him down layer by layer.

You felt the sharp pain of his nails digging into your hips. The falter of his weakening strokes, the exasperated breaths…it all made you feel so empowered— so in charge. You could brag for days and shout out this victory from the fucking roof tops..who was scared of dick now?

“Just cum already…you know it’s a losing battle Bubby. Just succumb, you know you wanna paint this fat kitty…so just do it.” Hot warm spurts of cum littered your backside and trickled down to mingle with your own release. Satisfied sighs leaving both of your mouths and you were greedy to touch your lips to his again…to indulge in a kiss with your handsome faced loser.

Strong hands soothed your tense muscles and massaged your sore limbs back into their rightful place. A lone finger running along his abdomen, observing the purpling hickies you had sucked onto his skin over the course of the last hour and a half.

“Not gonna rub it in my face peaches…you got good sportsmanship all of a sudden?” His hands worked deeply into the balls of your feet, ocean eyes focusing on your pretty face.

“Mm would you prefer me to sweetface? You know I’d rather not do you dirty…I have something else in mind for you.” He threw you a suspicious glance and you simply lifted your pointer and middle fingers into a heart. He didn’t need to know about your extra terms and conditions to winning.

$216 dollars, two hefty bags of skincare,makeup, and perfumes. You cheesed and wiggled in the passenger seat back to Terry's place, you had run through Sephora like a kid in a candy store. No aisle or product was left untouched by you, you picked up your everyday items and a whole lot of new ones. Crossing them off of your long list of TikTok recommendations to try.

Now you had Terry seated in a chair, makeup products sprawled out in front of you. He sat arms folded as he looked up at you expectantly. Convincing him to sit here and be a test dummy for your new products took a lot of begging and the promise of a new pair of gaming headphones—though you didn’t care for all the yelling and hollering he did on that damn game.

“So you actually don’t need to fill yours in because they're naturally thick and bushy…but a little brow gel could really clean up these caterpillars.” Your thumb rested against his temple as you brushed his brow hair into a near perfect arch, the brow gel being just strong enough to handle his coarse hairs.

He was eager as ever to hop into the mirror and see what magic you had worked, a small smile forming on his lips before he caught your eyes and let it drop. You rolled your eyes and quickly pushed him back into his seat, popping open a brand new case of eye shadow you would be perfect for the spring. He sighed and held his head still per your request and shut his eyes. You let the small makeup brush dance softly over his closed lids, careful not to press too hard on the small blue veins on his lid.

“See the blue eyeshadow brings out your eyes Bubby…my handsome bestie. Baddest nigga I know.” The two of you shared hearty laughs before he pulled you into his lap.

“You done treating me like a lab rat yet..I’m due for a nap.” You pecked his juicy lips before pulling one more product into your hands. He pulled his head out of your grasp at the first glance of the shiny new tube of lipgloss.

“That's the one you had on earlier when you came..I like the way it tasted.” You nodded and took that info into your head or the future.

Clean uniformed brows, blue eyeshadow, and glossy plump lips decorated his beautifully sculpted face. He let you get a few pictures in before him stood to his full height and threw a strong arm around your waist.

“I love you yeah girl..my gorgeous, sexy, smart Peaches. You’re the bestest friend a person could ask for..but I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

Your face frowned up quickly and you tried to pull out of his grip. What the fuck was he talking about honestly, he had you fucked up and you would knock sense into his ass, buff or not.

“Wait..wait let me finish hot head. I don’t want to be friends with you anymore because I’m more interested in being your man..if you’ll let me.”

Oh? And this definitely wasn’t where you thought he was taking this, but you liked it. Loved it in fact. Tall, handsome, incredibly smart and nerdy, intellectual… you could go on. He made you feel safe and heard, saved you from bullies when the two of you were just kids, built you up so no one could ever deny you again…and above all else he loved you.

“You want me..in that way?” Just a little reassurance..just to hear him say it once more..just to make sure he wasn’t pranking you like the boys did when you were a teen.

“I want you in every way you’ll let me have you. I’ve stood by for too long watching unfit men attempt to snub out your light..you deserve to shine and be soft. Let me do that for you y/n.” You threw your arms around his neck, hot tears streaming down your face. You deserved this, trusted this..wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.

“You’re lucky you’re cute and convincing. I want this with you, I trust you to keep your word and do right by me because you've always done so.”

“I’ll do more than keep my word. I’ll show you how a real man courts a woman..show you why there’s nobody better than you out there for me. I love you Peaches.”

“Love you more nerd.”

@becauseimswagman1 @ranikyani @blyffe @23jammy @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @tvchi @blackerthings @honeys-archives @luvrsluxe

#dork!terry #aaron pierre #terry richmond #black women

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blushsturns · 5 months ago

Note

can you write like either a blurb / new series on bsf matt x inexperienced reader? not necessarily like she’s innocent but more like she’s just never done anything, and he like teaches her everything and stuff

pairing: bsf!matt x inexperienced!reader

title: lessons

warnings: this work contains explicit content, but it is all consensual! m!receiving, f!receiving, pet names, pure filth.

w/c: 6307

you and matt have been best friends for as long as you can remember. he was always there for you, no matter what. nick and chris were your best friends too, but you always had a special place in your heart for matt. he understood you, listened to your feelings, spent time with you, and always protected you. people always assumed you two were dating because you were just that close. the bond you two had was impeccable and so special to you.

when you got your heart broken, matt was there to pick up the pieces. he’d hold you tight, remind you that you deserved so much better, and find ways to make you feel better like having a movie night or going for a late-night drive to get the greasiest, indulging fast food to help soothe your soul.

little did he know, matt didn’t even have to try very hard. just by being around him, you felt safe and secure. you always wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. sure, he loved you, but you always assumed he looked at you as his girl best friend and nothing more. when those thoughts would arise, you’d push them to the back of your head.

friday night you had a date with a guy that your friend set you up with. you really didn’t want to go, but you’ve already put it off two times before and couldn’t get it out of this time. you were worried because you haven’t dated very much. sure, you’ve had a couple boyfriends, but they all weren’t right for you and ended up breaking your heart in the process. your last boyfriend got fed up with you because he complained that you didn’t ‘put out’ like other girls and didn’t satisfy his needs. it really took a toll on your confidence.

it’s not that you were innocent. you knew all about sex and foreplay, you’ve been kissed before and you knew what to do when it came to sexual endeavors, but the problem was how to do it all. maybe you were inexperienced and that was your problem when it came to relationships.

an idea popped into your head when you were hanging out with matt. you were lying next to him in his bed and watching a movie on his tv, but your mind wasn’t focused on the screen in front of you. “hey, matt?” you broke the silence, turning your body onto your side to look over at him, biting gently onto your bottom lip in a nervous manner.

he immediately turned his head away from the screen to look over at you, his eyebrow furrowed up as he stared at you, his ocean blue eyes focused solely on you now. “what is it, ladybug?”

the nickname he gave you always caused your cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink and butterflies to roam in your tummy and you weren’t sure why. it’s not like this was the first time he’s called you that, or that it had any other meaning behind it. you flashed him a small smile, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, blowing a tiny raspberry out past your lips. “well, i was wondering if i could ask you something?”

he was really curious now as he grabbed the remote and paused the movie so that there wasn’t any distractions. he’d rather pay attention to you, anyway. “you can ask me anything.”

matt could tell you were nervous to ask him as you bit onto your bottom lip again, staring directly at him with your cheeks flushed. “well, you’ve had sex and done sexual things with girls, right? how was the experience?”

he nearly choked on his own spit in surprise at your sudden questions, sitting up now onto the bed, his attention fully and directly on you. he wondered why you were randomly asking him these kinds of questions since it was out of the ordinary and not usually something you discuss as friends. “ladybug, why are you asking me these questions?”

you let a soft sigh emit from your lips before blowing another raspberry past your lips, placing a strand of your hair over your ear as you tried your best to keep your eyes locked onto matt. he looked baffled at the fact that you’d ask him such questions because you’ve never done anything like it before “well, i’m curious. i have a date on friday and i’m nervous.” you chewed onto your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again. “my past relationships never worked out and i never felt confident, like sexually with them. i’m thinking i might need some tips.”

your cheeks were extremely hot at this point and felt as if they could stay a permanent pink color that had tinted all over your cheeks. you looked at him the entire time, trying to read his facial expressions. he looked completely surprised at the sudden twist in conversation but also seemed quite curious at the same time.

