#one of my coworkers keeps people in line for way too long

[theangrypomeranian]

I'M GOING TO THROW HANDS TODAY LMAO

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[cranberry-writes]

Dating Headcannons for The Boys characters!

Please send requests, i need motivation

Characters listed; Hughie, Butcher, M.M, Frenchie, Kimiko

Warnings; Mentioned drinking and cannon typical violence/language. Also i’m barely on season 2 please bear with me

Hughie;

- He’s so so sweet about your relationship

- He gets you flowers for no reason other than he saw them and thought you’d like them

- He has thousands of reminders so he won’t forget anything, from a drink you liked to your anniversary he will have it written down.

- Later on in the series he gets protective and cautious about the relationship, scared someone (homelander) will mess it up by hurting you

- He’ll probably push you away a bit to try and protect you but after you knock some sense into him he’ll be back to normal

- Loves park/library dates, going on a picnic during the summer and to the library when it’s to cold out.

- He will do so much for you (flowers, gifts, dates etc) and insist it’s nothing but will cry (happy tears) if you do the same

- Don’t get me wrong tho, he’s still a bad ass (sometimes). He just dosnt want you to think differently of him because of it, he’s hurt people, killed people, and he honestly isn’t too keen on focusing on it. Even if you two are in the same line of work.

- And if you two don’t work together he tries to keep his ‘work’ life and dating life separate, very separate.

“You’ve never told me what you do for work, maybe i could stop by and meet your co-workers.”

“Uh, actually, i don’t think that’ll work.”

“Why not? is everything ok there or something?”

“I-, uhm, work alone, so i don’t even have coworkers for you to meet really, it’s really boring infact you’d probably fall asleep just from me talking about it hahaha.”

- You find out like two days later

Butcher;

- Little shit

- I mean that affectionately

- His pet names will range anywhere from “Darlin’” to “Fucker” and i WILL stand by it

- He’ll probably introduce you to his work before he does his dog

- But his dog is the big ticket, you meeting Terror is essentially his way of proposing before proposing

- He’s protective but not in the “i’ll watch your every move” more in the “im teaching you how to use every weapon to ever exist” way

- Honestly work would probably come before you for a while before he sucks it up and actually makes an effort

- Dates will be at the most shity bar imaginable, unless he’s apologizing for something then he’ll take you to the nicest place he can and put on a suit. (it’s the Cheese Cake factory and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt under his jacket but he’s trying)

- Unlike Hughie he will introduce you to his work at some point, granted it would still be a while before he did but he would at some point.

- He’s sweet in his own way

“Darlin’, look what i got ya.” And it’s a Garfield shirt a size to big but you still wear it anyways

MM;

- Definition of husband material

- remembers anything and everything after being told one time

- makes you baths with rose petals and candles and all that stuff if you mention you’ve been tired lately

- Takes you out to the movies and a nice restaurant at least twice a month

- Good gods he’s sweet to you

- He knows how to cook/bake and will make stuff for you all the time

- My guy will make a meal from your culture and practice making it almost daily just to give you a taste of home.

- He really loves back massages and cuddling after a long day

- Put on some crappy reality show for background noise and nap together

- He wants you as far away as humanly possible from his work, will literally say shit like “everyone at work has the plague you can’t visit” as a joke to try and change the subject

- Chances are you won’t find out

- His favorite flowers are tulips and nothing will change my mind about it

“Baby what are these?”

“Tulips, I bought them from a street market on 11th today. They’re your favorite, right?”

“Gods, sweetheart you’re perfect.”

Frenchie;

- When you two meet you both think it’s just going to be a one night stand

-…then it’s two nights, then three, then a week, then you start spending more time at his place than your own. One day you guys just realize you’re moved in and dating

“Are we dating?”

“…Was there anything else we could be mon cœur?”

- honestly i don’t think you two would get together if you weren’t working together, or at least you were also into some shady shit

- But overall you guys have a strong relationship, one gets hurt the other kills someone, someone is hungry the other is already cooking, stuff like that

- He also cooks but it’s only french food, it’s like a super power. He can cook any french food effortlessly but literally anything else he messes up

- If you are french he’ll be super happy someone else will appreciate the same stuff in a similar way

- If not then he’ll be happy to share stuff with you, teach you some french words and tell you about stuff he grew up with

- Honestly he’s just happy someone (other than Kimiko) will listen and take an interest

Kimiko

-I have a confession to make, Kimiko is my favorite and i have a very blatant bias towards her

- Kill anyone you want bby i don’t care ill always like you

- Anyways, It probably takes you a while to get close enough to her that she’ll consider dating you

- Once y’all get to that point i don’t think you could break it tho

- I think she would like constant minimal physical contact, like hand holding or leaning on each other

- I think she’d be pretty protective over you, like someone looks at you wrong and she wants to maul them

- Learn sign language with/for her she will love it

- Draw with her, get her supplies, like those alcohol markers i’m sure she’ll love them

- Honestly i don’t think she’d be big on pet names, she wouldn’t object to it but i don’t think she’d give you one first

- Cook for her, i just think it would be sweet and she deserves it

“I got you some of those markers you’ve been looking at for a while.”

Thank you, this is nice

- Please she’s perfect i love her

[ninii-winchester]

Crossed Allegiances

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 7.5k

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff, spn spoilers, language, canon violence. Not proofread.

A/n: had to split in two because the long fic has become too long.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

"Hurry up." Said the man in hushed whisper, his voice barely audible in the dead of the night.

"You're going to regret this, you know?" She whispered back, her voice was soft. She wasn't threatening him, rather she was scared for what might happen after.

"Don't make me change my mind." He replied. His words held no malice. They were more of a plea for her to hurry up. Before he could speak any further, she pulled him into a tight hug. He wasn't shocked at her action. He was used to her embracing him whenever the opportunity presented itself. Although he hated when she did so, this time he held her back and cherished these last moments with her.

"I'll owe you. For the rest of my life." She whispered lowly.

"You won't. You just be safe." He said pulling away from her. She nodded her head in a silent promise that she wouldn't be reckless and be safe. She looked at face, remembering every last detail, his short dark brown hair, the scar on his right cheek, his eyes, knowing this would be the last time she ever sees him in a very long time.

With a loud gasp Y/n sat up in her bed. Her forehead was covered in sweat as she heaved looking around. She relaxed a bit as she realised she was in her room, in her apartment.

It wasn't a nightmare per say that woke her up from her slumber. It was a memory. A memory buried in the back of her mind that she doesn't want to forget or remember. She wants to remember the last time she was with the most important person in her life but she wants to forget how she got here. She wants to forget how it was the last time she ever saw him and how she has no way of contacting him without risking his life.

With a heavy heart she dragged herself out of the bed, making her way towards the bathroom to get ready for her day.

Y/n L/n, a twenty four year old woman, who lives in Lebanon, Kansas for the past five years. She lives alone in her one bedroom apartment. Works two jobs, at the local bakery, near her place, during the day and as a bartender at the bar during the night.

She doesn't necessarily need the money. She works to keep herself busy. To keep herself from sitting idle and remembering the things she desperately wants to forget.

Making her way towards the bakery, she was the first to arrive there. It has always been like this, she's the first to arrive and the last to leave. She fumbled with the keys, her breath forming small clouds in the crisp morning air. With a soft click, she unlocked the door and pushed it open, the familiar scent of fresh bread and vanilla greeting her.

Y/n flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open" and stepped inside, her movements practiced and efficient. She turned on the lights. The countertops were spotless, and the display cases were lined with freshly baked goods from the previous day, waiting to be restocked.

Soon her coworkers arrived and the bakery came to life with the customers filling in, and the aroma of rising bread and sweet pastries, filling her with warmth she lacked in her life.

Y/n's day went as usual, being in the back, finding solace in the warmth of the kitchen and  taking pleasure in baking goods.

"Hey Y/n." James, her co-worker called out. "Can you take the counter please? Ellie isn't back from her break but mother nature's calling me!" Y/n laughed, nodding her head. "Thank you you're a life saver. I owe you." He yelled running towards the bathroom and she just grinned. She didn't mind helping out.

Y/n made her way outside and stood behind the counter. Rush hour had passed and there weren't many people in the bakery. Just an old man enjoying his cupcakes, and a young couple having donuts with coffee.

The front door opened and the bell chimed indicating someone had walked in. Y/n prepared herself to greet the customer but the minute she looked at him, the air was knocked out of her lungs. He was gorgeous. She stared as he came closer, noting his eyes were the greenest eyes she'd ever seen.

"Hello!" The man said as he finally stopped in-front of her. His voice snapped her out of her trance, it was velvet smooth.

"Hey, what can i get you?" She cleared her throat flashing him a smile.

"Pie." He said with a childlike excitement. "The banner outside said it's Special Pie Day."

"Sure is. And it seems to be your lucky day mister, we're down to our last slice." She smiled before moving to get him his pie. She placed it in a takeaway box and gave it to him and he thanked her before paying for it.

"Have a nice day!" She said to him.

"You too." He replied before walking out.

The rest of the day Y/n spent thinking about of the handsome stranger. After closing up, she went home, she ate the leftover pizza and took a shower. Dressed in her jeans and a blue crop top she left home for her other job.

Time went by as usual, drunk fights, pool hustling and bad karaoke. After serving another patron Y/n wiped the counter top. She threw the paper towel into the bin it missed, so she squatted down to pick it up and throw it in properly this time. She jumped a bit when she stood back up and saw green eyes sitting on the stool.

"What can i get ya?" She questioned the handsome stranger. He recognised her from earlier.

"A beer please."

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're stalking me." She teased him putting the bottle in front of him.

"Nah, sweetheart. You just happened to be at two of my favourite places." He flashed her a charming smile.

"I haven't seen you around here before." She leaned a bit on the counter trying to remember if she's ever seen him before.

"Just passing by. But a good pie and beer, key to my heart." She nodded her head in understanding, it wasn't the places that were his favourite rather the items.

"Did you like the pie then?" She couldn't help but ask. She knew she was at what she did but it never hurt to ask for a bit of validation.

"Best damn pie I've ever had." He exclaimed.

"Then I guess I've unlocked your heart." She grinned at him.

"You made it?" He questioned and she nodded eagerly. She didn't know what it was about this stranger that made her act like a high school girl but she was having fun. She liked that she had his attention. She wanted to get to know him, even if he was just passing by.

"Well it was some pie..." he trailed off looking at her, hoping to get a name.

"Y/n." She filled in. 

"Dean." He introduced himself.

"So what brings you here Dean?" She asked hoping to find more about the extremely gorgeous man sitting in front of her.

"Work." His vague answer told her he didn't want to talk more about it. So she dropped it. He asked her a few questions about her life here, he didn't ask her any personal questions so she was happy to indulge him. After he was finished with his third beer, he got a call and had to leave, much to her dismay. Fifteen minutes after he left, her shift was over and she headed home.

It was a silent night as she walked in the dark. She could feel another presence behind her and she knew she was being followed. Whoever it was, it's his bad day. She wasn't just a girl and she was really waiting for him to jump her just so she could beat the daylights out of him. But he didn't, and she couldn't risk him follow her all the way to her home so she slowed her steps, and then completely stopped.

"I know you're there." She called out. She moved towards the alley behind the dumpster and saw a figure in the shadows. The figure moved back as she approached him. Another pair of footsteps could be heard from outside the alley. She grabbed the shadow's arm and placed her forearm over his neck, pressing him into the wall, slightly cutting of his oxygen. As she pushed him to the wall, the light from the street lamp shone on his face. "Dean?" She questioned. "So you are stalking me!" His eyes widened as she said that.

"No, this isn't what it looks like!" He replied in a hushed voice.

"Three time's not a coincidence, Dean." She snapped. The sound of another pair of footsteps was getting louder. Dean rolled his eyes, not at her but the approaching footsteps.  Soon enough a man appeared in-front of them and Dean managed to break free from her hold and pushed her behind him. The man in front of him snarled as he barred his teeth in a menacing display. They weren't teeth Y/n noticed. Fangs.

The vampire lunged at Dean and the hunter was quick, getting his machete out of his jacket he charged at him. The vampire pushed at Dean's chest, throwing him against the wall, his machete slipping off his hands. The creature, closed in on Y/n. With calculated moves, she kneed the monster in the stomach.  The green eyed hunter watched as she reached over and picked Dean's machete, beheading the monster in one swift motion. Dean stood up but his jaw was still on the floor.

It was true that he was following her but the other two times he met her was purely coincidental. When he met her at the bakery, he just thought she was pretty. The next time he saw her at the bar, it was pure coincidence, after talking to her, he found her enticing. But then he got the call from his dad asking about his hunt and he remembered he was here for work. So he went back to his motel for research, however during his research he noticed that vamp was taking a certain type of females. Girls with Y/e/c eyes, y/h/c hair and the ones with a specific body type. His mind flashed with an image of Y/n and he immediately left his motel. His assumption had been true since the vamp actually came after her but he didn't expect her to do what she did.

"What did you do?" He asked her.

"Killed him, obviously! And saved your ass." She snapped folding her arms across her chest.

"Damn it Y/n, I could've followed him to his nest." He argued. "I'm gonna have to start over now."