“and you want tips from me?” he pointed to himself as if he didn’t already know the answer. you nodded your head, a soft giggle emitting from your lips. “yes, silly. who else would i feel comfortable asking? i was wondering if you could maybe show me a couple things. just so i can be prepared for this friday.” you bit down onto your bottom lip again as you awaited his reply. sometimes it was really hard to read matt, even with his body language or facial expressions.

he looked like he was pondering this for a moment before finally speaking up. “okay, i’ll help you but only because i care about you and want the best for you. i’ll kick a guy’s ass if they hurt my ladybug ever again, got it?”

another soft giggle emitted from your lips at his words, nodding your head a little too eagerly, but you couldn’t help it. excitement rolled through you, but also a bit of nervousness. you knew what you were asking of him, and you hoped it wouldn’t ruin the amazing friendship and bond that you both have built to last a lifetime. “can we..start now? i was thinking maybe you can let me know if i’m a good kisser?”

you really semed to pique matt’s interest now. his eyes averted down to your lips, licking his own lips, before looking back up into your eyes, a taunting smile appearing onto his lips. “okay, that can be arranged. c’mere.” he motioned for you to scoot closer to him on the bed, his smile only widening by the second.

even though this was your idea entirely, your heart rate began to quicken with nervousness running throughout your entire body. you nodded your head at his command, scooting closer to him and immediately settling into his lap, wrapping your legs around him comfortably. your pajama shorts rose up slightly to expose more of your thighs, your hands pressed against his chest. you giggled softly as you stared up at him, noticing his cheeks were also becoming slightly flushed at the sudden position you both were in. “hi.”

“so, this is actually happening.” matt said right away, a soft laugh leaving his own lips as he moved his hands to place firmly against your hips and squeezed gently. “hi, ladybug. okay, well if you’re ready i’ll show you how it should feel when a boy is kissing you and what to do that will drive ‘em crazy.”

you nodded your head at his instructions, your cheeks still violently warm as you moved one of your hands to place against his broad shoulder. your hand pressed firmly against it, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “yes, please.”

his lips curved up into a devilish smirk, moving one of his hands to place his index finger underneath your chin, your eyes immediately locking together in an intense gaze. your heart was already beating rapidly out of your chest, and you were so sure that not only could he feel it, but he could hear it too. “move your other hand here.” he took ahold of your hand that was in your lap and placed it on his other shoulder to keep you steady on his lap.

before you even had any more time to process what was happening, you felt matt’s lips press firmly against yours causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips. it took a couple seconds for your brain to actually register what was happening considering this was your best friend in the whole entire world. you eventually settled into the kiss with your eyes fluttering closed and pressing your lips back against his deeply. your hands stayed rested onto his shoulders, the pads of your thumbs rubbing slow circles against his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. butterflies roamed in your tummy at the feeling of his lips against yours, electricity running throughout your veins.

it’s weird, you’ve never had this kind of feeling before with anyone else you kissed. it was a good feeling. more than good, actually. he pressed his lips a little deeper onto yours, a soft hum emitting from his lips throughout the kiss which almost drove you absolutely insane. you melted into him, moving your arms to wrap around his neck to pull him impossibly closer, your fingers now tangling into his tousled brunette locks. he hummed again, his tongue tracing your bottom lip which caused a soft gasp to emit from your lips. you immediately parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter your mouth, your tongues now colliding together slowly and teasingly causing a soft whimper to leave your lips.

you couldn’t control the sounds that were spilling from your mouth, and matt didn’t seem to mind it. complete opposite actually considering his hand was now moving down your back to your ass and used the back of his palm to push your ass up into him. another gasp emitted from your lips as he pushed your hips into his and you instantly felt his hardening bulge through the fabric of his sweatpants. this was like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and it left you hungry for more.

your tongues fought together in a dominant battle as he used both hands to place onto your ass, continuing to encourage you to grind your hips against his hardened cock. you allowed him to push your hips into his, loving the feeling of his hands on your ass and the feeling of his cock hardening and twitching against you. matt really knew what he was doing, and it was such a turn on to see. you knew that matt has been with other girls before, but fuck, he really knew what he was doing and how to get a girl going.

you could feel your arousal dampening your panties through the thin material of your shorts as his hardening cock continued to push up into your center. you were the first one to pull away to catch your labored breathing, a soft whimper emitting from your lips at the friction of your hips circling against him. you opened up your eyes to stare down at him with rosy cheeks, your hips stilling but pressed firmly down against his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants that you wish could just fly off him this very second. your heartbeat rapidly in your chest, immediately biting down onto your bottom lip in a nervous manner, still tasting his lips against yours. “wow.” you breathed out, a tiny giggle emitting from your lips. “that was..wow. you really know how to make a girl feel good, even from just a kiss.”

his lips curved up into a slight smirk, his hands gripping your ass once more, his fingers kneading into your flesh through the thin material of your pajama shorts. “not just any kiss. a full on makeout session. can you feel how excited i got?”

your eyes moved down to the front of his sweatpants, noticing his evident, prominent bulge through the material. he was fucking huge. without even thinking, you moved one of your hands down to press against it, watching it twitch underneath your touch with a soft grunt coming from the back of matt’s throat. you nodded your head at his question, your lips curving up into a daunting smile. “this is all from kissing me, matty?”

he nodded his head confidently, moving one of his hands to grip your face with force causing you to gasp in surprise at the sudden movement. your lips were inches apart, his hot and heavy breath lingering against your lips as he murmurs, “damn right it is. what are you gonna do about it?”

your eyes widened in surprise at his words with your hand still pressed against his cock through the fabric, feeling him twitch against your hand. knowing that he got this hard for you and you only were such a turn on. your panties were pretty much soaked now with your own arousal, your breath hitching as your own breath lingers against his lips. “you want me to take care of you?” you asked shyly, biting onto your bottom lip once again.

he nods his head confidently, his lips curving up into a sly smirk. “yes, ladybug. think you can do that for me? i’ll walk you through the steps. you’re learning, remember?”

after the intoxicating kiss that you just had with your best friend, you had completely forgot that you were doing all this for a reason. for another boy. you don’t know why that made the pit of your stomach feel unnerved, but you decided to push that to the back of your head and focus on the task at hand. even though this was matt, your best friend, you were a little worried. any time that a boy would ask you to touch them or go down on them, you’d make any excuse in the book. your favorite one was that you played hard to get and liked to build suspense for each and every time you hung out. eventually, they caught on to your excuses and didn’t want to deal with it anymore. it was sad that boys only seemed to want one thing, but you wanted to be prepared.

you nodded your head, your breath caught in your throat. your fingers danced along the outline of his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants, his cock twitching at the sensation. “i can do it. just tell me what to do.”

he hissed through his teeth at the feeling of your fingers tracing over his hardened cock, pushing his hips up slightly into your touch, looking up at you with lust and desire filling his gaze. you’ve never seen him like this before and you were loving every second of it. “well, you can start by getting these pants off me.” he let out a soft chuckle, moving his hand to grab onto yours to pull it up towards the hem of his pants.

your shaky hands helped him tug his sweatpants off his body, unhooking your legs from his waist so he could shimmy his way out of them and kicking the onto the floor. he was left in his boxers, his hardened cock restraining against the fabric. you were extremely nervous, but also excited. this was matt, your best friend. you felt comfortable and safe with him and glad that he was the first one you were doing this with.

while on your knees next to him, you looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster up. “you’re so big, matty. i had no idea.” your fingers shakily move to slide between the waistband of his boxers and immediately began tugging them down and off his legs. an immediate gasp escaped your lips at the sight of him. he was fucking huge. your mouth practically watered and you could feel your center begin to throb at the sight. “shit.” you muttered out as you stared at him, licking over your lips in a hungry motion. his cock was really fucking nice, the tip of it already leaking a bit of pre-cum.

“like what you see, baby?” he smirked up at you as his cock sprang free, the cold air causing a slight hiss to leave his lips. you nodded your head slowly, a small smile creeping up onto your face. you watched as he spit into his hand and began to lather up his cock with his own hand from the base to the tip as he smeared the pre-cum that was coated there.

“so tell me what to do.” you ask him innocently, biting gently onto your bottom lip.

“wrap your hand around it like this.” he grabbed your hand and immediately wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, your fingers locking around it. his cock immediately twitched at the feeling of your hand finally against his flesh as he let out a soft grunt. “fuck, yeah, like that. then you can begin pumping at it. don’t be afraid to add some extra pressure.”

his words were reassuring and helped calm you as you listened to everything he said. you nodded your head as your hand began to pump his cock up and down slowly as you gripped him a little tighter like he commanded. you must’ve been doing it right because he immediately threw his head back against the pillow, a satisfied grunt leaving the back of his throat. “fuck, just like that. such a good girl.” he cooed proudly.

you felt the confidence building up inside of you at his words and watching his reactions. he seemed to be enjoying it which meant you weren’t so bad at it after all. you continued to pump his cock at a steady pace, moving your hand up each and every time and circling your thumb along the tip to gather more of the pre-cum and lather it along his cock. he angled his head towards you to watch you, his ocean blue eyes visibly darker with desire filling his gaze.

watching him like this was only turning you on even more. you could feel your own arousal coating your panties, your center throbbing as you let out a soft whimper. you could begin to rut your hips against the bed for friction, but you wanted to focus solely on matt and the task at hand in front of you. “i’m doing it, ain’t i? do you feel good, matty?”

he nods his head at you, his vision hazy and filled with lust. “yeah, baby. just a little faster and you can squeeze harder. you won’t hurt me. feels s’good, promise.” he reassured you as he sat up slightly with his elbow propped up onto the bed, moving his other hand up to place a strand of your hair over your ear.

you lean into his touch for a brief moment before immediately getting back to it; wrapping your hand around his cock tighter, giving him a harder squeeze as you continued to pump him in your hand steadily. this elicited some drawled-out moans from matt, his hand moving over to your chest and immediately began to grasp your breast through the material of your tank top. your nipple hardened at the feel of his hand against you, the pad of his thumb instantly finding your hardened nipple and began to circle it in slow, circular motions causing a soft sigh to emit from your lips.

as good as he made you felt, you couldn’t get distracted and had to make sure you were fully satisfying him. without hesitation, you leaned down to swipe your tongue along the tip of his cock, your hand still wrapped around the base of it. matt’s eyes widened in surprise at your sudden movement, placing both of his elbows on the bed now to keep himself propped up. “what are you-“

you look up at him as you hear the surprise in his tone, flashing him a small smile before flicking your tongue against his tip once again to get a taste; the salty taste of his pre-cum now coating your tongue. “just guide my head if you have to. i wanna try everything. is that okay?”

“it’s more than okay, sweetheart. fuck, such a good girl.” he grunted his words out, moving one of his hands over to run his fingers throughout your hair.

you flashed him another grin before moving your head back down and immediately parting your lips to take the tip of his cock between them, your eyes closing shut. you weren’t completely clueless. you’ve seen porn, you’ve read stories. you knew the basics; you’ve just never done it in person before. not until now.

matt groaned at the feeling of your mouth on him, his fingers running throughout your hair as he watched you the entire time. he was in absolute awe of you and couldn’t look away. you kept your hand wrapped around the base of his cock as you hollowed out your cheeks and began to take his cock down your throat, inch by inch until you felt the tip hit the back of your throat causing your eyes to water and you began to gag slightly. you pulled away a bit to relax, a couple of tears spilling down your cheeks from your mouth being so full and your damn gag reflux. “are you okay?” matt asked in worrisome tone, his hand pulling on your head with a bit of force to pull you off him to get you to look at him.

you immediately nodded your head, taking in a deep and shaky breath, a string of saliva at the corner of your lips. “just trying to figure it out. i’ll get it. promise.”

he nodded his head, running his fingers throughout your hair to make you feel reassured and relax you. “just don’t push yourself, ladybug. you’re doing amazing. i promise.”

you flashed him a reassuring smile, nodding your head before positioning yourself more comfortably in front of him on your knees as his cock twitched against hand. you leaned down once again, your tongue rolling along the tip of his cock before dragging you tongue down his shaft to the underside of his cock across his veins. your eyes darted up as you heard his pretty moans, his head thrown back onto his shoulders. his cheeks were flushed, and his chest was heaving up and down.

your hand gripped the base of his cock tightly as you suddenly leaned down once again to take his cock in between your lips once again and down your throat. you started off slow this time, hollowing your cheeks to get enough room as you began to bob your head in a slow motion. matt groaned loudly, his fingers tugging your hair with force now to keep your head directly onto his cock, not that you were going anywhere anytime soon.

you relaxed your throat muscles as you began to bob your head with a bit more speed. each time you came up to the top, your tongue would dart across the tip of his cock causing his hips to jerk up against your mouth and making your head move back down onto his length. “fuck, such a good girl f’me.” he groaned out breathlessly, tugging onto your head to keep it in place.

your own pussy throbbed at the feeling and taste of his cock in your mouth, but you weren’t focused on your needs right now at all. you just wanted to satisfy matt and possibly get him to cum down your throat. you continued to bob your head up and down against his length, your hand squeezing the base tightly as you looked up at him through your eyelashes for his reactions. he looked so fucking beautiful, and you weren’t sure how you could have anyone else’s cock down your throat if they weren’t your best friend’s.

you could tell he was getting close. his cock twitched inside of your mouth, causing a soft whimper to leave your lips. he rutted his hips up into your mouth, causing your mouth to take more of him into your mouth. your eyes watered as you blinked them and allowed the tears to fall down your cheeks, bobbing your head at a faster pace. “fuck. i’ gonna cum baby. you might wanna pull away unless you want me to cum down your pretty throat.” he warned you, his fingers still tugging onto your hair to keep your head in place.

“want to.” you said breathlessly when you pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, a string of salvia hanging from the corner of your mouth. “need the practice.” you muttered before immediately sinking your head back down against his cock, bobbing your head up and down against him at a steady pace and allowing the tip to graze the back of your throat causing muffled moans to leave your lips against his cock.

his cock twitched repeatedly into your mouth, a string of moans fell from matt’s lips as he shouted out that he was about to cum. before you knew it, sticky, salty ropes of cum shot inside of your mouth and down your throat as your head was being tugged on to be held in place as he rutted his hips up into your face, loud groans leaving the back of his throat. he emptied his load down your throat, soft moans leaving your lips and muffling against his cock.

once he released your head from his spent cock, you pulled away and immediately swallowed what was inside of your mouth, licking over your lips before flashing him a devious smirk. “that doesn’t taste so bad at all.” you cooed at him, a soft giggle leaving your lips. a bit of cum was still present at the corner of your lip and matt immediately used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away. your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and your jaw ached now, but it was well worth it. especially by the look on matt’s face, he was spent, blissed out, and extremely proud of you.

“fuck, ladybug. you did that. you fucking did that. you were incredible.” he flashed you a tired, but extremely proud grin. he moved his hand to run throughout your hair once again. “i think it’s time that i return the favor. what do you think, hm?”

your cheeks were completely flushed as you stayed perched on your knees, feeling your own arousal soaking your panties through the fabric. just by tasting him, touching him, getting him off made you incredibly turned on and your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest at the thought of how amazing matt probably is at making a girl feel good. “i’ve never had anyone-“

he cut you off with his index finger immediately pressed to your lips, his words coming out soft and reassuring. “i’ll show you how a real man should make a girl feel. you just relax, okay?”

you nodded your head at him, excitement and nervousness rolling through you. he motions for you to lay back against the bed with your head hitting the pillow. matt immediately spreads your legs open with the palms of his hands, positioning himself in front of you. you stared at him, your cheeks permanently flushed at this point and biting gently onto your bottom lip. he used the pads of his thumbs to caress your inner thighs, circling them in a slow motion, causing your body to relax against the mattress.

his hand traveled up from your inner thigh to the hem of your pajama shorts and began tugging them down your body and allowing them to fall off the bed. you were left in your soaked panties and thin tank top, your cheeks only warming up even more by the second. he stared at you longingly, a slight smirk tugging onto his own lips. “absolutely beautiful. i can tell how soaked you are, baby.”

you cover your face with your hands to try and hide, a soft groan leaving your lips and you try to close your legs, but matt immediately spreads them again before pulling your hands away from your face and placing his hands in yours. his face was inches apart from yours, his eyes staying locked onto yours with intensity filling his gaze. “you’re beautiful. you don’t have to hide, it’s just me.”

his words were reassuring and comforting and all you could do was nod your head, your lips curving up into a shy smile. “i trust you.” you murmured softly.

he smirked at you, his eyes staying locked onto yours for a brief moment before pulling his gaze towards your center. he used the pad of his thumb to begin circling your clit through the fabric of your lacy panties, causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips.

you’ve touched yourself many times before, but having someone else touch you was a completely different experience. he slowly slid your underwear over to the side to expose your soaking wet pussy, causing a shudder to run down your spine from the cold air hitting against you. his breath hitched as he stared down at you, licking over his lips in a hungry motion, a soft hum emitting from his lips. “so pretty, baby.” he spoke softly, his middle finger running up and down your dripping folds, his finger immediately coated with your arousal. “so fuckin’ wet.”

you moaned softly at the feeling of his finger against you, biting gently onto your bottom lip to try and contain your moans, but you knew it would be impossible. you looked down to watch matt as he positioned himself in front of you, so he was directly in front of your soaking wet pussy, his mouth practically drooling at the sight. his finger continued to run up and down your soaking wet folds, dipping his finger into slightly into your hole to gather the slick before pulling his finger back up, lazily rubbing your clit in slow circles. “f-feels good.” you breathed out, your gaze never pulling from his movements. you felt your heartbeat picking up once he dipped his finger right back into your tight entrance. you used his free hand to slip underneath the back of your thigh to pull you even impossibly closer against his face.