"You wanted to use me as bait? Are you fucking kidding me?" She glared at him. "Stop hunting if it's such a bother to do your job in the first place."

"I wasn't using you as bait, I came to save you. If you hadn't killed him, I would've made him tell me where the rest of them are." He retorted. "Are you a hunter?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"No." She replied unfolding her arms and walking over to the dead creature's body. She patted his pockets hoping to find something that could lead them to his base. Dean scoffed at her response.

"Are you seriously going lie to my face after I just saw you decapitate a vampire?"

"I'm not a hunter Dean." She answered through gritted teeth. She found a cellphone in the vamps pocket, she threw it at Dean who caught it effortlessly. "That might help you." She said walking away.

"Hey.!!" He ran behind her and grabbed her arm as he caught up to her. "I could use the back up, you know." He tried to convince her with his captivating smile. She gave him a deadpan expression. "C'mon sweetheart, I'll owe you." He didn't give two shits about back up. He just didn't want her to leave too soon. Now that he knows he can be himself in front of her, he just wants to spend a bit more time with her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, he fidgeted under her scrutinising gaze and she smirked. "C'mon, out with it, sweetheart." She demanded in a teasing tone. Dean let out a huff.

"I thought you were pretty. But now I think you're smoking, you're badass and it's hot so can you blame a man for wanting to spend some more time with you?" He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Besides you seem to know about this stuff and it's just a cherry on top."

"You could've just said so. Besides now that I think about it, you actually might need backup." He rolled his eyes at her teasing, knowing he's completely capable of holding on his own. "Lead the way." She motioned him to lead the way.

He took her to the Impala and she settled in the passengers seat. It wasn't long before she found herself out a cheap motel. He guided her inside his room and she could see the beds were still made, a few empty beer bottles were placed on the table with his laptop sitting on it. 

"May I?" She gestured to his laptop and he shrugged. She took a seat on the chair, before she could open the computer he jumped a bit before snatching it from her. He gestured her to wait a minute and closed all the tabs before giving it back to her. She gave him an amused look and he looked sheepish. "The phone." She raised her palm out in front of him. She went through the messages, the recent one stating,

Get back ASAP. -Rick

Y/n quickly traced the number and a few minutes later the computer pinged. "I got it." She turned the screen towards Dean and he was impressed by how quickly she found their target.

"Let's go, sweetheart."

It didn't take them long to arrive at the vampire's nest. They quickly sneaked inside the abandoned building, Y/n's grip tight on her borrowed machete. She scanned the area before moving in stealthily. Dean right behind her. As they ventured further into the building, a bit of chatter could be heard over loud music coming from upstairs. The duo nodded at each other and made their way upstairs. It all happened in a flash, Y/n noticed they were seven of them and charged fearlessly. Slashing heads after heads. One of them had managed to knock the machete out of her hand but she didn't falter, she jumped a bit and spin kicked the vampire which made him fall a few feet away with a loud thud. That gave her the opening to grab her weapon and end his life.

Y/n and Dean panted, covered in blood with victorious grins of their faces. Dean had witnessed how she'd kicked the vamp and he was impressed. This girl was astonishing him every second. He wanted to know her, he needed to know the girl who denied being a hunter but fought better than one.

"I believe a celebration is in order." Dean said holding his hand out to her. She grabbed it without hesitation.

"My place, Deano." She whispered in his ear and he swore he felt his blood rush to all the right places. After burning the bodies the two got into the Impala, driving to her place. She let him inside her apartment and closed the door behind her.

"Drink?" She questioned walking into the kitchen. Dean nodded. "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable." She gestured to the couch.

"Nah, don't wanna ruin your couch, sweetheart." Dean replied as she came back with two bottles of beer. He took one graciously and took a big swig.

"Then why don't you strip, sweetheart." He mentally groaned as he's never met a woman like this before. He swore if he was capable, he would've fallen in love with her. Her eyes watched how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Leaving her bottle on the coffee table, she moved toward the bathroom. She tossed her top at him before disappearing inside.

"Fuck, this woman." Dean groaned before joining her inside. She was waiting for him under the shower in all her naked glory. Dean didn't waste anytime before stripping off his clothes and joining her. He stepped under the warm water his chest pressing against her back. She could feel his length pressing into her back. She turned around, slamming her lips into his. He grabbed the back of her head, pulling her closer, their lips met in an incredibly intense kiss, charged with a raw, electric heat. The kiss deepened, becoming fierce, that left them both breathless and craving more. He groaned into her mouth.

"Fuck i gotta take you to bed." He growled. As much as he loves a good shower sex he needs to take her to bed, he needs to have a taste of her sweet nectar, he wants her to fall apart on his tongue at least twice before has his way with her, before he spilts her open. Most of all he wants her to enjoy this as much as he does, he wants her to be comfortable.

She nodded before turning off the shower. He picked her up effortlessly, and threw her on the bed. He kissed her once before making his way down between her legs. He buried his head in her core. Lapping at her juices like a starved man. As much as his body ached to be inside of her, he needed her to come undone on his tongue. And she did. Hard.

"I could eat you all day, fuck you're sweeter than any pie I've ever had." He praised kissing the inside of her thighs.

"Dean." She whimpered. "Need you." She was needy for him, she had never wanted a man as much as she him and she didn't even know his last name.

"Patience, baby." He rasped. Fuck, his voice alone was enough for her to lose every last thread of her sanity. And his expert mouth and fingers had her wanting, begging for more.

He hovered above her, his hand resting beside her head. His other hand tracing all over her body as his mouth left open mouth kisses over her neck and chest. Although she was loving being submissive for him, she was running out of patience. Pulling him down slightly she flipped him on his back, moving up to straddle his waist.

"Easy, princess." Dean teased as she positioned herself and sunk down on him. He groaned loudly as he sheathed inside her completely. "Fuck baby." He grunted as she started moving.

"Dean." She gasped as running her hands all over her body. Throwing her head she moved faster.

"Say my name, just like that." He flipped them over so she was under him again. Pulling her legs over his shoulders, he pounded into her. She didn't remember the last time a man had her screaming his name over and over until it was the only thing she remembered. He pressed his lips onto hers, one of his hands wrapping around her throat, adding slight pressure making her roll her eyes in the back of her head. She kept repeating his name like mantra, with each snap of his hips.

After hours of immense pleasure, she'd lost sense of her surroundings, lost count of the times he's made her come, she didn't even know if it was night or day anymore. All she knew that this enigma of a man was making her feel things she'd never felt before. She came back to her sense as she felt Dean rub gentle circles on her skin.

"You okay, sweetheart?" She nodded slowly. "You were amazing baby girl." He grinned at her handing her a glass of water he brought for her.

"You were fantastic." She responded as he settled in the bed with her. He laid back pulling her down to rest her head on his chest. Pretty soon the day's exhaustion took over and she drifted off to slumber.

"We have to. I have to." A blonde girl muttered with no emotion.

"No we don't." She replied looking somber.

"You don't understand, there is no other way." The blonde girl took a step closer.

"We will find a way. This doesn't have to happen.!" She exclaimed walking backwards.

"I am sorry." Was the last thing she heard the blonde girl say.

A loud scream, woke Dean from his slumber. He shot up and watched Y/n sit up beside him. Her eyes were wide open and she was out of breath.

"Hey hey! Sweetheart, just a nightmare, yeah?" Dean nodded at her, slowly coaxing her.

Not just a nightmare.

"Yeah!" Dean gathered her in his arms, placing a kiss on her head. He didn't know why but his is heart was aching for the girl in his arms. He felt the need to protect her. He gently laid her back on the bed, his arms tightening around her. She felt safe in his arms. She wanted to ask him to stay forever. But she knew she couldn't and she knew he wouldn't.

Dean's woke up as he heard vibrations coming from somewhere. He snuggled into her neck further, but his eyes flew open as he realised it was his phone buzzing. He slipped out of the bed, tripping on his feet as he rushed towards his phone. He somehow managed to pull it out of his jeans before it stopped ringing.

"Fuck." He cursed as he saw the called ID. It was his dad. "Yeah Dad!" He said answering the phone. "Yeah. No, I forgot. It's done." Dean waited for his father to finish speaking so he could go back to the baddie in bed, cuddle her, wake her up with his head between her legs. But his father ordered him to be back in three hours. Since there's no use for him to stay there if the job's done. "Yes, Sir." Dean muttered before hanging up. He knows it's a long drive and he'd only make it in there in three hours if he left right now. There's no time for a quickie and the thought made him groan.

Y/n yawned and stretched as she woke up to an empty bed. She tried not to feel disappointed that he was gone; she knew he would leave eventually. But she had hoped for at least a goodbye. She heard footsteps approaching. Dean emerged through the doorway and flashed her a smile.

"Good morning."

"I thought you left," she mumbled, pulling the covers closer to her body. He inched closer, then kneeled on the bed before her.

"You really thought I'd leave without saying goodbye?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with surprise and amusement. He nugded her nose with his before pressing his lips to her. She gasped as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She pulled him closer, pulling him above her, but he pulled apart. "As much I'd love to, I have to leave. My dad called." He explained kissing her pout.

"Alright."

"This is goodbye?" Dean questioned.

"You can stop by whenever you want." She shrugged. Dean nodded.

"Do you think I can call you for backup?" He asked getting dressed.

"Don't you even dare." She threatened even when they both knew they hadn't exchnaged numbers, they didn't even know anything about each other apart from their names. He chuckled placing one last kiss on her lips before leaving her house.

Over the years Dean often thought about Y/n. She was the only woman ever that made Dean's heart leap out of his chest. He was beautiful, fierce, a badass when it came to hunting, but still had a graceful feminine touch to her personality. He was pretty sure she had ruined every other woman for him. His hookups were all meaningless and never enticed him to go for another night. He had every intention to go back to Y/n, visit her, maybe beg her to come with him. But due to this life, he never got the opportunity. Part of him stayed away because she didn't want to do anything with hunting, and he wasn't sure if he could bear her rejection. So he never tried.

Ten years had passed the bakery owner Mrs. Reed passed away and left the bakery in Y/n's name as she had no kin of her own. And she loved Y/n dearly. The old woman knew she was passionate about her job and was worthy of owning the place.

Dean never came back. Y/n never expected him to or even remember her. Y/n was thirty four now. Dean had managed to leave an impression on her. She tried not to think of him often. But this is life. You meet people, you remember some, you forget some. But there's some people she desperately wanted to forget but yet her mind wouldn't let her.

She stopped working at the bar ever since she inherited the bakery, but she still visited the bar on weekends. Having a drink or two. Had she known what awaited her, she would've never left her house that day. Y/n was by the pool table, a glass of whiskey in her hands as she watched the game between between two bulky men.

Her eyes wandered around the place ever so often. Her breath caught in her throat as she made eye contact with those blue eyes. She gulped down her drink in one go. She hoped he didn't recognise her but the smirk on his face said otherwise. She watched as one of men was positioned to take his shot, she accidentally stumbled into him ruining his shot. The large man turned to her and she cowered back in fear.

"He told me to do it." She pointed to his opponent and the large man turned to him. Grabbing him by his collar he threw a punch at his face. A fight broke out, creating enough diversion for her slip away.

"That was clever Y/n." A voice said from behind her as she walked out of the bar. "But you should know it isn't enough to outrun me." She stepped dead in her tracks as turned to face him. There was no way to run. Now that he knows she's alive, there's no way she could ever run. 

"Mr.Ketch." She stuttered taking a step back.

"I never believed you died." He took a step forward. His thick accent still the same as she remembered. "Even if you were nineteen, you were one of the best." She watched in anticipation as he inched closer. "Though I never thought I'd run into you in America."

She was terrified of him. If it had been anyone else, she would've tried to run. If it had been anyone else, she might've felt relieved that they hadn't hurt her yet. But this was him—ruthless, calculating. The more he stalled, the more her fear grew. He liked to make his prey think they had a chance to escape. He liked the chase.

"Mr.Ketch." She spoke again, but she didn't even know what else to say.

"I just don't understand how'd you do it? How did you run from the Men of Letters. And more importantly why?" He circled around her. "Ah you know what, don't bother. I'm not interested."

"Why are you here?" She finally mustered the courage to question him. "I have been living a normal life, I haven't told anyone anything about the Men of Letters." She added feeling the need to explain.

"Don't flatter yourself, darling." Arthur snipped in his usual tone. "I'm not here for you, though it is a pleasant surprise to see you here." A moment of silence passed and Ketch gripped her arm tightly. "Now that I think about it. You're coming with me." She knew struggling against him would be a waste of her energy. He dragged her towards his vintage looking motorcycle.

The ride was short, she didn't recognise where he was taking her. They stopped in front of what looked like a base, located in a hidden bunker. It appeared to be deeply hidden and fortified. He placed his hand on the biometric scanner, the security gate opened and he dragged in her inside the by arm.

He nudged her move on her own, he opened a door to what seemed to be a briefing room. There were screens placed all over the place, some showed maps, locations and security footage of God knows what places. A huge table with chairs was set up in the middle. The door opened for a second time and someone entered the room while her back was to the door.

"Look what I found." Ketch announced, turning her around forcefully. Her heart stopped for a minute when her gaze landed on the newcomer. Those eyes, the ones she memorised fifteen years ago, stared back at her with an unreadable expression. That scar across his right cheek was the same as she remembered.