“i’m gonna taste you and use my fingers, okay ladybug? tell me how it feels.” he looked up at you for your approval and all you could think to do was nod your head, your brain cloudy and foggy and unable to comprehend anything else but matt and the way he made you feel. he slid your underwear off you so that they wouldn’t be in the way and allowing them to fall onto the ground with the midst of clothes already piled there.

he slowly slipped his finger deeper inside of your tight pussy as you immediately clenched around the single digit causing a soft groan to leave his lips. you watched him the entire time, his focus intently on you and making sure that you felt good. your brain was clouded, your body was floating, and your heart was pounding incredibly fast. you’ve fingered yourself before to experiment and get a feel for what it would actually feel like, but you already could tell the difference. this was even better.

his finger immediately was coated with your slick arousal as he began to pump it in and out of your tight entrance, causing a low moan to leave your lips. without hesitation, he slipped his ring finger inside of you as well, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips at the sudden fullness. the sounds of your slick arousal coating his fingers with each and every thrust echoed throughout the room, and this was probably could’ve embarrassed you from how fucking soaked you were, but all you could focus on was how good it felt.

he tilted his wrist with his palm facing out to slide his fingers even deeper inside of your gummy walls causing your head to throw back against the pillow, louder moans leaving your lips. “oh fuck!” you cried out in ecstasy, pushing your hips up slightly as you felt every inch of his fingers pumping into you.

just when you thought the pleasure was already intense, he leaned down and immediately flicked his tongue along your clit repeatedly before taking it between his lips and sucking onto it, a soft moan leaving his lips and muffling against you. you gasp out in pleasure, instantly extending your arm out to find the top of his head and grabbing a fistful of his hair, moans falling from your lips.

he moaned against you as the sweet taste of your arousal coated his tongue, his fingers still pumping in and out of you at a steady pace, going deeper and harder with each and every thrust as his tongue swiped across your clit repeatedly. he looked up at you through his motions for your reactions, your eyes opening to lock them with his and the sight of him between your legs was such a fucking turn on. you’ve always wondered what it would be like to be eaten out, and holy shit, this didn’t disappoint.

he used the command motion with his fingers inside of you to hit your sweet spot, his tongue rolling around your swollen nub causing you to gasp out breathlessly, “so so close!” you were so close to approaching your orgasm and you had no idea it was even possible to feel this immense amount of pleasure at one time, if at all.

matt moaned again against your pussy that muffled against you, his tongue tracing up and down your slick, his fingers repeatedly hitting your sweet spot causing you to let out breathy moans. he pulled away only for a moment, licking over his lips as your arousal coated his lips and his chin. “cum f’me, pretty girl. come on. wanna taste you on my tongue.”

his words were the final straw. your fingers tugged into his hair harshly to keep his head still on your pussy as you let out a string of profanities and moans, pushing your hips up into his as the fire coursed throughout your veins, white stars dancing along your eyelids, your free hand gripping against the bed sheet. “fuck, matty. g-gonna cum!” your gummy walls immediately clenched around his fingers tightly as you came around his fingers and tongue. your sweet arousal coated his tongue, his fingers that were still pumping inside of you helping you rock through your orgasm.

he moaned against you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. your swollen nub became overly sensitive very fast, a soft groan leaving your lips as you try to push his head away from your center while you come down from your intense high. he pulled away from you, his eyes opening as he stared up at you with a satisfied smirk on his face, licking over his lips to get the remainder of your arousal that had glistened upon his lips. he slid his fingers out of your tight heat, causing you to whimper at the sudden loss of contact. he got up onto his knees in front of you, his eyes staying locked onto yours the entire time. you watched his every move with your arousal coating his fingers as ran his tongue along his fingers to clean them, humming softly at the delectable taste of you. “so so sweet, for such a sweet girl.”

your cheeks were extremely warm, a soft giggle emitting from your lips as you tried to control your heavy breathing. your mind was still foggy from your intense orgasm, your center now sore from the intensity of it all. it was well worth it, though.

you always knew matt would be fucking amazing at things like this and he exceeded every expectation. “wow.” you breathed out, another laugh emitting from your lips. “that was..wow.”

he let out a soft chuckle at your words, his lips curving up into a slight smirk at your reaction. “so, how do you think the lessons went?”

“absolutely incredible.” you said almost instantly, scooting up onto the bed and looking up at him with a small smile. “do you have any more lessons for me?”

he nodded his head at your words, his lips curving up into a wider smirk as he places his index finger against your chin to keep your eyes locked together, your breath hitching in your throat as your lips linger together. his hot and heavy breath falls against your lips as he whispers, “well how about this. take what i have taught you for now and use what you want with it with your own discretion, but don’t have sex with this guy, okay? save that for me and only me. got it?”

you had almost forgot all about the guy you had a date with on friday. the entire reason why all of this had happened in the first place. you nodded your head slowly, flashing him a small, innocent smile. “are you saying you wanna be my first, matty?”

he moved his head down to begin pressing soft kisses to the crook of your neck, a soft hum emitting from his lips. your eyes fluttered closed, your head tilting up slightly, a content sigh leaving your lips. “fuck yeah i do. i think you got me hooked, ladybug.”

how the hell could you go on a date with another guy after this?

taglist:

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a/n:

thank you for the request! if you have any more requests or just wanna talk, hit up my inbox! :)

-nessa ღ

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #sturniolo #sturniolotriplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fic #sturniolo triplets fic #sturniolo triplets smut #blushsturnsღ

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literaryavenger · 1 year ago

Text

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere.

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it.

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it.

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane.

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers?

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.”

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing.

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these.

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering.

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

#bucky barnes #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers x platonic!reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfiction #clint barton

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godmadeaterribleerror · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work.

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you.

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could.

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him.

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty.

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that.

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible.

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you.

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something.

But you can’t talk to John Winchester.

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time.

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester.

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you.

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat. “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort.

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all.

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.”

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place. It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?”

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave.

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in.

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut.

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are.

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl.

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?”

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone. “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this.

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you-

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against.

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down.

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you.

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy.

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then.

“Winchester.”

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves.

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur.

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball.

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face.

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away.

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that.

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door.

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?”

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed.

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture.

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too.

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do.

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.”

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too.

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh.

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy.

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.”

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away.

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone.

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists.

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in.

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet.

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one.

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do.

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it.

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this.

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it.

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution.

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn.

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare.

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction.

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it.

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive.

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real.

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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mydearmando · 1 month ago

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“stay the distance” - john walker x fem!reader

pt. 2 of the “touch” mini series

pt. 1 here

pt. 3 here

summary: after the fight in Nuuk, you want nothing to do with john walker. fate has other plans, and you have a tense late night run-in with the object of your frustration.

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: reader has spider powers, idiots in love (but they don’t know it yet), tension, physical touch, minors do not interact

author’s note: y’all have been so patient for pt. 2. crazy that both parts have the same amount of words!! this one really got away from me haha… it got all soft? so weird?? i need comfort and love ahaha??? overall, i think there’ll be 4 parts to this little story, so thank you for your patience now and moving forward 🥹💕 bonus points if you’ve figured out what song the titles are all pulled from!

You didn’t see Walker the night you returned from Nuuk. He disappeared the moment the quinjet landed in the hangar, mumbling something about needing to work off the remaining adrenaline.

Dinner consisted of you, Yelena, and Bob perched on the couches in the main living room, consuming some spaghetti bolognese that you pushed in circles on your plate. The others had gone straight to bed, and the three of you sat there, a feeling other than hunger gnawing at your stomach.

“...you’d think I groped you or something.”

Walker’s earlier words came back to you, causing that gnawing feeling to sink its teeth deeper.

He said it accusatory, as though the action of wiping yourself off had insulted him.

In the moment, you were embarrassed. You missed something during the fight, and he had to save you from your mistake.

You weren’t used to being saved—to having others correct your mistakes—because you didn’t make mistakes.