"Mick." She breathed out. He was frozen in his place. He never thought he'd ever get to see her. He had always hoped and prayed for her safety. Seeing her back in the same hell again, the one he rescued her from, he didn't know how to feel.

She didn't care if she shouldn't have done it in front of Ketch but she ran straight into his arms. Her best friend. The one that helped her when she it needed the most. The one who risked his life help her run. As the initial shock wore off, Mick wrapped his arms around her. Hugging her tightly, not wanting to let go. He'd missed her.

"Well, isn't it heartwarming." Ketch said sarcastically, from behind her, making them pull apart.

"What do you want from me?" She snapped, her fear now turning into anger and frustration.

"Now that is a very good question, darling." Ketch clicked his fingers before towering her. "What do you think will happen when the Elders find out a rogue hunter is alive?" He sneered as he spoke. "They'd issue your death warrant. And trust me I would love to carry out those orders."

There was no doubt that he was right, Y/n knew and Mick did too. They would have her killed. The main reason Mick declared her dead was to ensure they would never look for her ever again. And that plan had been successful for fifteen years- until today. Until Ketch found her.

"I have a job for you. Complete it, or you won't live to see another sunrise." Ketch said retrieving his gun from his gear. "So what's it gonna be?" He questioned pointing the gun to her head.

"What's the job?" Ketch smirked at her answer and Mick let out a resigned sigh.

"Eliminate the Winchesters. From within."

Y/n didn't know who the Winchesters were or why the British Men of Letters were so concerned about them. But knowing Ketch as she did, she was sure he wouldn't hesitate to assassinate the Winchesters if it weren't so complicated.

"Mick here will tell you whatever you need to know," Ketch said, grabbing his stuff. Turning to her, he added, "And Y/n, one wrong move." He warned, pointing his gun at her to emphasize that he wouldn't hesitate to shoot. She nodded meekly before he left.

"Oh god." She let out a breath as the menacing man left the room. She turned to Mick embracing him again. He patted her back, calming her down. "How have you been?" She asked pulling away to look at him.

"I've been better. I'm ecstatic to see you, but I'm terrified for what might happen to you." He replied, his familiar accent soothing her. She gave him a small smile.

"Don't worry about me, Micky." He rolled his eyes at her for using his old nickname she'd given him. "I've had a great life thanks to you. After I'm done with these Winchesters, I might end up killing Ketch and maybe we can run away. I'm not leaving my best friend behind this time." She said sounding determined.

"Sure thing kiddo." He ruffled her hair. She pouted slapping his hand away. She hated when he did that.

"Fill me in about these Winchesters." She said plopping down on one of the chairs.

"They're brothers. American hunters, currently residing in a Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, Kansas." Mick stated sitting beside her.

"What's Wretch's beef with them?" She questioned. Mick let out a laugh knowing who she was referring to.

"It's not a personal conflict. They're meddling with business." Mick replied.

"Such as?"

Mick gave her a look. She immediately understood that the Winchesters weren't fond of their methods. The British Men of Letters had no regard for collateral damage, as long as their goals were achieved. It was one of the reasons Y/n got out. She had had enough of having innocent blood on her hands.

"And why can't that cunt deal with them himself?" She asked.

"They've proven to be a bit unpredictable. They've outsmarted him. And they're resilient as hell." Mick informed her, a smirk appeared on her face.

"I like these Winchesters. At lease someone gave Wretch hell." She snickered. Mick chuckled before dropping a file in front of her. The file was labeled as 'Winchesters'. She flipped the file open and read through it.

Sam and Dean Winchester. The name Dean brought back memories, her mind flashed with the images of the green eyed hunter. Her eyes widened as realisation hit. Dean, American Hunter. She flipped through the file for a photo. When she found one attached to the page with a paperclip, she removed it and inspected closely. The man in the photo looked familiar, he no longer had that boyish charm on his face, he looked her older. But those eyes. Those green eyes.

Son of a bitch.

Y/n mulled things over, he probably won't even remember her. But does she want to play puppet for Ketch. She ran away from this god forsaken organisation for a reason. But then she knew Ketch wouldn't just kill her. He would torture her, mentally and physically. She could bear the physical pain being inflicted onto her but she knows he would drag Mick into this to break her. And she can't let that happen. She owed him her life, her happiness, those fifteen years she spent as a normal human being. He'd always treated like a little sister and she'd seen him like the big brother she never had. She can't let anything happen to him. She won't.

"I guess I got work to do." Y/n mumbled closing the file. "Call Wretch." She told Mick. The man nodded and called Ketch. The man came back with a stoic look on his face. "Final goal?" She questioned.

"On our side or dead." Ketch replied.

"When I do this, you'd better keep your pestering ass out of my way. And don't you dare show up anywhere near me!" Ketch scoffed at her threat. "I'm serious, those guys hate your guts and I don't want to be seen with you. Don't want your incompetence to mess up my work." This triggered Ketch and his face twitched a bit but he held back.

"Be my guest." He taunted before leaving again.

Mick helped her get back to her apartment. She dropped on her bed as she formulated a plan.

Plan A, get them to be partners with the British Men of Letters.

Plan B, Elimination.

She hoped it never came to Plan B.

Y/n knew her best shot at getting close to the Winchesters would be Dean. She'd read about them, the British Men of Letters had kept an eye on them for a long time. She knew Sam would be a bit suspicious of her but given her past with Dean, she could manage to accomplish her mission. Out of all the places in the country, Y/n never thought Dean would settle down here, in Lebanon. How come she never ran into him she wondered, but then again, she never went out much, just the bakery or the bar. It makes her question why he never visited her. Maybe he did forget about her.

Y/n visited the bar Dean visited frequently, according to the files. She'd been here for the fourth day in a row and he hadn't showed up yet again. She wanted to run into him accidentally, just so he wouldn't get suspicious of her. It wasn't unlikely for him to bump into an old fling at the bar. It would be completely coincidental. The door to the bar opened and walked in the green eyed hunter she'd been waiting for.

If he looked gorgeous back then Y/n didn't know how to describe him now. His features a bit more rugged, his hair a bit tousled, a bit of stubble present on his jaw and she pressed her thighs together, wanting to feel that scruff between her legs.

She downed her drink quickly as she watched him take a seat on one of the stools by the bar. She quickly made her way towards him. She lightly tapped on his shoulder and waited for him to turn around.

Dean wasn't in the mood to be bothered by anyone, and he certainly didn't want to deal with an annoying woman clinging onto his side. He presumed if he'd act uninterested, whoever it was, would leave him alone. But they persisted, tapping on his shoulder once again. He grumbled before turning around, ready to tell the intruder to fuck off but time froze as he did.

Dean didn't believe his eyes, it was Y/n. She was right in front of him. In the flesh. She logged a bit older than the last time he saw her. Her y/h/c was a bit longer, her body had grown, in more ways than one. She was a pretty girl but she's turned into an even more beautiful woman. He blinked a bit when he heard her call his name.

"Dean? Dean, you zoned out."

"Fucking hell. Y/n!" It wasn't a question. It was an exclamation. He remembered her. "Goodness, sweetheart. Look at you." Dean beamed. "Still beautiful as ever."

"And look at you, still charming as ever." She replied with a grin. He missed her. He missed this. She was the only woman who could tease him and match his flirty banter.

"How have you been?" Dean asked her.

"Been good. Though I'm a bit upset." She pouted. Although she was doing a job, she couldn't help but say what she felt.

"Why is that, sweetheart?"

"Well you're here, and you didn't visit." She replied honestly. He hadn't expected her to say that. He never thought she'd want him to visit her. "Is there a girlfriend or a wife I should know of?"

"None." He replied. At his answer she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, his arms immediately circling her waist.

"Missed you." She whispered in his ear making him shudder. The woman that has been invading his dreams for the past ten years is back in his arms and he was losing control. He dragged his nose through the column of her neck, inhaling her scent.

"Missed you too baby." If she was being honest, being back in his arms made her forget why she was there in the first place. Although she'd barely spent 24 hours with him in total, she'd missed him immensely over the years. "Let's get out of here, yeah?" She nodded, he turned and threw a few bills to cover for his beer. His arm never leaving her waist, he pulled towards the Impala. "You still live at the same place?" She nodded again as he pulled the car out of the parking.

They reached her place soon enough but none of them were eager to rip their clothes off of each other. With his hand tightly clutched in hers, she pulled him to the couch Dean's strong arms encircle Y/n, holding her close against his chest, where they can feel the steady beat of his heart. His warmth surrounds her. Dean's fingers lazily trace patterns on Y/n's back, his touch gentle and reassuring. Y/n nestles her head against the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent she missed so much. It hasn't even been an hour since she was back in his arms, and she's already considering telling Ketch to fuck off.

"What have you been up to these days?"

"Hunting. What about you?" Dean shifts slightly, pulling Y/n even closer, and presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. There's a quiet contentment in the air, the kind that comes from being with someone who makes you feel safe and cherished. Neither of them knew just how desperately they wanted each other, until now.

"Ah same old. I'm the owner of the bakery now. And i stopped working at the bar."

"That's amazing, sweetheart."

"When are you leaving?" Her question echoed through the quiet apartment. He tensed slightly; he hadn't told her he lived here now. He wasn't ready for her reaction upon discovering he'd been living here for years and never bothered to visit. Not this soon But he knew he had to come clean sooner or later. If he wanted something more with her—something real this time—he needed to tell her the truth.

"I'm not." She looked at him with curious eyes, although she knew he was living in the Men of Letters bunker with his brother. She knew almost everything about him— yet here she was, pretending. She hated doing it. "I live here with my brother. Have been for a while."

"I see." She replied looking down at his chest. A part of her was hurt that he had been living her and he didn't come find her. If Ketch hadn't appointed her with this job, she would've never met Dean again.

"Cmon, don't be like that, sweetheart. I wanted to come see you. I just thought maybe you'd moved on, had someone in your life. We didn't exactly make any promises." He rubbed the back of his head. "Besides, I don't think I would've been able to handle seeing you with someone else." A smile broke onto her features at his admission.

"There hasn't been anyone. No one was the flirty green-eyed hunter." She grinned up at him. It was the truth, she did meet other people over the years but they weren't Dean.

"I was wondering, if you'd want to give us a real chance? I know this is sudden, we just met again-" she didn't let him complete, she stopped him mid sentence by pressing her lips to his.

"I'd love to." Y/n was now questioning her own skills; she hadn't been on a job for fifteen years. The lines were blurring for her. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to complete this job or get herself killed by Ketch. Whatever it was, she didn't care in that moment. She wanted Dean. And he was willing to himself to her.

Dean stayed the night but nothing happened. Y/n served Dean the pie in her fridge, she loved how his face lit up like a child. Even after years his love for pie was still the same. The curled up in bed, catching up on each other's lives they missed over the years.

"Your best friend is an angel?" She looked at him incredulously. He chuckled at her reaction and nodded.

"Yeah. He's more like a baby in a trench coat."His laugh made her smile sadly. The more he told her about his life, the more she was second guessing this job. Is she really going to kill him and his brother if they don't cooperate with the British Men of Letters.

"I'm sorry Dean." He looked down at her with a questioning gaze. "The years haven't been kind to you." She pressed a soft kiss to his chest. "I can't even imagine how you'd felt, going to hell, purgatory. I'm so sorry." She cupped his cheek, staring in those green eyes that'd seen so much. There's pain but there's adoration, for her.

"It's in the past." He shrugged nonchalantly. He didn't know what possessed him to tell her his life story but he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to be emotionally connected with her, he wanted it to be real, more than just a physical relationship. "Go to sleep, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead as she snuggled closer to him.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

[heartfullofleeches]

Loser Reader and Melan, my Girlfailer Jester Gal Yan. Loser Reader could give less of a damn about Melan's clumsiness or the bodies that pile up as a result of her blunders and doing what she must to keep her biggest fan around. Their brain kinda short circuits seeing this tall ass jester monster girl and as the established monster fucker in my stories, Loser Reader will let Melan do whatever she pleases as long as she answers the age old question for them.

-

"I-I'm really really sorry about your friend! I was just doing knife practice again and I saw you both walk by and I started to panic and the blade just slipped from my hands and-"

As the freakishly tall woman rambles on, your eyes briefly flicker from the bells dangling from her collar down to the lifeless body of your coworker. Blood drains from hole in his back roughly the length and width of a small throwing dagger seeping the lining of your sneakers. It has to be the saddest part of this ordeal - you really needed those shoes for work tomorrow.

You're more worried about this odd woman than him. It's his own fault for spending the gas money you gave him on cigarettes again. If she keeps on apologizing without paying to take a breath, you'll have two dead bodies to deal with. Does she even need to breathe? She doesn't exactly look all that human now that you've gotten a better look at her.... Some type of clown....or jester. It's probably nothing, but her appearance coupled with her height leads you to believe otherwise. Did you genuinely happen to stumble across a jester girl throwing daggers at a wall past midnight? Your thoughts begin to wander away as you stand there. A process some unfamiliar with your way of being might find troubling if they happen to catch ear of what your mind spews out.

"Do they....honk?..."

In the midst of tripping over her own words, the sudden slip of your tongue nearly sends the woman tumbling over oversized ends of her sleeves. She stands upright, balancing her weight on trembling legs as she mutters a meek. "Does..what honk?"

Crap, did you say that outloud? "Hm? Oh, nothing... I was just thinking of some thing I heard about clowns. I can see you're more of a jester, but that falls under the same number right?"

The woman stares down at her shoes. You think so, anyway - it's hard to tell where she's looking with her hat blocking fourty percent of her face. "I...I guess? If you're talking about my nose then uh it does... sometimes"

"I was talking about your chest."

You could've sworn she popped a blood vessel from how her pale face turned tomato red.

"You.... HUH?"

You raise your hands in defense, however your guilt ends there. "Sorry! My brain has a mind of its own. If it makes you feel better, I say dumb shit all the time. If it clears up my mistake entirely, you were pretty sharp with that knife throwing."

The blush of her face dims. Less fiery and more...warm. "You .. you really think so?"

"Yeah. You could probably even avoid casualties if you lift that hat off your eyes.... Listen, I really don't want to be around when people find this guy and I'm not a snitch either so you don't have to worry about me ratting on you. He's your problem now. See y'all!"

Squeezing past the jester, you sprint off into the direction of your apartment - meticulously dodging the glow of street lifes to keep your bloody shoe prints unnoticed till dawn. Alone in the alleyway, Melan reflects on the events that just occurred. She... just killed someone. That alone should terrified her, but every thought in her mind cycles back to you. You're strange. A bit perverse, but you spoke your mind about her.. Was everything you said to her true too?

Dragging the body behind a dumpster, Melan wishes that just maybe you'd become another one of her problems.

One that would follow her through her improvement as a performer.

[leeknowlover99]

Skz as love tropes

found it in my drafts ;)

warnings: fluff, suggestive content

masterlist

Bang Chan - coworkers to lovers

you and Chan spent way too much time in a studio. working late nights, eating takeaway pizza, testing new ideas, leaving in the mornings when sun was already high up in the sky. you spent countless nights falling asleep on couch in small studio room. ever since you started working together something between you clicked, you understood and inspired each other. two lost souls trying to find peace in music, stressed overachievers trying to create something perfect. it should not come as a surprise that one day when nothing was working as it should in a heat of the moment you shared the most hungry passionate kiss you could imagine, changing your dynamic forever.

Lee Know/ Minho - neighbors to lovers

your relationship grew slowly. from passing each other on the corridor to saying shy hellos in the elevator to meeting in the coffee shop near by to taking care of his cat when he was on a business trip to going on long walks and talking about life together. Minho with tough and unreadable exterior turned into the softest person you knew. his kindness amazed you with each day. in a span of months from the total stranger he became your comfort person. the change in your relationship seemed so natural. you didn’t even realize when it turned from shy glances to getting railed in his sheets.

Changbin - exes to lovers

you tried to stay away from each other, you really did. it was not working out between you, work forced you to be separated more time than you would like. character differences caused loud arguments. but without each other you were even more doomed. stress piling up in your bodies, minds clouded with too many thoughts, sleepless nights when you missed each other way too much. so when one day you bumped into Changbin in a party next thing you knew you were pressed against him in someones bedroom, hungrily trying to make up for all the lost time. him whispering “i’m not gonna let you go ever again” against your lips.

Hyunjin - soulmates

nobody could replace Hyunjin. nobody could come even close. you have never met someone as passionate, gentle and unreal as him. the way you completed each other could only be described by word soulmates. you understood each other without any words, always knew what the other one needed, could sense emotions like you lived inside each others heads. one look at you two and everybody could see that. your eyes beamed with love when you were together, face glowed. lips curled into most gorgeous smiles. you just had that effect on each other.

Felix - fake dating

it started as an innocent lie but became so much more. the arrangement worked for both of you so you kept going with it. as time passed it was becoming more and more challenging to create that narrative. but neither of you wanted to end it. so you started going on dates, hanging out with your families, posting each other on social media, sleeping in the same bed. the line between the lie and reality was becoming blurry until one day of just vanished. you were no longer pretending, you were no longer keeping the act only when people were around. you were kissing in the loneliness of Felix’s room and although none of you said it you both knew that it became something more.

Han/ Jisung - fwb to lovers

Jisung was never the best when it came to any kind of relationships. one drunk night out with his pretty best friend and all he could think about is your perfect body and those plump lips. he needed you. you seemed to have the same idea. you also seemed to have the same problem with relationships. so after that one night neither of you talked about this. you just silently communicated when you needed each other. expressed your desires and feeling through gentle touches and passionate kisses. way too intimate for only friends. it took a long time for both of you to understand and admit that. but when you did you were two happiest people on this planet.

Seungmin - rivals to lovers

it was always the competition between you two. Y/N vs Kim Seungmin. you were both good, way better than everyone else. but neither of you liked sharing the spotlight. so you constantly tried to either beat the other one or mess with them. after all only one person could get the dreamt internship. this week has been particularly intense, electricity basically sparkling in the air when you were both in the same room. you needed to relax during weekend, that’s how you ended up at Chan’s party already drunk. what you did not expect was to find Seungmin here as well. the look he send your way when he saw you in the flimsy black dress made you weak. from that look only you knew the only competition you will be having tonight is who cums first.

Jeongin - childhood best friends to lovers

stolen glances, shy smiles, late night talks. you and your childhood best friend Jeongin were always more. but you were both too timid and unsure to act on it, so you loved each other in silence. spending all your precious days together, enjoying small moments, but deep down longing for more. and more did come. Jeongin gathered all his courage. “will you go to prom with me?” one day he appeared at your front door with a bouquet of tulips. “as friends?” you asked hoping for a negative answer. “as boyfriend and girlfriend” he responded quietly, cheeks blushed. you provided your response by connecting your lips in a shy kiss which quickly became more passionate when all your suppressed feelings could be finally released.

[bluriki]

ꪆৎ coffee break ﹫ lhs

; pair bf!heeseung x fem!reader ; sum coffee breaks are the only way heeseung can spend time with you at work ; genre fluff , office!au , established relatioinship

“coffee break?” a figure sat on your desk, leaning forward to meet your face. heat crept on your cheeks as the figure leaned closer pressing his lips to your cheek. your eyes widened slightly. “don’t do that, heeseung!” you whisper yelled. 

you were in a secret relationship with heeseung, although he didn’t really keep it a secret. instead, he winked at you, he always got way too close to be called friendly, and he was always seen with you. what can you say, he’s whipped.

“why not? i can kiss my girlfriend if i want to.” a pout formed on his lips. “plus, no ones here, they’re taking a lunch right now.” you looked around to make sure no one could’ve seen the small kiss heeseung gave you. “you’re lucky.”

heeseung chuckled. “you never answered my question.” you tilted your head, a smile appearing on your face as you met his eyes. “i have time. plus im a little hungry.” you placed your hand over your stomach. 

“great! let’s head to the lobby!” confusion filled your face. “the lobby? i thought you meant the break room!” you whined, knowing you didn’t have that much time. “you said you were hungry which means i’m gonna buy you something to eat, now lets go.”

you huffed, sliding your chair back. “before we go i need to file some papers.” heeseung nodded, standing up. “as long as you eat lunch with me.” you chuckled, grabbing the papers from your desk. “you’re whipped.” you said, with a soft smile. 

“how did you know?” heeseung placed a finger on his chin, looking up to the sky. “it’s not that obvious is it?” you bursted out laughing. “not at all.” heeseung hummed and followed you to file the papers.

once you were done filing your papers you went to the lobby with heeseung. some people were in line to order some coffee. you stood behind the last person and turned to heeseung. 

“why’d you want to have coffee in the lobby?” you crossed your arms and blinked waiting for heeseung to answer. “so i can get miss workaholic away from her computer.” you furrowed your brows shooting a glare to heeseung. 

you heard him chuckle next to you. you knew he wanted to hug you and for once you wanted him to give you a hug at your workplace. the only reason you have a secret relationship is because you’re very close with your coworkers and you know they’ll tease you nonstop.

a comfortable silence fell between you and heeseung. you watched many workers pass around like little ants working hard and trying their best. you smiled knowing they were doing their best for this company. 

“what do you want to eat?” heeseung spoke, breaking the silence. you looked at the menu. “grilled chicken with vegetables.” you noticed heeseung scrunching his face a bit. “why are you making that face?” heeseung shook his head. “its nothing.” 

“tell me!” you whined, gently punching his shoulder. “the vegetables.” you scoffed in disbelief. “you’re just like a little kid.” heeseung leaned closer to your face. “maybe i am one.” he smiled brightly, tilting his head slightly. 

you pushed him back softly. “whatever. we’re up next, you know what to order right?” heeseung nodded. you patted his shoulder, walking to a table to sit at. you watched heeseung order with a smile on your face. that same smile dropped when you noticed the girl flirting with heeseung.

you glared at her even though she would never notice. heeseung walked to your table after he finished ordering. “why do you look upset?” he asked while pulling out a chair to sit with you. “i don’t know, why don't you ask yourself?” heeseung widened his eyes. 

“that girl! she was flirting with you.” you pouted, looking down and playing with your fingers. heeseung grinned, grabbing your hands. “jealous much?” you pulled your hands from his. a glare and pout playing on your face. 

heeseung chuckled. he watched you with loving eyes. suddenly, your order was called, leaving you alone again. you noticed the girl slip heeseung a piece of paper. you sent another glare at her and waited for heeseung to sit back down.

“give me that paper.” heeseung gave it to you and watched you rip it. he tried to hold his laugh back, you were cute when you were jealous.

—

“coffee break?” heeseung asked you for the second time that day. you looked up at his figure. “as long as it’s not in the lobby.” heeseung nodded, knowing that would be your answer. “don’t worry, it’s in the break room.” you smiled and stood up. “i need a coffee break anyway.”

heeseung chuckled, following you to the break room. no one was in there meaning you were alone with heeseung. you should’ve know he would’ve tried to pull something. 

as soon as he closed the door he was against you, placing his chin on your shoulder. “what if someone walks in?” you questioned, pouring cream into your coffee. “i’m sure everyone know we’re together at this point, it’s so obvious.” you glanced at heeseung. “i wonder why.”

heeseung smiled innocently. “it’s because you’re whipped for me obviously.” you shook your head, fighting the smile threatening to come out. “i think it’s the other way around.” heeseung wrapped his arms around you, turning you to face him.

“okay, maybe it is but you’re really obvious too.” you cocked your head to the side. “less than you though.” heeseung groaned, placing his head on your shoulder. “i cant help the fact im in love with you.” your heart started pounding in your chest. you didn’t know what to say so you opted to say nothing. instead, you enjoyed him being in your arms.

you stayed like that for a little while until heeseung picked his head up. he gave you a silly smile before pressing his lips on yours for a soft peck. you giggled against his lips, pressing your lips to his again. 

“i love you too.” you whispered, a smile complimenting your features. heeseung leaned against you, holding you like you were the most valuable thing to exist. 

suddenly the door opened causing you and heeseung to separate. your coworker, jake, jumped up and down pointing at the two of you. 

“I KNEW IT!!”

🎬 노트 && . first fic of the year!! im sorry it's taken forever for me to post a fic :( i had the worst writers block... on that note i have a longer fic coming up as soon as i can finish the ending!!

🧷 perm tl && . send ask or comment to be added

[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

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[mazzystar24]

I hope I can ask you this because I don't want to ask in the tags, I'm scared 🥹 but I've seen a lot of discourse about why tommy isn't good for buck, he's cold, the relationship is toxic etc and I was wondering why people think that? Is there anything specific that started it?

I fully believe eddie is buck's true love, endgame, whatever we want to call it and I'm sad we don't have that (yet) but I thought bucktommy was kinda fun in the meantime. I just want to understand 🫶🏻

Oh hey darling! you were so sweet and genuine in your response so please know I’m just answering what I’m asked and if you wanna enjoy and have fun with bt that is completely your prerogative but I’m just offering my perspective on it

And i am warning you this is gonna be long because I feel a constant need to go really in depth in my thoughts

Okay so idk how I’m gonna break this down but maybe I’ll do it in like main points?