You certainly didn’t make mistakes that landed you in the literal hands of John Walker, his body pressed thoroughly to yours, his arm holding you firmly in place, and his eyes searching yours, checking to make sure you were okay.

Not only did he save you, he yanked you into his arms and held you by the waist like some kind of chivalrous, gallant knight.

Being held in his arms, it… Well, it embarrassed you.

Yes, that was the feeling, you thought as a heat climbed up your cheeks.

Embarrassment at seeming incapable in front of an ally who was supposed to trust you and your abilities.

Then he made that comment—

“You’re welcome.”

That pissed you off. So you bit back.

And Walker—he apologized when you fought him on it.

In recent months, since unknowingly forming the Thunderbolts, you noticed that John Walker was making more of an effort.

He wasn’t always unkind or selfish—his sincerity showed in small actions. When he took out the trash every week, despite it not being his turn on the job chart. Or when Valentina made insulting comments, and he stood up for whoever she was aiming her jabs at.

He still struggled to back down from an argument sometimes, but you had noticed an effort to cut his losses and walk away. He didn’t want to be the team’s unofficial-asshole or a punching bag, and it was clear he was attempting to redeem himself from the actions of his past.

However, that having been said, he still possessed a temper.

And you had never, ever, heard him apologize.

Yelena said your name, “What is going on in that brain?” She asked, chewing through a bite of bolognese. “You’ve got like, something going on,” the widow added, gesturing around her face as she looked at you.

You reached your hands up, cooling your heated cheeks with cold hands and scrambling for an explanation. “Weird—I think… I think I might be getting a little sick.”

Lie. Total lie. But better than telling the truth, which was that the thought of a certain blonde super soldier made you heat up like an oven.

“Oh no,” Yelena’s lips downturned, tilting her head. “We can make you something else?”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “I think there’s some cans of chicken soup in the cupboard.”

You looked down, waving them off and willing your cheeks to cool down. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It takes like, not even 2 minutes to heat up—”

“No, really, it’s fine.” You interrupted, forming what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

The two of them looked at each other before looking at you.

“You’re being weird,” Yelena stated bluntly. “Like, just let us make you the soup, okay?”

“I like homemade soup better, anyway.” You rushed out, worried that they were seeing through your lie. “Really. Thank you, though. Honestly, I should probably just go to bed and sleep off the sick, y’know?” Awkwardly, you slid off the couch, avoiding eye contact, and entered the kitchen, dropping off your untouched bolognese.

Distantly, you could hear them murmuring in the living room. You exhaled, frustrated at your inability to play it cool. “Goodnight, guys!” You threw half-heartedly into the living room.

You heard their muted responses as you set course for the elevator to your floor, cheeks still flaming.

***

Sleep did not greet you, regardless of efforts to lull yourself. Despite a lack of sleep from last night and a physically exhausting day, your mind reeled. White noise, ASMR, melatonin, and even a pathetic attempt at a follow-along meditation aside, sleep was not happening.

Every time you closed your eyes—

“...you’d think I groped you or something.”

You hit the bed softly with your fist, clenching your teeth. Frankly, you thought, Walker didn’t have to phrase it like that. For all he knew, you were wiping yourself clean of dust, not him.

Although he didn't know that, and you had made a little… scene of the action.

Whatever. He didn’t need to touch you anyway, you convinced yourself. It would have been easy to jump up or down from the ledge and avoid the incoming hovercraft—he just hadn’t given you a chance before he grabbed you by your web and jerked you down.

The more you grew frustrated with a lack of sleep, the more you convinced yourself that you were right. Shaking your head, you rolled out of bed and slid on fuzzy slippers.

Walker had no reason to be offended when he had been the one to grab you, mid-fight, with no warning.

You shrugged on a comfy throw blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around your shoulders and dragging it behind you on your trek out of your room and to the elevator.

He could have set you down immediately, too. Instead, he held you there against him, like you were something to be protected, like he needed to make sure you were safe—

The elevator released you onto the main floor, and you slouched down the hallway towards the kitchen in pursuit of some hot chocolate.

You were a part of the team. A capable fighter that doesn’t need rescuing, and most certainly doesn’t need rescuing from John Walker.

Nearing the entrance, lost in your thoughts, you almost missed the noise and light streaming out from the kitchen. Stopping in your tracks, you listened closely.

Someone was making something—there was thudding, as though something was being chopped, and the faint smell of chicken. If it were Ava, Alexei, or Bucky, you were in the clear. If it were Bob or Yelena, you had to be quick in returning to your bedroom.

If it was Walker—

Well.

You really needed hot chocolate.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, you felt your stomach drop and quickly paused your movements.

A large stock pot rested on the stove, steam emerging from its contents. The steam twirled in the soft light of the over-the-stove bulb, the only source of light in the room. Beyond the few feet of foggy light the bulb provided, the room was awash in darkness.

The muted thudding continued, and you directed your gaze to the right of the stove, behind the island counter, where, silhouetted by the soft glow, John Walker stood.

The light illuminated the tips of his dirty blonde hair, making it glow as he ducked his head down. The steady noise continued, and your eyes glanced downwards to see him chopping something on a wooden board.

He wore what looked like a soft—black or dark blue, you couldn’t tell in the dark—crewneck sweatshirt. His hair was messy, too, as though he had showered and rolled into bed with wet hair.

You stood silent, motionless out of fear of detection as you watched him. He moved deftly, lifting the board to scrape whatever he had diced into the stock pot and returning to the pot with a spoon, stirring in the new addition.

He looked natural. At ease.

Reluctant to interrupt what looked like a peaceful evening for the soldier, and unwilling to engage in conversation with him, you attempted to step backward silently.

As you took a second step, forgetting the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and dragging on the ground, your slipper pressed down on the soft material, causing you to stumble.

Catching yourself, you froze and looked up.

Walker was turned towards you, his head tilted to the side. Now hyper-aware of the clothes you slept in—which consisted of a pair of small sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that slouched off one shoulder—you yanked the blanket tighter around yourself, willing the small throw to cover the majority of your bare legs and bra-less chest.

“You good?” Walker asked lowly, as though trying to maintain the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen.

You nodded twice, pulling your lips into a tight line and fisting the blanket at the base of your neck. “Yeah. Yes.”

He leaned back against the counter behind him, and you watched the movement as he wiped his hands with a dish towel and threw it over his right shoulder.

Arms crossed over his chest, his biceps bulged slightly and filled out the previously baggy sleeves of the sweatshirt. This was different than the picture of the soldier that you usually saw—composed and battle-ready in tactical gear, or prepared and spirited in training. Sure, he wore lounge wear around the tower, like the rest of the team, but you hadn’t seen him look so sleepy before. Soft and bed-wrinkled in the late night.

“What are you doing up? Bob told me you were sick.” He asked.

In the web of your lie, you started to flush. “Oh, yeah. I wasn’t feeling great earlier, but I feel a little better now. I just—”

Your eyes flickered up to his face, where he was watching you with his lips parted in a confused expression.

“—needed something to drink.”

Silence stretched between the two of you. You took a moment to shuffle closer to perch on one of the stools, the island counter separating you, and even then, quiet persisted.

O-kay. Clearly, he was expecting you to elaborate. Well. You didn’t particularly feel like talking to him anyway.

Instead, deciding to leave the uncomfortable silence, and wait until he was done doing whatever he was doing, you took in the sight of him at a closer distance. His crew neck was dark blue, you noted, with a faded logo across the chest. Baggy gray sweatpants covered his lower half, which you didn’t allow yourself to linger on for too long. Walker’s cheeks were slightly flushed and dewy, likely from standing over the steaming stock pot.

Remembering the pot, you glanced at the contents of the kitchen behind Walker. A cutting board, a chef knife, a half of a celery stalk, some carrot shavings, and an empty meat package—

Suddenly, the smell that welcomed you upon your entrance clicked.

“Are you making chicken soup?” You asked, breaking the silence.

Walker blinked, uncrossing his arms and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he glanced away.

“Well, yeah,” he stated, stunted, almost awkward. He looked like he had been caught in the act of something. “I always had homemade chicken soup when I was sick growing up. When I found out you were sick, I—”

He paused, shrugging.

“—I figured you might like some, since you’re sick, and it might help you feel better.” His eyes met yours, which were wide with surprise.

John Walker was making you chicken soup because you’re sick.

John Walker was making chicken soup. In the middle of the night. Because you’re sick. And he wants to help you feel better.

You yelled at him earlier today, and here he was, making you chicken soup.

He looked away from your shocked expression quickly, gesturing around his cooking space.