Also if you’re new here whenever I use bullet points I’m just doing it cos I find it easier to chunk up my thoughts not cos I’m being curt or anything with you

1. The chimney and hen begins episodes

He wasnt just passive in the episodes and letting Gerard get away with his racist and misogynistic behaviour he ACTIVELY participated in it

This includes:

• Asking if they forgot to tip the delivery guy WHILE THEY WERE EATING CHINESE FOOD when chimney first comes up despite the fact that 1. Chimney had a big ass lafd bag 2. They were probably already told a probie would be coming 3. Probably would’ve seen the actual delivery guy 4. I would bet my absolute life that question would not have been asked if buck or bobby had walked up those stairs this wasn’t an innocent comment it WAS RACIST intentionally like the entire point of the episode was to show how bad they had it

• the New York bitchiness comment

• throwing his tools down along for hen to clean up

• going out of his way to treat them like outcasts and hating chimney before he even knew him despite chimneys efforts

• the way each of them had to “earn his respect” in some way before he acted like a normal coworker to them and this was never in the typical ‘oh it’s a new person’ type of way it always had to do with their race or in hen’s case her gender too

A defence I see a lot for this is “oh he was closeted” and honestly to me that is such bullshit because 1. Eli was perfectly capable of not participating in the racism and taking chimney under his wing without getting any shit for it and chimney is quite literally a Korean man (something he literally can’t hide) and he had just got his head above water with Gerard’s racism when hen came and he STILL was a friend to her 2. Again tommy wasn’t passive in it and just letting Gerrard be racist (which would’ve been one thing) no he actively participated in it to be part of the boys club 3. Let’s say that somehow not being a dick would’ve meant that that was a threat to the closet he was in- that is still in my opinion a fucked up sense of preservation if you spare yourself the possibility of bigotry (despite having inherent social capital by being a white man in that job) by inflicting others to bigotry

Now when Tommy was first reintroduced I was like keeping an open mind and saying okay it’s been a lot of time and maybe he has genuinely made amends because I do believe in redemption but imo they have made no attempt to show us that and had him honestly put more of the blame on Gerrard for his behaviour or the writers flat out avoiding mentioning it to retcon tommy a little and hope we forget

Another defence I see is “oh chimney and hen became friends with him so they must’ve forgave him”, hen went no contact the moment he left (something the writers went out of their way to include that line) and chimney didn’t even invite him to his wedding which was quite big after the Buckley parents got involved so it’s not like it was cos it was such a small and intimate wedding and he only called him as far as we know in those years when he needed a favor, which all means that most likely they had kinda just put it behind them and kept up a coworker relationship with him, but no actual friendship or actual forgiveness or redemption had taken place

Oh wow all that was just point one and I can probably talk more on it but I’ll just leave it with saying that Lou’s comments about it being teasing or how Tommy genuinely didn’t know hen or chimney were capable etc just makes for a worse case than saying it’s cos of being in the closet (and that is genuinely a large part of why idk much abt Lou but those comments are enough to make me hate him) and I’ll also say that poc (myself included in that) have these situations so often- situations even as specific as gay men being racist to them to fit in - and we understand the nuance and shit to it but we also understand on a deep level how it feels to be on the other side of that

And getting toxic bt fans try to come up with ways to downplay or minimise racism honestly pisses me off so much cos believe you me we have heard every excuse and downplay under the sun and I for one am sick and tired of it

2. Why he’s viewed as cold and his jokes

• literally from the small parts we saw of him and Eddie hanging out we have seen the man is in fact capable of joking and being light and having fun but around buck in particular he’s like 🧍‍♂️😐 and the occasional 🙂 like it just feels very stiff and just plain in a way

• his humour consistently falls flat and feels passive aggressive more than anything like blunt or sardonic humour DOES work like I personally love it but it’s not being written OR executed right

A. It’s always in response to genuine moments or questions such as buck talking abt the award or the daddy kink joke or henren questioning him

B. It’s the the majority of what we see from him, there is not enough balance for it

C. Lack of rapport, when friends or couples make jokes that can come off the wrong way if said to anyone else it’s cos of the rapport built already, this rapport is not established with the characters OR with the audience for these jokes to come off right

D. I gotta say this one too but the execution just isn’t right from writing to acting, it’s the same reason sardonic humour lines from Sandra oh as Cristina Yang or hugh Laurie as house still lets you like the characters and find them funny but Tommys lines come off as annoying to a lot of people

3. I think fandom discourse probably has something to do with it but not in the way you think

I’m not saying like oh ppl who ship buddie just hate him cos of the ship no I’m saying that like what takes him from an annoying disliked character to a hated character is most likely the fact that his role stirred so much drama and caused so much damage to how the fandom used to be that its turned the dial up

4. A lot of his development, lore or redeemable factors or cute things are just not canon

This may be blunt and I am sorry for that but I think his character has been blown up to such a degree that it’s genuinely shocking

Like I look at posts or get sent hate and I’m like where did any of this happen this is just not canon this is just not a show like at times I’m genuinely convinced it’s a social experiment where different ppl saw a different show like some spiderman multiverse situation

Listen I’m all for headcanons genuinely like if you wanna take extra number three and make a whole backstory and lore and cute stuff abt her I’m all for it but it’s when it’s said as if it’s fact or canon that I’m like hold up a second rewind

I think this is kinda a result of Lou’s cameos (which honestly deserves its own post but you asked why the tommy hate so imma stay on topic) and also this like need to defend the character but not having much material to work with

Like if we look at canon we can literally break down the entirety of Tommys appearances this far in the show and what we learn about him:

• chimney begins- he makes a racist comment and he tries to suck up to Gerard, there is a little hint abt his gayness with the gf comment, Eli says to chimney that’s just how they are and tries to reason it could be fear of losing friends but we see tommy having friends in the firehouse while eli says this, chimney tries to make friends with him and tommy makes no attempt to get to know him and says he’d hate him anyways, chimney saves Tommys life thus earning his respect

• hen begins- she’s met with the same racism chimney is but also met with misogyny (and homophobia but that’s not relevant to the tommy of it all), we find out chimney is still isolated from the rest despite having earnt that respect, chimney befriends hen and again tommy still doesn’t try anything like that until hen proves herself and earns his respect, ppl reported Gerard but it’s never actually stated tommy was one of those ppl so again that’s not canon that’s speculated

• bobby begins- chimney and hen both seem to be like coworker friends with tommy and Sal, Sal throws hissy fit bobby “fires” him tommy says it’s an overreaction bobby reveals it was a transfer, they all seem to make nice, tommy leaves to 217

• chimney calls tommy for help and tommy helps

• we see nothing from tommy,then cruise ship he helps the team but also in this we find out hen cut off all contact since he left

• buck takes tour of harbour, Eddie and tommy have a friendship and we find out some of Tommys interests and that he was in the army, basketball scene and the subsequent apology and kiss

• dinner date, Tommy explains how he was in the closet, Buck has his little awkward moment (which will be elaborated on in my next point) , Tommy says nothing abt it till the Uber arrives and he leaves buck

• buck reaches out and apologises and asks for a second chance inviting tommy to the madney wedding

• bachelor party and the issue of the lack of costume and not just taking the day off for neither wedding nor bachelor party (which you can reason is reasonable but also I feel like this deserves its point for the narrative choices)

• tommy shows up straight outta work they kiss buck has the soot coming out award ceremony - buck being happy abt the reward to which tommy sardonically says enjoy it while it lasts enter bigoted cunt gerard then chimney comes and insults gerard and they walk away

• we don’t see tommy again till the dinner date after Bobby nearly died and when buck tries to explain Bobbys significance to his life tommy throws the your dad is still alive which is just honestly one of his worst moments imo and I made a whole post abt it but can’t find it and then we all know the rest of that convo and I could make a bullet point for it but actually I made a whole post before so I’ll link it: here

AND THATS IT

Like all this comes down to what maybe like 30 mins screentime? If that?

5. The leaving buck on their first date

The defences people use for this are:

• buck was trying to shove him back in the closet

• buck was obviously not ready

• people angry abt this are just babying buck like he can find his own way home it’s not that big of a deal

• buck was at fault there and tommy would’ve been justified in being angry and not giving him a second chance

And honestly every last one of these are bullshit imo and lemme go point by point

• buck panicked, I don’t think that what buck was feeling in that moment can be properly described because unless you’re a queer person and you’ve experienced that like bone deep panic that like brain overload then you won’t get it

Like one it’s his first queer date

Two he doesn’t even understand his own sexuality atp

Three his closest friend just walked in in a situation that’s already putting him on edge

So he’s not only panicking he’s not understanding why he’s panicking he’s trying to make excuses eventhough part of him knows he doesn’t need one but also he doesn’t even understand this side of himself yet so he doesn’t want to have to potentially explain it

Like it’s a million things and a million emotions and no one can claim they would behave rationally or appropriately in that situation and if you say that you would you’re lying simple as that

Also then we find out that Eddie thought tommy was straight anyways

• the reason I love the buddie coming out scene is because of Eddie’s “and what do you think” line because it’s not up to tommy or anyone else whether a person is “ready” enough in their queerness to date. Full stop.

Also tommy knew it was Buck’s first date with a man and was still down so why is he using that as some sort of out

•it’s not about babying buck and it’s not about him finding his own way home it’s the fact that Tommy could’ve done it with much more grace and he could’ve been a lot nicer with it but he wasn’t, and this is again bucks first date with a man even if it doesn’t end with a second date it should at the very least not end up with him feeling like a screw up on the side of the road

• to the ppl who say that- kindly shut up cos again see the first point but also I wanna point out that somehow the ppl saying this are also the same ones saying that Tommy was justified to be RACIST for a prolonged period of time due to being in the closet yet Buck what? Panicking for a few seconds and being a little awkward? is somehow this giant inexcusable thing

5. The narrative choices with him have been reasonably clear and tbh if they had been made with a woman it would not be up for debate:

• tommy leaves buck on their first date then he comes back and gives buck a chance- we as a fandom have been unanimous in saying for years that Buck’s endgame would be the one that doesn’t leave him cos this pattern has been something we saw over and over with him

• tommy not dressing up- again you can rationalise it but it’s a narrative choice and it’s glaring when contrasted with Eddie suggesting the duo costume

And if we had this scene with Taylor so many ppl would be saying that it’s once again showing that her and Buck’s personalities don’t align

• him being on standby for the wedding and bachelor party- again you can say oh buck invited him last minute or oh he couldn’t taken the day off (which lbr he could’ve he’s not the only firefighter pilot in la) - but again narrative choice

If it was Taylor everyone would’ve been like SEE? Again they’re showing the audience that her work is this looming presence in their relationship

Anyway I’m gonna shut up now cos this is A LOT

I’m so sorry it took me so long to respond tho and sending flowers in apology💐💐💐💐💐💐

Love ya for being so genuine when asking and hope all this didn’t come off too strong and that it was idk helpful?🫶🫶

I realise my response is abt to have toxic bt fans scurry to my inbox like rats to send hate and to that I say go fuck yourselves I’m responding to a question here

[ghost-proofbaby]

EDDIE MUNSON - OURS

😭😭😭

ours (eddie’s version)

warnings: none. just tooth-rotting fluff <3

wc: 1.4k+

a/n: i got a little carried away. but i wish i had an eddie munson to go home to each night and just kiss and cuddle goddamn it

“Oh, is that your boyfriend?”

“He’s… interesting.”

“I guess when you said you had a boyfriend, I never envisioned someone like him.”

“You two are such… opposites! I mean- no! No, not a… bad thing, I suppose. Just… interesting.”

You were growing tired of it. You know people didn’t mean for their incessant questions or comments to get under your skin so badly, but they did. Any time someone at your new job caught sight of your phone’s lock screen – a joyous selfie of you and a sunburnt Eddie at the lake – or your work computer’s screen saver – a photo taken at dusk of Eddie on your couch, strumming on his guitar completely unaware – they had something to say. Something to point out. Whether it be the way you two didn’t seem to fit in their minds, or how rough around the edges he seemed to be. Some coworkers even pressed on how long you two had been together, pulling out the marriage card at a completely inappropriate time. One coworker had even made a snide remark on his long hair, saying “oh, I thought that was a girl! What a relief!”. It just…. It dug beneath your skin every time without fail, making you uncomfortable and irritated all in the same breath. 

You don’t understand why they cared so much. It wasn’t their relationship – they didn’t know you. You’d only started the job a few months prior. They could eat shit, for all you care.

Today had been a bad day. Maurice, one of the elderly women who worked at the front reception desk, had just been awful. She was always talking of you going on a date with her grandson, each time conveniently forgetting that you were already happily in a relationship, but today she’d crossed a line. She’d had her grandson physically come into the office at lunch time, and caught you just as you were on your way out the door to try and pick up something to hold you over until five o’clock would finally arrive. 

The one day you didn’t pack your own lunch. Go figure. 

“Oh! Dear! Over here!” she called  to you as you tried to scurry past her desk. You had held out the hope that the young man standing beside her would have occupied her, but no. No such luck for you on this wicked Thursday.

You took a deep breath before you turned slowly, forcing a polite smile as you faced the elderly woman, “What can I do for you, Maurice?”

“This is my grandson!” she animatedly motioned to the blonde boy at her side, and as he looked up, your stomach dropped, “Jason! The one I was telling you about!” 

Jason fucking Carver.

“Oh,” you tried to keep kind in your tone, but you were already feeling hatred prickle at the back of your neck. You knew all about Jason — he’d made Eddie’s life living Hell too many times to count. He was nothing like the angel Maurice had tried to paint, “I… It’s nice to meet you, Jason, but I really should get going. I’m on my lunch.” 

Jason didn’t take the social cue, stepping forward and stretching out his hand towards you, “Pleasure to finally meet the beautiful coworker my grandmother has been going on and on about. Words really didn’t do you justice.”

Gag. “You’re too kind. I do hope she also mentioned I’m already spoken for.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, glancing at Maurice for a second. “You’re taken?” 

You opened your mouth to say, yes, I am happily taken, but Maurice was already waving her hands about as if that fact of the matter was nothing more than trivial smoke. “Technicalities. She has a fling with that Munson boy-“

“It’s not a fling,” you stressed, your patience meeting its end, “We’ve been together for years. We live together. I’m really sorry, Jacob,” you purposefully say the wrong name as you turn to Jason, exasperated and not sorry in the slightest, “But I’m not interested. I’ll see you after lunch, Maurice.” 

You think you heard Jason call out a correction of his name from behind you, but you paid him no mind. Fuck him.

You ended up taking a longer lunch, not even caring for the consequences just so you could sit in your car and call Eddie. You described each person who walked into the building that you caught sight of, completely forgetting to scavenge a snack, too wrapped up in giggling at every ridiculous joke or story he makes up for the strangers.

He made it feel better. Maurice and Jason and everyone’s incessant comments forgotten. Their judgments never took this into consideration — this tranquility and Eddie’s ability to make you laugh until your ribs ached. They never considered the love that carried you home each night.

Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

You practically speed the entire way home, forgetting to watch for any police cars half the time. Your poor front door cries out on its hinges as you barrel through it with only one thing on your mind: Eddie.

“Hey baby-“ Eddie tries to greet you, but he hardly has the time to set his guitar to the side before you’re falling into his lap where he sits on the couch. “Oof, bad day?” 

Your thighs bracket his hips and your nose is already nuzzling into his neck, his soft laughter shaking his shoulders slightly as your arms wind themselves around him to the best of your abilities. He returns the favor without hesitation; arms hold you close to his chest and you can feel his nose dip to graze along your temple.

“The absolute worst,” your voice is muffled by his neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind, so you continue, “I swear to God, if I had know this office was full of such judgmental assholes I would have never-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” he pulls you back slightly, bringing his hands up to hold both cheeks between his palms as his thumb trails softly against your cheek bone, “Are they being mean to you? Because if they are, just say the word – I’m not afraid to kick a couple of grandmas’ asses.” 

You laugh, sniffling a bit, still on the verge of tears out of relief of being home with him finally, “No, no. You don’t need to go and kick any elderly ass – today.” 

“What about tomorrow?” 

You pretend to think about it as you finally slide off his lap, sitting to his side as your legs remain draped on his lap. He’s quick to reach down and let his calloused fingertips graze a trail down your thigh, ending at your ankle before he wraps them around it and squeezes softly, “Hmm, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Yeah?” he questions, leaning his face down to your shoulder, peppering kisses there, eyes still attempting to glance up at you in adoration through thick lashes, “So not a no. Got it. I’ll have my boxing gloves at the ready.” 

You both laugh as Eddie continues his short assault of kisses. 

Your coworkers can say whatever they want. They can judge the two of you based on short snapshots all they please – they can’t take this from you. Not as his lips brush your collarbones, not as his palms massage your calves, and certainly not as he murmurs soft declarations of how much he missed you all day against your skin. 

“Say, you wanna play a song for me on that guitar, rockstar?” you say as you thread your fingers through his curls, noting the way they’re extra soft, as if he’d done a hair mask like you always pestered him to. 

He lifts his head and leans back casually against the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded as he smiles at you like you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand, “Maybe later. Right now, I just wanna spend some time with my baby.” 

“Oh, I see,” you snort, “You’re gonna break out sweetheart instead? No more dragon-slaying for today?” you joke, referencing his nicknames for his two guitars. 

He only shakes his head and rolls his eyes at you, surging forward and capturing your lips against his, teeth clashing a bit due to both of your wild grins. He has you falling backwards into the couch cushions in an instant and lets his weight settle between your thighs, enveloping you in smells of home. Just him, just you, just the love that you two have gardened here. No opinions of others ever needed.

“Shut up. I love you.” 

“and it’s not theirs to speculate if it’s wrong. and your hand’s a tough but they are where mine belong.”

[itsabouttimex2]

hey 👋 could you please do more of platonic yandere hawks x teenage bartender reader pls ? :)) I love your work

(Aw, thank you! I’ll go back and tag this series as “Teenage Bartender” since I’ve got a few fics for it now)

Patronage

Out of all the people you’ve ever served, Mr. Takami is definitely your favorite patron. The League of Villains ranges from outright bad to somewhat decent when it comes to personality, each causing you trouble in their own way.

Mr. Bubaigawara is also pretty alright, but you have to cut him off after a while so he doesn’t drink himself to sickness. He’ll switch from thanking you for looking out for him to criticizing you for being a “mood-killer” in the same breath. You like to believe that the kinder half of him is the “real” one. It always feels more sincere, in your opinion. You try to see the good in everyone around you, after all. No matter how hard it may be, or how dangerous or depraved the individual is.

Maybe you’re an optimist, Keigo Takami thinks to himself, nursing a non-alcoholic strawberry spritzer. Or maybe you’re simply too naive to see the dangers of the killers and criminals around you. Maybe it’s a case of feeling obligated to love the unloved, to accept the spurned, to try and save those dedicated to hurling themselves headfirst towards irredeemability. Maybe you sympathize with them, with what they’ve been through in their tumultuous and checkered lives.

No matter what the reason is, what really matters is that you, in spite of whatever horrid circumstances have landed you in the middle of these villains, playing caretaker and maid and nanny to drunk, belligerent murderers…

You’re still kind.

That’s why Keigo truly believes that you, more than anyone else here, can be redeemed.

Not only because of the way you treat him, but also the way you treat your “coworkers”.

When Toga gets immediately drunk off of whatever cutesy cocktail she begged you to whip up, you help her get to a couch and make her lay down, leaving a bin by her side. When Shigaraki is having another one of his tantrums, you line up all the broken glasses and worn down equipment you have onto the countertop so he has something to focus his aggression on. You listen close to all of Spinner’s rants about Stain, even if you don’t understand a word he’s saying.

You see something in them, clearly. Keigo isn’t quite sure what it is exactly, but he’d love to know. Do you care about them? Do you think they could redeem themselves? Do you think you can off-put their suffering and bloodthirstiness by being kind? Do you consider them to be family? Do you consider him family?

You’ve been around him long enough to see him as a friend, surely. You treat the winged double-crosser with the same forthcoming kindness that everyone receives when they sit at your counter, ensuring that he’s happy, hydrated, warm, and not-

“-hurt? Mr. Takami, did you get hurt?”

“Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t quite catch that one. Run it by me again?”

“That mission ran a little long, didn’t it? Usually you’re back a lot sooner, so I wanted to make sure that you were alright, Mr. Takami. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Keigo is a well-guarded man. He doesn’t give away too much and he’s good at hiding his feelings and thoughts. Still, he can’t keep himself from smiling right now. With a gloved hand, he reaches out to ruffle your hair.

“Just fine, kiddo. Things got a little troublesome- when don’t things get troublesome, huh? But i got the job done no problem, like always.”

You try to meet his smile evenly, taking his drained glass and giving him a fresh drink in turn. There’s a moment of strange silence, something’s there’s never been between the two of you.

“I’m really glad,” you quietly admit to him, breaking the lull. “I think you’re… you’re the only one who talks to me the way you do. I don’t…”

He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his twined fingers. “Talk to me, pint-size. You’ve got my ear. I’ve got some time to kill.” He adds the last line just to make sure that you know he won’t mind if this takes a while. Even if he didn’t have the time… he would make it, for you.

“I really, really do like everyone! Really, I do! But it just feels… it all feels so endless, Mr. Takami. If someone isn’t mad at me, they’re puking on the floor. If they aren’t puking, they’re crying in the corner. If they aren’t crying, they’re picking fights. If they’re not fighting, they’re breaking things. If they aren’t breaking things, they’re mad at me for something. It just goes on and on, and I- I just-“

You pause, your breath hitching inwards sharply as you bury your face into your hands. You put your palms flat on the countertop, staring at your weary reflection on the polished surface.

“I’m so tired, Mr. Takami. And I feel like I’m never gonna get to take a break.”

“Okay, come over here,” Keigo guides, leading you around the counter by your hand and towards where he remembers seeing you head each night. Your personal room, he assumes. “The bar,” you try to argue as he pulls you along, “needs me at the counter. What if someone comes by for a drink?” Your words fall on deaf ears, it seems. “Most of the league is made of grown men, kid. Trust me, they can stomach a few hours without alcohol.”

He opens the door, giving himself the first view of your room he’s ever seen.

Knowing that you can’t see the face he’s making, the undercover hero allows himself to frown at the sight.

This isn’t a bedroom. This is a storage closet with a small bed and a nightstand. It’s barely four feet wide, and just about six feet long. The sort of room you’d put spare brooms and mops in, where you’d hide away a half-used gallon of drain cleaner or spare dish soap bottles you had gotten on sale. A place too claustrophobic and enclosed for anything except supplies.

But instead, this room had been given to you, a literal teenager who was giving their all to support the League in spite of getting nothing out of it.

For just a moment, his blood boils.

The League can pretend to be good. They can pretend to be heroes and freedom fighters. They can pretend that they’re fighting for a fair and just society. They can pretend that they aren’t monsters and murderers.

But this is how they treat their own. He’s always known this. The League of Villains prioritizes powerful, dangerous individuals above all else, prioritizes those who can spread chaos and mayhem in the name of their destructive goal. And you don’t fit into that powerhouse category, so you get shuffled away, tucked out of sight when they don’t have you serving them or playing babysitter to grown drunkards.

Keigo thinks he understands it, at least. But the truth is that some of the League do care for you. Twice, Spinner, Magne, Toga, Mr. Compress… all of them do care about you, as a friend or as family. And in turn, you care for them.

But he doesn’t think of that. As he helps you into the cramped bed, he thinks of “saving” you, and getting you out of here. Of bringing you home and keeping you safe from the harms and horrors of the world around you.

And there will soon come a day that you tumble out of the villain’s claws and into a hero’s talons.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part Three

Summary: Following the devastating events at Westhaven, something beyond their control is aching to pull them together | Word Count: 3.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Warnings: funeral, suggestions of neglect, mentions of sexual intercourse, mild angst, mild violence

A/N: my babies are back :) hope you like this chapter <3 who has a feeling there's something Billy doesn't know? 🤭

Funerals always felt strange. But he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing.

He looked around, shifting his weight from foot to foot and stood next to his parents. All of Lana’s coworkers were here, some dressed in their military uniform, some in black suits like he was. They’d all formed their own groups, chatting idly amongst themselves to fill the silence that was entrenched with the knowledge of what they were here for.

To send off their beloved coworker, who had so long been at their sides, that he somewhat felt like family.

Nut was a dear friend of Lana’s.

He remembered at first, how they absolutely could not stand each other, each too similar for their own good. Stubborn, proud and strong-willed both in and out of their dangerous occupation.

But they were funny together.

Lana had insisted that she was fine, and that she had to keep working, otherwise she’d ‘go mental’. But Billy knew her. She was just delaying the inevitable, and that some day, she’d crack, and crack hard. 

You couldn’t bottle up a feeling like that. 

Not when a further 12 people died in the attack, with many more than the news originally anticipated injured as well.

He’d stopped checking the BBC Homepage. It was becoming just an act to distract him from what was really going on around him, mindlessly scrolling through all the flat-toned ways in which they described the horror of the situation.

Nothing could distract him from the weighted guilt that was left behind by her presence.

Lana turned up to St Mary’s Church one grey morning looking as if she hadn’t slept a wink, and had simply pulled a blazer haphazardly over what she usually wore to work. Her face was gaunt, like she’d not wanted to come but was trying to hide it on her expression. Billy liked to think he could read his sister, but over time he felt as if the person he grew up with was fading away. 

He gave her a hug in greeting, one hand on her back to let her know he felt the enormity of her loss.

“You look smart, Billy”.

He didn’t reply to that, he simply bowed his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling a wash of insecurity flood through him at the way she’d said it. 

Like she still thought he was a fuck-up.

“Bit grand, all this, eh?”, his mum raised her eyebrows, obviously having seen all the military uniformed men scattered about, with lines of medals on their breasts. Billy grimaced, and made eye contact with Lana as if to say ‘that was a fucking weird thing to say at a funeral’. But his mum must have realised it and followed up with, “Nut would love it, though”, which did nothing to take the sting out of the previous insensitivity. 

Billy watched longingly as she disappeared, feeling even more alone than when he started.

He looked into the crowd, expecting her figure to weave through the people milling about on the pavement. Her bright, warm face and eyes all mischievous as they met him. And he didn’t know why a sudden memory came to him right at that moment. St Mary’s Church wasn’t unknown to either of them. They’d pissed off the priest too much by age 14, having broken in one too many times and knocked over a silver candlestick.

Since the church was no longer suitable for their mischievous evening excursions, they’d moved onto the local museum, noting that the CCTV around the fire exit didn’t work. Once inside, he didn’t question why she was wearing her school skirt and a mucky top, skipping about on the marble floor like they were much younger than they were. 

If he’d asked now, he wouldn’t have liked the answer.

If he’d asked then, she wouldn’t have told him that her mum had been lying unconscious on the sofa for the better part of eleven hours. She wouldn’t have told him that the kitchen was so messy and piled high with dirty dishes that Environmental Health had been called round by the neighbour. She wouldn’t have told him that she wore her school skirt because it was the only thing in the house of hers that was relatively clean.

“Quiet Wash!”

“Don’t call me that. I get enough of that at school.”

“Fuck me, sor-ry,” she grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers, “this place freaks me out.”