“It’s an easy recipe, and I couldn’t sleep, and I have nothing else to do, so I figured I have the time. I mean, I was just gonna finish up and throw it in the fridge,” He was rambling, you realized. A small smile began to spread on your face. “So you can have it whenever, if you want it.”

“Walker.” You tried to interrupt gently.

“You might not even like soup, which I didn’t even ask you, I’m realizing now,” He continued.

“Walker.” You said, a little louder.

He waved you off, continuing. “I’ll be done soon, so I’ll be out of your way and you can get whatever you need—”

“John!”

Finally, he stopped, blue eyes locking onto yours.

You smiled, unable to help the laugh that burst out of you. The whole situation was ridiculous.

Here you sat, having come down to the kitchen, wound up from Walker’s earlier actions and ready to bite his head off and then—

He was making you soup.

His current expression—shock and embarrassment, you thought—had you tamp down your laugh for his sake.

“Thank you.” You said, giving him a soft smile. “For the soup.”

“Yeah… yeah.” He nodded a few times. You sat there for a moment, enjoying his timidity. This was a side of Walker you didn’t see often. His shyness was almost… endearing.

This tall, physically imposing, self-assured agent possessed insane strength and a capability to do things no other human could.

And he was making you, someone who had chewed him out not 6 hours ago, soup.

You watched his eyes flicker over your face, taking in your smile. Then, his eyes shifted down, almost looking at your—

You glanced down at your shoulder to see that the blanket had slipped off your shoulders, taking the collar of your oversized t-shirt with it, exposing your right collarbone and shoulder. Your cheeks heated, and you quickly grabbed the collar and blanket, pulling them back into place.

Your eyes glanced back up at Walker. He blinked harshly and cleared his throat, straightening as if realizing his lapse in composure. He leaned closer into your space, bracing his elbows against the island counter. Then, he looked up at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” He started. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.”

Ah. That was why you chewed him out earlier.

You rolled your eyes, willing the pink of your face to go down. “And there it is.”

He leaned in further, and the smell of warm cotton washed over you. Unbearable.

“There what is?” He asked, teasing in tone, eyes narrowing.

You shook your head and leaped off the stool, unable to take the proximity, and slid around the island. Ignoring him, you reached up to a cabinet and pulled down a large bowl, bringing it over to the stock pot.

Standing with your back to the blonde, you began to stir the fresh chicken soup. God, it smelled good.

“What, are you seriously ignoring me?” Walker asked, sounding simultaneously amused and offended. “As you serve yourself the soup I made for you?”

“I’m not biting. You’ll have to find someone else to bicker with.” You giggled, ladling the soup into your bowl.

“Really?” He laughed, and the warm sound reverberated in your chest. You could imagine him now, standing behind you with his arms crossed and his signature smirk.

Suddenly, you felt his presence much closer behind you. His chest was nearly pressed to your back, warming you from behind, and in your peripheral you could see his chin hovering over your now-exposed shoulder.

His breath cast a warm cloud over your neck, raising the skin there.

“What were you going to say, Bug? Don’t leave me hanging for the second time,” he said, voice low and tempting you to snap.

Feeling claustrophobic, and suddenly very flustered, you slammed your bowl down and whirled around to put some space between yourself and the tall man.

“Y’know what, John Walker—” You began, but before you could continue and jam your finger into his chest, he had placed his hands on the edge of the countertop, outside of your hips, caging you in place.

He stood closer—much, much closer than you originally thought he was—his head tilted downwards towards yours to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were lidded as they collided with yours, darkened by the light and something else, something that you didn’t want to think about, something that you didn’t dare put a name to.

Up close, you could see the moles speckled across his face and neck and the small scars that accompanied them. He had used a small bandage on his earlier cut above his eyebrow, not deep enough to warrant stitches, but enough to slow his super-healing process. The navy blue crewneck he wore looked worn at the collar, slightly stretched and distressed from many years of use.

His breath fanned across your face and, frozen, you looked to his pink, slightly chapped lips. As you did, his tongue darted out to wet them.

“You’re pretty good at starting fights,” he observed, voice deeper and huskier in the silent kitchen, sending a thrill up your spine. “But you’re not very good at finishing them.”

Despite his words, his clear attempt at egging you into anger, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his lips. With his face inches from yours, you climbed up onto your tiptoes—to get farther away from him or closer to him, you didn’t know.

He must’ve thought it was the latter, as you felt his fingers gently, slowly, inch closer to your hips from the counter. Finally, the first few made contact, sliding up your hips lightly and ghosting across the flesh underneath your thin sleep shorts. Shuddering in the wake of his warm, light, hesitant touch, you continued to stare at his lips.

You wondered if they would be soft—if they would taste like the ingredients of the soup, if he would push them harshly against yours, or if he would take his time and touch them softly at first.

As if testing the waters, he stayed there for a moment, fingers light against your outer hips. Then, he fully grabbed your hips with both hands, digging his long fingers into your soft curves and pulling you flush against his front, causing an uncontrollable gasp to escape you.

The two of you stood there, breathing the same air, lips nearly brushing.

You felt the anticipation deep in your core, warming you from the inside out. Here he was—John—leaning over you, lips dancing above yours, looking at you as though he had a thousand wants he couldn’t voice and holding you close for the second time today as if you were his tether to the earth.

Was he going to make you wait? Or was he going to just do it already—

The elevator dinged, and your heart dropped.

Quickly, you scrambled away from Walker, ducking under his statutory arm when he wouldn’t move. Footsteps echoed from the far hall, signalling the arrival of another member of your team.

Making to move around the counter and out of the kitchen, you were stopped by a large hand circling your wrist and pulling you back.

Your skin tingled in his hold, goosebumps spreading up your bare arm.

He pulled you in tight, up against his chest, with your arm clutched firmly in his grasp. His eyes were lidded, a fire within them as they remained locked on your parted lips. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, before closing it again.

The footsteps continued closer, and, anxious to be caught in such a state with the super soldier, you pulled your arm from his grasp, gathered the blanket around your shoulders, and whisked away into the hallway.

One last glimpse towards the kitchen gifted you with John Walker, in all of his sleep-ridden glory, hunched over the place where you had been, fist clutching the air you had left behind and burning eyes following your final movement out of the room.

thanks again everyone, hope you enjoyed! 💙🫐

#thunderbolts #thunderbolts x you #thunderbolts x reader #marvel #fanfic #thunderbolts fanfic #john walker #john walker x reader #the thunderbolts #yelena belova #alexei shostakov #ava starr #bob reynolds #bucky barnes #new avengers

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yuzukult · 2 months ago

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shooting your shot [preview] | kmg & reader

title: shooting your shot pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader/oc - preview genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, coffee shop owner!mingyu, assassin(?)!oc, hitwoman(?)!oc wc: ~3.8k for teaser summary: settling down, getting married, having kids, and having a 9-5 job that you go to everyday isn't really something you've ever thought about. however, kim mingyu suddenly wakes you up with a warm cup of coffee paired with that wide cheesy grin of his, and suddenly... that life doesn't sound so bad. or is it? warnings: mature themes, eventual smut, mentions & utilization of guns and other weaponry, mentions of gangs, drug dealers, etc - additional themes will be added once it is posted officially a/n: i know i have some series that are incomplete (i'm sorry) but i honestly lost a lot of inspo for writing... i want to get back into it bc it was such a fun hobby for me, so i figured i'd start over and release a preview of something new i was working on !! it's similar to the themes of i'm bad too (a doyoung fic i wrote years ago) but this is a bit more mature imo !! enjoy the teaser :)

“I like you.”

You blink blankly.

Kim Mingyu always manages to put himself in the worst situations. Last week, Hana, his employee at the cafe he owns, had asked him if he wanted to go out for dinner—being as naive as he is, he assumed a group dinner, only to find himself sitting across the table from her at some fancy three Michelin star restaurant with a small candle lit between them before she confessed her heart out to him. A month ago, he agreed to help his friend Joshua fix up his house and without asking for details is how he ended up stuck on a roof because the shingles needed to be replaced… and well, he’s afraid of heights. Then at another time, his sister asked for a ride and he quickly agreed without any questions when he clearly should have because he was sitting outside of a sketchy ass alleyway in center city. It’s where the boy he disapproved his sister of dating lived, right beside all the homeless people and junkies resided.

And now, with you laying flat on top of a building somewhere downtown, he says those words nervously over your earbuds as you watch your target through the ocular lens. Does he know what he’s getting himself into?

“What?”

Mingyu takes in a deep breath of courage to reiterate himself. “I like you. Like, a lot. I know you’re gonna say that I don’t know you well enough to like you—”

“—you don’t—”

“—but you make me feel things in my chest that I can’t control.”