“Fuckin’ boring, more like. Remind me why we’re here again?”

“For our weekly therapy sessions of course!” she beamed, covering her mouth when the echo carried further than she intended, “got any sins you need to confess?”

Billy huffed, loosening the school tie from around his neck, swinging his long, gangly arms as they wandered through the dark hallway. He only answered when they passed the ‘Victorian Era’ section.

“Didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I’m not, but sins is a good word.”

He smiled at that, “Ummmm, I suppose I cheated off someone for my Maths test earlier.”

She turned to him abruptly, a look of delight and horror on her face, “You did not! Who off?”

“That weirdo Andy.”

“Aw, he’s not a weirdo. Just…misunderstood.”

“Like how you’re misunderstood?”

As soon as the words came out his mouth, Billy regretted them. Mostly by her reaction. A forced laugh, graced with a settling of her eyebrows into a grimace at the end.

And by how she tried to change the subject. 

“You still going on holiday on Friday?” she asked.

 “Yeah, going to see the grandparents. Back on Sunday though.”

“That’ll be nice, to see them I mean,” she added with a shy smile.

He hated how desperately shy and cowardly he was not to say what was on his mind then. That he would miss her, in the barely two days he’d be away, he knew he would.

But he never told her. 

She never seemed to hold it against him at the time. Or even now from what he could detect. 

A subconscious smile wormed its way to his face, remembering how the twitching of the security guard’s torch whipped at their backs as they desperately ran for the fire exit.

They’d ran and laughed completely out of breath. Their heads high on adrenaline and excitement, swearing and shouting whenever they’d snagged even the tiniest of inconveniences. He’d even lifted her over the gates, turning bright red at catching sight of her knickers through her school tights, not that she’d noticed, and jogged with her to the nearest alleyway, throats raw and lungs burning as they gasped for breath, smiling widely.

He missed being young with her.

And now he thought that even if people weren’t slipping away, the personalities seemed to.

More people dropped by for the wake at the Forester, not Billy’s local, but known to him. 

He remembered being here twice before now. Once with his mum and dad for a Sunday carvery, when his dad had said the mash was ‘lumpy’ and ‘he could load a gun with the roast potatoes they were that hard’. They never went back for food.

The second time, he’d come with her. They’d barely turned 18 and were enjoying flouting the use of their provisional licences by ordering some of their first legal drinks at the bar. He’d ordered a pale ale, and she’d had a bottle of fruity cider. Billy at least remembered she didn’t like the bitter taste of normal beer, and found what she lovingly dubbed ‘fruit shoot for adults’ more acceptable. 

Even in the awkward little booth all the Washington’s were squeezed into, choked by silence, it made him smile remembering the face she’d pulled when she got a taste of his pint.

“You working?”

He’d barely had a moment to tear himself from his memories to look up and see his sister’s face as she’d asked the fated question, a brief flicker of annoyance passing his face at her smug expression, knowing the answer before he had a chance to reply.

It hadn’t taken her long to slip back into her bitchy older sister mentality then.

“Is he bollocks”, the same warning glance turned to his dad, who was by now, several glasses of whiskey deep.

Mum’s driving again, then.

He searched his mind quickly for his go-to answer. He had several choices.

I’ve applied to some this week, just waiting to hear back.

Was at the job centre the other day.

Stopped by the garage, handed in my CV.

But he settled for, “It’s just tough at the minute”, with his lips flat, looking at her from under the blonde wisps of hair on his brow.

Lana raised her eyebrows, not smirking specifically, but clearly amused at his dull response, “Oh, right?”

I’m not fucking doing this. Not sitting here to be labelled as the family fuck-up. I already know that.

He thought that with his Mum sitting next to him and Lana and his dad opposite, he was more his Mum, and Lana more his dad. Not only in their colouring, in their temperaments and attitudes as well. As hot-headed and stubborn as they both were, his dad would always always stick up for her, whether it was the right thing to do or not.

A sort of alliance, so to speak.

“Drinks, anyone? Mum?”.

“Don’t be such a mardy git”

“No, Dad, just leave it, all right?”

Now that came out harsher than anticipated, more forceful. And Billy saw the look of acceptance on his dad’s face, as if Billy had given him exactly the reaction he wanted to justify his early opinion of his only son.

So Billy did the only thing he thought would help.

He got up and left. Cheap round at least, if it’s only him drinking.

She’d only just locked her car when she saw Mr and Mrs Washington pouring out of the Forester. Billy’s mum was much more grey than blonde now, with grey hairs peppered between the otherwise golden strands. His dad, though he still had a stern face, was much more rounded, rosy-cheeked from alcohol, and hair thinning atop his head. 

But Billy’s mum lit up when she clapped eyes on an older version of the girl she once knew. 

“Hiya, duck, you alright?” she beamed, squeezing with the force only a mother could give when she pulled her into a hug. 

She wondered if she hugged Lana like this.

It felt nice, she was ashamed to admit, to have motherly love. Just not from her own.

“You alright, Mrs Washington?”

“Oh darling, it’s Val, come on now”, she smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes sinking in as she pulled away, “you’re a right little madam now, aren’t you? How was your degree? History, wasn’t it?”

She smiled, trying to make it not seem sad, “Yes, it was good, thank you”.

“You’re back for good now, aren’t ya?”, the gruff voice of Billy’s dad joined Val’s side, his expression impartial and his throat sounding scratchier than she remembered. Perhaps he was back into smoking. 

“Yeah, I’ve uh…got a place not far”.

“You'll have to come over for tea, duck. Been far too long since we've seen you”, Val smiled widely, “anyway we've got to get off, Lana's inside if you fancy saying hello”.

The thought of having dinner with them again, the people who she'd very often seen as her own pseudo-parents, and often saw them more than she had her own mother, set off a warmth that fizzled in her chest.

She couldn't deny how nice it would be, to catch up with them all again.

Sometimes being at their house was like watching her own TV show, The Washingtons, watching them bicker across the table, sometimes in harmless quips and sometimes evolving into full on arguments.

Her and Billy would always sit next to each other, raising their eyebrows in a manner that expressed their discomfort. Always followed with a stifled giggle.

And there it was again. The lingering thought that, those days were gone now.

The pub had an immediate bitter smell to it when she first walked in, the stifling heat of bodies hitting her immediately, and the slight stench of sweat. 

She thought, there was no place for judgement of people sweating, having to wear black to a funeral during a heatwave.

She spotted the group of guys at the bar first, all with their black blazers off, and the top buttons of their shirts undone now that their inhibitions had faded the more alcohol they drank. They laughed loudly with each other, but she didn't see Lana until she stepped out, she was so short compared to them.

“Hi Lana”, she smiled when she was close enough.

Those familiar blue eyes looked back, wide-eyed and joyful, the lines around them crinkling much like Val’s.

“Hiya! God, what you doing down this way?” she asked, giving a quick hug in greeting like she was seeing an old friend.

“I've moved back down for work and…to be with people I know again,” she replied, her eyes solemn, “I'm sorry about Nut, really…and I hope you're alright.”

She saw her face drop a bit like she might cry again and let the emotions take the reins, before the eldest Washington sighed, “Thanks. I'm alright. It's…just a shock.”

She nodded, unable to find the words to follow up. But luckily, in her alcohol-addled state, Lana changed the subject quickly and raised her eyebrows, in the way she always did when she was being slightly judgy.

“No mates up north then?”

“None worth keeping”, she smiled, which Lana mirrored.

“You having a drink?”

She thought, fuck it, might as well have one and still drive home, “Yeah go on then”.

They waited at the bar while the man behind it poured pints, pulling on the heavy lever every few seconds.

“I'd’ve thought Billy would have mentioned you.”

She couldn't help it. The statement took her so off guard her face must have blanched, though she tried to smile and make up some quick excuse, Lana simply smiled, her cheeks red. Clearly she'd had quite a bit already.

“Got ya”, Lana grinned, “he tells me fuck all but I know when something's happened. I'm not stupid.”

Shit.

“Just please tell me you haven't fucked. Otherwise I'll vomit right here.”

Her lips parted without her realising, heat rushing to her face at the bluntness of it. Bloody hell, alcohol made Lana an entirely different person.

“I-what? - no!” 

“Oh, thank god for that,” she sighed dramatically, “it'll be good to have you back anyway, he's been a right miserable sod since you've been gone.”

Now that caught her attention.

“What do you mean?”

“He's always been a mardy bugger but he's turned the fucking dial up to 100, especially since Becky walked out on him.”

That was news to her.

She felt herself deflate a little. And didn't know why.

She lifted her eyes at the faint smell of second-hand cigarette smoke.

“Billy!” Lana beamed, “another drink? Treating your big sister?”

A chill settled in her skin at the mention of his name, and the fact that she'd known he was there before Lana had even said it. But a dull warmth crept back in, when she locked eyes on the other Washington, seeing his surprised expression at her presence.

They almost, almost, smiled at each other. 

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead, “Yeah, alright, do you…want one?” he asked, looking tentatively at her, eyebrows arched with nerves, leaving space between them at the bar like she might bite him.

“Just one, thanks. Driving”, she replied with a thin-lipped smile. 

Billy nodded awkwardly and didn't even have to ask what she wanted as he tapped his card against the machine.

The bottle wasn't even in her hand two seconds before Lana beamed, cheeks tinged with drunkenness, “Off for a fag! Be right back”.

She shook her head as Lana waddled to the fire exit with another guy in a suit. As drunk as she seemed, she understood full well that she was leaving her little brother and her by themselves on purpose.

Billy seemed to understand this too, as he watched his sibling disappear with a heavy sigh.

The two sat on a tiny circular table, lined sticky with old beer that had barely been wiped off. And at first, neither of them knew what to say. Billy had never replied to her text message, so she wasn't sure if he was just doing this out of sheer politeness, or if he actually wanted to give it a go.

“You been alright?”

The sound of Billy's voice was so unexpected that she nearly stared at him mouth agape.

“Oh, yeah, um…got the keys to my flat the other day”.

Billy leaned back in his chair, undoing the top few buttons of his black shirt and tugging the tie down with it, “Nice, then?”

A smile broke free, “It'll do.”

Shockingly, he smiled at that as well.

“I'm sorry about Becky”, she started, trying to think of a follow-up when Billy threw a daunted look at her, “Lana mentioned it…sorry-”

“Nah, it's fine. She just can't keep her gob shut, can she.”

She smiled again as she sipped her drink, Billy did the same. Something warm drifted through the air between them.

“Saw your parents as I was coming in.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy raised his eyebrows expectantly, “bet Mum's already tried to feed you her foul cottage pie again”.

“It wasn't that bad.”

“Oh come on, who the fuck puts marmite in a cottage pie?”

It felt nice to laugh with Billy.

Felt natural.

And when their eyes lingered after drifting into silence, she felt that if she looked any longer, the waterworks would really begin.

There was a flush on Billy's cheeks, like there had been on Lana’s. Whether it was sunburn or alcohol, it was difficult to tell.

But from the way Billy found it easy to smile, she would guess the latter.

She watched the way his lips parted and closed a few times, as if he wanted to say something. Years and years of feelings left unsaid, waiting on his tongue.

A distant voice seemed to shake them both. A familiar yet unsettling one.

Billy watched his friend go all rigid, pale and unsettled as she seemed to spot someone at the bar behind him.

He'd seen this look on her face only a handful of times.

With a half empty bottle of cider, she threw her bag over shoulder and quickly got up, “I have to go.”

He wasn't sure what quite got over him. The inhibitions had faded somewhat.

“What's wrong?”

She shook her head swiftly, “nothing, I just-”

When Billy looked behind him, he recognised the gait, the self-assured tone of his voice. He looked older than them, much older, from years of heavy drinking and smoking.

The boy she knew from school. The one she'd cried over.

Billy remembered that afternoon, hugging her to his chest at Cranstead Fields, after he'd shattered her confidence and broken her heart.

She grabbed his sleeve, “Billy, stop it, please-”

“And what?” His head snapped back, eyes wide and eyebrows arched in anger. The flush on his face made him look less endearing now, and more tight with rage.

“Just leave it,” she practically begged, her eyes flitting from her tall friend to the man, who mercifully had not noticed them. 

Her hand slipped from his sleeve, feeling as if more than anything else, she was annoying Billy over feeling nostalgic about their friendship. And embarrassment nipped at her skin as she tugged the bag over her shoulder, her eyes sinking from his.

“Come on, I've got the car. I can take you home.”

“No.”

“But Billy-”

“Nah, got to stay here with Lana.”

She bit her lip, feeling as if he wasn't being entirely truthful, but it was good enough of an excuse that she didn't have a reply.

“Alright…well, look after yourself, okay?”

She'd barely taken the step before his cigarette-scratchy voice boomed across the bar, “there she is! Billy's only real mate, back from the dead!”

Billy watched her expression arch in something akin to pain, hearing his voice and what he'd said. And it was this moment that Billy realised he hadn't even remembered the bastard's name, only what he'd done to her.

She couldn't even really bear to look up and see his face again, to have to look into his eyes, the twist in her heart was much too painful.

“The North not want you either? Come back for some mor-”

It turned out she didn't need to. The entire pub seemed to erupt with excitement of both the bad and good kind as Billy's body twisted drunkenly and his fist barrelled through the man's face, grazing his jaw clumsily.