“What? You’re mistaking heartburn with how you feel for me?” You spot the four blacked out Cadillacs parked outside of the building across the street with bodyguards that begin to surround the area. Mingyu better speed this up or you’ll have to hang up on him.

He sighs. “It’s not heartburn. I like you, really. I wanna give this a shot, but only if you let me.”

“Ask out Hana. She’s pretty.”

You could hear the hint of irritation in his voice from your lack of hesitation. “It’s not just about a girl being pretty. It’s about her personality too—how she is, where she’s from, what she does for a living…” you laugh quietly and he barely catches it. “… see! You think I’m funny too. It’s a great trait in a guy. Doesn’t hurt to give me a shot, does it?”

Ironically, it does hurt when you get shot, especially with the intent you have at the moment with a rifle in hand.

You spot one of the bodyguards pressing against the buds in his ear.

“Let me call you back.”

“Wait, what—” Click.

Just seconds later, the middle aged man in a black suit comes out within a herd of security, all dressed in a similar fashion with dark shades and an earpiece. A warning shot, that’s all this was. It’s supposed to scare him, threaten him enough to do what your client says, because that’s what you’re always hired to do.

Shoot the warning bullet.

All the years of training, going undercover, working for the good and the bad guys have brought you to this—a third party contract killer—wait, rephrase, not a killer, but rather just a shooter… well, not only shooting either. A threat, not a promise, and if your client prefers the commitment, you’d advise them to another person who can pull that final trigger.

A hitman? With no intent of death? Is that a better name for it?

Today, your mark is Jeon Jungsik, or better known as J.S., a drug lord in the city that’s planning to expand his market into illegal weapons. He has a wife, two daughters and three sons, all which he plans to take under his wing during this development however is slowly treading the line of your current client’s objectives.

“I don’t kill,” you told him, the leather gloves in your hands snap with the adjustments you make. “So if you’re trying to take out the competition, I should be clear that I’m not gonna do this personally. I can refer you elsewhere, if you’d like.”

“That’s fine,” the man said, leaning back in his exorbitant chair. You could almost smell the unlawfully obtained crocodile leather material of his seat. “It’s just to scare him a little. Give him a running start to get out of the game. I wanna give people a chance to become an ally. Then maybe I’ll reach out to you for your associate’s number. I like to think of myself as a nice guy.”

It doesn’t take long, but with one press of the trigger, the man recoils and collapses on the floor with his whole team pulling out their weapons in all directions.

“Oh.”

“What? Shocked to see me?”

His face heats up but could anyone blame him? The girl he’s been crushing on is standing before him, hours after he confessed his feelings only to be hung up on. In all fairness, he thought that was a sign that you weren’t into him.

“Kinda, yeah. I thought you said you’d call me back.”

“You were on the way,” you reply, fingers skimming through the laminated menu taped to the plexiglass. “Thought I’d stop by so we could talk. If you still want to talk.”

“I—Hm,” he begins, unsure how to even talk to you at this point. “How about I make you your usual, and we can talk over a cup?”

Nodding in agreement, you shove your hands into the front pocket of your blue jeans. You’ve since switched out of your work attire, tossed and stuffed into a duffle that sits underneath the flooring of your car, along with your disassembled rifle.

That, exactly all of that is why you could never hold a serious relationship. And that’s what you want to tell him—honestly and genuinely, it had nothing to do with him but rather everything to do with you. How could an innocent guy like him, someone who ran the neighborhood coffee shop with regulars that worked in such mundane jobs ever be with someone who was considered a hired sort-of-assassin? Marksman? Markswoman? Was there even a word for it?

Finding an empty table, you plop yourself in the seat. He’s really cute, you have to admit that, and despite keeping yourself at an arm's length with every person you meet, somehow Mingyu always oversteps those boundaries and you’ve never even thought twice in trying to stop him.

Tousled hair and apron on, he’s got some coffee stains on the sleeve of his shirt, light bags under his eyes from waking up at the crack of dawn to open up shop, he still manages to radiate that same bright energy as he always does.

“Black coffee and one sugar,” he announces with a cheeky smile, pushing the ceramic cup to you. “Your usual. Kinda reminds me of you. Bitter, but you’re just a bit sweet.”

Gross. But why do you kind of like it?

“Why do you like me?”

His smile fades. It’s mostly out of embarrassment and nervousness, not because he lost feelings for you in that span of time, but he feels like this is grade school all over again. “I thought we went through this already.”

“I know, but…” grabbing the spoon that sits on the plate underneath, you sir the dark liquid with the steam rising. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want, Mingyu. I’m just a regular customer that helped you out once when you almost got robbed. Maybe you’re thinking that you owe me or something.”

Almost a year ago, when the shop was closing up at midnight, a man in a ski mask attempted to steal the money at the register with a loaded gun.

Truthfully, you weren’t really planning on stepping in at all. On your way home from another job, the thoughts that crossed your mind didn’t include going into that café, but after seeing that scared college girl’s face behind the counter with a gun to her head, you let out a sign before swinging the front doors open.

Needless to say, the man in the ski mask was flipped, kicked, and shoved, his gun thrown to the side as you call her to grab zip ties from the back so you could tie him up for the cops to arrest him formally.

“Here,” you handed off your own personal number to the girl, figuring she’d use it in case of another emergency, only for it to fall into the hands of Kim Mingyu, the guy who had already been ogling you everyday during your morning routes.

“OK, ok,” he says, placing his hands flat on the table. “Maybe I don’t know you, but I want to. I wanna learn about you, I wanna know what your favorite foods are and if you like Post Malone or if you prefer rock bands. Are you a morning person or a night owl, and if you’re just stuck waking up in the early hours because of your job because that’s the only time I see you here. I—I really like you, and I can’t seem to put into words why, but I want to get to know you.”

You roll your lips. It takes you a minute to respond, but the minute seems like hours to him. Bringing the drink to your lips, the warmth hits your tongue and you can feel it in your chest.

It’s dangerous, letting someone like him in your life. In the chance that someone figured out your identity and realized he was your weakness, it wouldn’t be long for him to get captured and kept as a hostage.

“I’m not a good girlfriend,” you warn him, fiddling with the spoon.

“And where’d you hear that?”

Maybe it was the guy who you binded up with rope last weekend, delivering him to one of your clients when you recalled him saying something along the lines of, “Is this the type of shit you’re into? I bet you don’t even have a boyfriend ‘cause if you did, he’d fucking hate you.” Or a couple weeks ago, when that one dude groped you from under your skirt and you twisted his arm, wincing with, “you’re so sexy but you’d be an awful fuck anyways.”

Sure, they weren’t word-for-word “you’re not a good girlfriend,” but you’d say it was pretty fucking close.

“Men,” you retort nonchalantly, grabbing your drink again. “I don’t think I’m good at commitment, Mingyu. You seem amazing at it. Wasn’t there a girl that stopped by a while ago who was begging you to take her back?”

He grimaces, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. You wish it was your very own, threading through them with his lips pressed against yours, the taste of a vanilla latte lingering on his tongue, along with a sharp inhale of coffee beans from him carrying the bags over his shoulders all morning during inventory restock.

But it doesn’t work like that. You and Mingyu can’t work out like that. Not while you remain in this profession.

“An ex-girlfriend. But you don’t have to worry about her.”

“Never said I was.” You were. Maybe just a little.

“Can… Can I at least try to pursue you? You’re not flat out saying you don’t like me, it just seems like something is holding you back.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, because it’s exactly that.

Your colleagues don’t settle, or at least, they don’t settle while they’re still taking jobs. There’s too much risk involved, all which include putting your loved ones in danger.

But for some reason, a flat out rejection doesn’t come out.

“Don’t get mad if nothing comes of it.” With that, you grab your coffee and engulf it like a shot before placing it back on the table.

“Girl, you really don’t need me to be here.”

You sigh. Arguing with Sunny on a Thursday morning isn’t really something you want to do, but Sunny loves to bicker.

She’s the opposite of her name—Grumpy is what her parents should’ve given her, instead they chose the bubbliest and warmest name for the coldest and most bitter person.

Nonetheless, you do like her.

She makes the job more enjoyable, somehow her dark casting clouds are a distraction to what this job really entails because your attention is too busy being on how she responds groggily to every little thing.

“Why do you say that?” You ask, adjusting the kevlar vest around your upper body. It’s tight around your frame, as it’s supposed to be, but you admit it’s a bit hard to shift into any position with this on. “I always need you here.”

“You really don’t,” Sunny glares at you, slipping into her jacket before she zips herself up. She’s a trained assassin—keyword: assassin. Her job is to leave the assigned Target dead, without a breath or a heartbeat left. Bringing her here only serves the purpose of her making the final shot. “You are perfectly capable of following through with this job—your aim is impeccable. Why the fuck did Summers assign me to this? Does he think I need a chaperone?” With the Boss being her brother, it’s fair that Sunny thinks that Summers did this on purpose; he’d been on her ass these past few months when she accidentally missed her marque—but it wasn’t entirely her fault, there’d been a sniper on the opposing side playing defense.

With a laugh, you snap your precision sniper together. It reminds you of those toys you’d find in the aisles of stores growing up, the ones your parents pulled you away from because they were “made for boys.” Meanwhile, there’s two girls who stand on the roof of a building in the city, holding two real ones. “It’s more so for me than for you,” you admit, popping the ear piece in. “I don’t kill, remember? I’ll aim for the warning shot first, the Client will call the Target, and if it doesn't go well, you’ll make the final hit.”

Groaning, she climbs onto her stomach. “I don’t get why you don’t kill—your fucking accuracy is off the charts. You know Summers framed your training targets? That’s how he gets clients—that shit is hung in his office when they come in. Raves all about you.”

You can’t hold back the flattering smile as you mimic her lying position several feet away. “He assigns other people for the job though.”

She turns to roll her eyes at you. “Yeah, because you won’t fucking kill.”

You shake your head. Now, the waiting game starts. “Well, my hits are impactful and torturous. I’d say that’s worse than killing. Plus, why kill when I can use it as an excuse to hang out with you?”

“Or—hear me out,” Sunny begins, peeking through her scope, “you could just fucking answer my texts when I hit you up to go clubbing.”

“I don’t ‘club,’ Sunny.”

“Why? Are you afraid you’re gonna upset Summers?”

You furrow your brows. What does she mean by that? “What?”

“Oh, come on,” she’s turning the rifle from side to side, skimming the area. “You’re his literal favorite. My brother practically has heart eyes whenever you’re around. Like I said, he hung your training targets in his office. Last week, he told me he thought you were pretty.”

You narrow your gaze through the scope but the scowl was for Sunny. “What did you ask him? Pick between me or the Wicked Witch of the West? Who’s prettier?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Ahhh, I see,” you snicker. “Plus, even if he was interested, I might be into someone else.”

Did you really just say that?

It flowed off your tongue a lot more smoothly than you’d prefer, catching even yourself off guard.

Sunny’s mouth drops as she looks over at you. “You’re lying.”

“Pay attention,” you gesture ahead. “And… I’m not. Someone asked me out and I’m considering it.”

“Normie?” A voice through the earpiece says. “Or is it another hitman?”

Sunny grins when she hears her brother. “Hey, Summers. What are you doing on this line?”

You suck in your cheeks.

From what you understand, Summers doesn’t get involved in any of the on-the-ground work. He’s bound to his desk at this point—besides constantly networking, and meeting with Clients, he’s writing contracts, all while managing to assign the work to his hitmen and stuffing money into their pockets. Summers is the mastermind of this all, the head of operations, and it never minded anyone that he didn’t get into the details of everything.

That’s why when you hear his voice over the line and not Chan who sits at his computer (with the ten monitors on display) all day, you’re suspicious.

“Just making sure you’re doing your job,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’re not giving her a hard time, are you?”

“No, but you’re giving us a hard time just from your attendance.”

He clears his throat and diverts his attention back to you. “So…” Summers calls out your name gingerly. “Is… Is he a normie or another hitman?”

You and Sunny lock eyes for a moment; yours glaring and hers content, proud of herself for making the correct observation.

“A normie,” you state calmly, and you can almost picture Summers doing that awkward neck rub. “Nothing serious yet, we’re just talking.”

“Ah,” he chuckles softly. “Just like your mentor, right? Seungcheol? Didn’t he quit the field so he could be with his normie wife?”

“Summers, Target acquired. Status update?” Looking through your scope, your rifle follows in suit of the direction he’s walking. “Did the Client call?”

Summers uncomfortably coughs at the situation and hands the mic over to Chan. “Sorry, uh. Chan, give direction.”

Sunny shoves Summers after tossing off her gloves. “Summers, what the fuck was that? You were distracting us from our mission. If it weren’t for our prized Hitlady here, we wouldn’t have gotten the Target. Are you crushing that bad?”

Standing outside of the van parked blocks away from the setpoint, you both switch out your gear.

Your ears heat up, and so does Summer’s. “It’s fine,” pulling out the earpiece, you toss it into the bin Chan provides. “He’s our Boss anyways. He makes the calls, so if he distracts us, that’s his decision.”

“Yeah, see? Also, can you stop treating me as just your brother? I’m running an organization here. Give me some credit.”

Chan snickers quietly from the sidelines and you grin in his direction.

Sunny takes a deep inhale. “Look, whatever. We did the job, and it worked out. I didn’t even have to kill anyone, our 98% aimed so well, the guy was so scared that he admitted defeat. Another win in our book.”

You groan. Not the “98%” shit again—a couple years ago, there’d been an internal competition between all the assassins. It was pretty much an accuracy test; how precise were your shots, the amount of times you were able to hit that same spot, and additional factors such as weather, timing, and so on were factored in.

Needless to say, you got a 98% accuracy score.

Grabbing your coffee cup from the table, you bring the slightly cold liquid to your lips. It was hot when you picked it up this morning at Mingyu’s coffee shop; his bright smile illuminated the entire restaurant, almost (keyword, almost) causing your heart to do flips in your chest, but now it’s a bit cold since you were too busy to finish it all.

“I’m not that good, Sunny. That’s why you’re here today—covering for me if we did have to aim to kill.”

Sunny raises a brow before twisting the cup in your hand.

“Is that… hearts around your name? Who’s Mingyu?”

You turn it to your direction and your face warms up instead of the coffee. There’s scribbles and doodles around your name, signed by Mingyu at the bottom. As corny as this is, it’s… kind of cute. “Oh. He uh…. He’s the guy I’m sorta seeing. The Normie, if you will.”

Summers looks at you with a concerned expression. “Is that what you want? To date a Normie? He doesn’t know anything about this side of you—how’s he gonna react when he finds out you hurt people?”

“I mean, we’re just talking.”

“But what if he wants more? Then what? Are you going to tell him that you’re an assassin?” His tone is stern, and you sneak a glance at Sunny who just gives you that I-told-you-so look.

“I… I’ll work on that when we get there,” you blink blankly. “Is there something wrong?”

He sneaks a glimpse at his sister and Chan who watch him attentively. “Uh, no, there isn’t. Just uh… expressing concern, is all, from a boss’ standpoint. You know. I have to make sure my people don’t have any obstacles that can affect the workplace.”

When Sunny rolls her eyes and drags Summers away to avoid another uncomfortable conversation, you sigh in relief while climbing into the back of the van and shutting the door closed.

“Well, that was entertaining.”

You toss the vest into the bin. “Yeah, I don’t know what to do about that,” you shrug, plopping into the seat next to Chan. “Do you think I should quit? I feel like this whole thing with Summers, the missions, and potentially settling down in the future might fuck everything up. Do I even want to settle down?”

“Are you kidding me? If I had at least a third of your skills, I’d be signing up for every mission possible. Your skills will go to waste.”

You sigh, rubbing your face with the palm of your hands. “I feel like I’m at a bit of a standstill, if I’m being quite honest.”

“About this Mingyu guy?” Chan swivels his chair back to his 10 monitors propped onto the walls of the inside of the van. His fingers dance along the clackiness of the keyboard, but his ears stay perked at your responses. “I thought you said you guys were just talking.”

“We are, I just…” shoulders slouching, you release another weighted breath from your chest. “I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever it is, you probably need to establish some boundaries with Summers,” Chan says, shutting down the system before turning back to you. “You know how he is.”

You quirk a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s a nice guy, but he can be a little possessive,” his eyes have hints of pity in them, like they’re directly toward you. “Even with Sunny. Like come on, when’s the last time she’s ever introduced a boyfriend to him?”

“Sunny doesn’t even really date.”

“Not since Summers punched her last boyfriend.”

Oh. Well that’s new. “I’m not his girlfriend though—and I’m definitely not his sister either.”

“You’re on his radar, that should be enough.”

thanks for reaching the end !! :) thanks for being so patient with me throughout all the years, i'm excited to start my journey all over again.. so bear with me if i suck lol pls lmk what you think !!

#seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen #kim mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu fanfic #mingyu #gyukultfics

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