The ‘mates’ around him simply caught him as he stumbled back, but were too drunk themselves to find the situation anything but a bit funny.

“What the fuck did you say?!”

“Billy, fuck, Billy stop! He's not worth it!” 

Billy barely moved even with her hands on his chest, pushing him back, watching his flushed face harden with frustration, stern blue eyes still trained on the man who was trying to find his footing.

“Get out my way.”

Her stomach flipped as his fingers easily wrapped around her wrist to gently push her away. At least having the mindset that he should be tender with her.

“Fuck’s sake, Billy, stop.”

He seemed near-fixated on the situation around the man he'd just assaulted, heedless of the repercussions.

But the tone of her voice made his blue eyes flit down to her.

He'd not heard that shift in a long time.

They seemed to stare at each other for a long moment. Not even realising that the man's mates had dragged him into the nearest taxi they could flag down, and that the bar idea had gone all quiet.

Billy shook his head as if shaking himself from a memory, “I need a fag.”

“Billy-”

She reached for him, but he disappeared out the fire door, a pack of cigarettes gripped so tight the package was yielding to his touch.

He'd slipped from her grasp. Once again.

And even though it wasn't the first time, she felt the grief of it all like it was.

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[drivinmeinsane]

Colt Seavers x AFAB!Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: On unsteady feet and with linked arms, you and Colt stumble along in the sand. You’re hanging onto each other. The warmth of the man at your side is almost more intoxicating than the beer you’ve been sipping all night long. The ocean is refreshingly cool against your ankles as you trail through the lapping waves, shoes and socks clasped firmly in your hands. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: AFAB Language Used for Reader's Genitalia, Anal Fingering, Bottom Colt Seavers, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption, Frottage, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 2,955 ※ Status: One-shot ※ Author's note: To be honest, I wasn't going to go full smut before the movie came out, but Colt crying in that second trailer sure changed my mind real fast. ※ Song inspiration: Moves - Suki Waterhouse

Night has placed its rich veil over the beach. This far out, the reaching fingers of the city’s light pollution do not dig into the sky over the blue-black waves. It would be rather tranquil, you think, if you weren’t surrounded by the majority of your fellow crew mates. They’re hell bent on thoroughly enjoying themselves tonight. The film that you have all spent the last four months working on finally came to close this afternoon. For a group of people that have been up since the sun broke the horizon and proceeded to move equipment around and push their bodies to the limits, this after party is showing no signs of slowing down as it crawls steadily into the predawn hours.

At your side, one of your coworkers jostles your shoulder as he tries vying for your attention. He nearly knocks your drink out of your hand with his drunken playfulness. You automatically laugh in response to the joke he says, but you don’t process what actually comes out of his leering mouth. You’ve only had eyes for one individual in particular since the very beginning of this job.

Across the way, awash in firelight, is Colt. He keeps looking at you with those blue eyes of his as he takes long pulls of beer. The bob of his throat catches the light with each swallow. It’s almost as though he knows where your mind has been focused.

You look away from him for a moment to acknowledge your admittedly unappreciated companion. He had just nudged you again, this time without the same playfulness as before. He looks sweaty and is wobbling as if he’s standing in a boat being tossed around by an angry sea. He opens his mouth with a smile that turns into a sudden grimace.

“Excuse me,” he groans, sounding tortured, and stumbles away to go throw up. Before you can resume your patient observation, you feel sudden warmth at your side and hear a slightly hoarse voice rise over the deep bass of the music.

“He sure left in a hurry.”

There’s no mistaking the voice. You know exactly who the speaker is, but you’re still pleased to turn and see that it’s Colt at your side. You lean against an equipment case, letting him stand too close. Everyone else is too distracted with their own enjoyment to bother calling out the way he moves to crowd into your space. His knees almost knock into your thighs.

“He overindulged,” you respond, doing some overindulging yourself. The stunt man’s plaid shirt is unbuttoned so much so that it’s almost obscene the way that his chest is put on display. It’s all golden skin, freckles for miles. The dusting of pale hair on top of it all feels like a reward for your eyes.

“Easy to do. You happy to be finished?” he asks, eyes flickering to your lips before darting back up to meet your distracted gaze.

“And miss seeing your face every morning when you and your bestie play fight over the coffee pot? Or maybe not ‘play’...” you pause contemplatively, “Some of those altercations looked a little too real.”

Colt shrugs easily and smiles. “Coffee is serious business.”

He’s leaned impossibly closer, enough now that you can see the fine lines around his eyes. In your slightly tipsy state, you muse that his hair looks so pettable. He laughs, flushed with his own buzz, and you realize you must have said your thoughts out loud.

“I was going to go take a walk along the tide line and then go crash in the bed of my truck to sleep,” he gestures to himself with a broad hand, “all this off. Do you want to…?”

“Why not, it beats trying to get a Lyft back to the hotel,” you say. Enthusiasm has you eagerly pressing into his personal space in return. His smile is blinding, addictive as a drug.

The two of you slip away from the after party. You doubt that you will be missed on account of the alcohol driven fun that everyone else is having. The crew is used to drifting together and then apart, scattered across the world to preform. It’s the nature of the business. You know you will not see some of them again for months or for years, if at all.

On unsteady feet and with linked arms, you and Colt stumble along in the sand. You’re hanging onto each other. The warmth of the man at your side is almost more intoxicating than the beer you’ve been sipping all night long. The ocean is refreshingly cool against your ankles as you trail through the lapping waves, shoes and socks clasped firmly in your hands.

You’re caught by complete when Colt trips and fully lands face first in the sand. He accidentally pulls you down with him, arm in arm. You both roll over onto your backs and laugh.

Colt puts on a petulant voice and between bouts of laughter manages to get out, “’I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.’”

“Nooooo!” you groan back, drunk enough to play along with his Star Wars bit. It sends him into further hysterics.

Sides aching, your giggling and rough housing fades away until you’re both lying side by side, just above the tide line. Your hands rest so that just the tips of your fingers brush. It’s suddenly real. Intimate. The rush of the waves echos your own heartbeat.

Colt breaks the moment first. He rises on to his elbow and shifts over to close the already small distance between your bodies. You look up at him in wonder as his hand cups your jaw. His face looks so serious, so intense, all of a sudden. The sensation of his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip causes you to swallow, mouth suddenly dry. He licks his own lips in anticipation and before he can lean down to kiss you, you rise up to press your mouths together first. His lips are soft on yours and he tastes like affordable beer.

When you tangle your hands into the bleached waves of his hair, you can feel the grit of sand against your grasping fingers. You feel like you’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment. From the very first time you watched him fling himself off a five-story high set piece and come crashing down like Lucifer cast from Heaven, you’ve wanted him.

The stunt man diverts his attention from your mouth to your neck. He’s busy teasing the skin over your collarbone when you give his hair a sharp tug in a silent warning for him not to leave any marks. Colt whines, a breathy noise that cuts above the steady roar of the ocean. That sound knocks any sensible thought you had right of your mind. You had all the intentions in the world to tell him that you’d rather be doing this someplace where the sand isn’t going to end up where it shouldn’t, but his furrowed brow and heavy breathing sucks any protest from your lungs.

You give his hair another yank to see if his whine had been a fluke. It hadn’t been. He whimpers and shudders again as you tug at the strands of hair grasped in your hands. He moves to fully cover you with his body, sudden desperation written on his features. Your legs automatically open to accommodate him, wanting the proximity just as much as he does. His breath stutters in his chest when his own movements causes your grip to catch in his hair.

Sand be damned, you need him. You work your way impossibly closer to him. The distance between your bodies is completely erased until your pelvises are nestled together. You can already tell from the increased contact that he’s beginning to get hard. You’re sure that you both feel it when you throb in interest, starting to get properly slick with arousal in response.

“On top. Get on top, please,” he suddenly begs.

The moment you release him, he rolls onto his back. You’re pulled along with him in a messy tangle of limbs and sand until you’re seated astride him, positioned directly over his crotch. The change in position makes it abundantly clear how big he is. Eager to get your hands on him, you bypass your own pants and fumble open the button and zipper of his jeans. Shoving his underwear down just enough, you ease his growing erection free from its confines. He shudders at your touch, fingers grasping at the sand in the effort to restrain himself. You could consume him whole.

You grind down on his newly exposed cock. He pants at the feeling of denim against sensitive, skin and bucks upward to chase the friction. Lit by the moonlight, you admire the heaving of his chest and the arc of his neck as he tosses his head back in the sand to bare his throat. If only it wouldn’t be crass to mark it.

Barely able to believe that this moment is real, you touch the bare skin that’s been haunting you for far longer than even the thought of his cock has. His chest is warm against your fingers, flushed with the joy of being aroused and buzzed. You trace the space between his pecs and down towards the scant amount of buttons that are still secured. He doesn’t protest, only watches you with lidded eyes as you start undoing them to fully expose him.

He’s given up trying to hold himself back and has surrendered to the idea of putting his hands all over you. His touch is like a brand against your still clothed body. Colt’s fingers skim over your sides before he is forced to grab onto your thighs to anchor himself when you resume your exploration of his chest.

His shirt falls open under your wandering touch, revealing something you hadn’t expected. A pair of matching bars through his nipples greets you, nearly gleaming in the moonlight. He shivers at breeze skating over his chest and rolls his hips against you.

“Don’t these get in the way of stunts?” you question, mouth nearly hanging open. They’re wildly impractical, but at the same time, they’re so Colt.

Voice slurred, he gathers himself just enough to respond. “I just put a couple of those big band-aids on ‘em so they don't get snagged.”

“Huh,” you utter, wonderingly.

You run your finger over one of his nipples. It immediately reacts to your touch by growing plump and firm under your coaxing fingertip. You’re sure it must be flushed a rosy pink. Colt squirms, another whine making its way from his throat. He uses his grip on your thighs to drag you over his leaking cock. He’s fully hard now. You’re not sure if it's your pulse or his that you feel in your cunt.

You lean down and take one of his nipples into your mouth in a gesture born of impulsivity. He twists underneath you like he’s been shot as you suck hard, teasing the nub with the barest hint of teeth. The metal adorning it is cool against your tongue.

“Yeah. C’mon,” he says, breathless.

Encouraged, you start grinding against him in earnest. The friction borders on uncomfortable but you’re drunk and chasing a high. Colt certainly has no complaints. You’re starting to think he might like a little pain. He’s guiding your body against his, coaxing you into a steady rhythm. His firm grip has you feeling like a toy in his eager hands.

Your underwear is slick and you hiss at how stiff your clit is against the sodden material. It’s hard to tell how much of the precum is from you and how much is from the man frantically rutting against you. The stunt performer is leaking all over his belly and soaking the fabric of your jeans.

He’s so wet for me, you think dizzily.

“Can I put my fingers in you?” you ask, the thought out of your mouth before you can even process the need fully.

“Yes.” He has the relief in his voice of a dehydrating man finally given a drink of water.

Barely hanging onto enough sense to do so, you help him out of his plaid shirt and rise up onto your knees just enough to slide it under his bare ass when he manages to fumble around your thighs to get his pants down to his calves. It’s barely enough room to work with, but your body is burning with sheer want. With your fingers halfway to your mouth, you pause. The look in his eyes changes your mind and you make a split decision.

Pressing the pads of your fingers against his lips, you give him an order that’s bordering on a moan. “Suck.”

Colt obeys without a hint of hesitation. He envelops them into the wet heat of his mouth. His tongue laves over them. If you weren’t so focused on opening him up, you might be tempted to mount his face instead and put his mouth to another use.

With a wet noise, you withdraw your fingers from his mouth. They glisten wetly in the low light. A string of saliva trails after them, gossamer thin, before snapping under the tension. You shift, pinning his cock tighter against his lower belly and your still clothed crotch. He pants in anticipation of what he knows must be coming next and spreads his legs as wide as he’s able without his pants entirely off. You reach behind you and twist enough to slide your spit-slicked fingers between his cheeks.

A whimpering groan accompanies the barest intrusion. His lip ends up pinned between his teeth as you circle his hole, teasing. You slip one finger in, meeting minimal resistance. His hands find your thighs again and you feel his cock twitch and spurt. He’s so worked up that you don’t think he’ll last long. In a haze, you find that a second and third finger are swallowed up easily. The way he clenches down around them makes you wish you could stuff him full, get him drunk off your strap rather than mid-range beer. That thought drives you to cup the head of his cock in your other hand and rub the head of it with your thumb, caressing the dripping slit.

“You’re such a good boy, Colt,” you murmur, losing yourself in the pleasure of it all.

A breathy moan is all he can manage. Any semblance of words have have fled the scene the moment you started working him open.

The darkness is hiding the pleasant blush of his body that you know must be there. If only you could get him under a spotlight and frame him like the main character for once. You crook your fingers inside of him, seeking his prostate and Colt drags you down against him in just the right way in response to the attention to tip you over the edge. You cum hard, jerking in his hold and clamping your legs tight around his hips. Your noises and the way your body spasms on top of his pushes him over the finish line mere seconds after you hit the tape.

He groans your name. His entire body shudders as he orgasms. If it were possible, he’d have milked your fingers dry with each pulse of his cock. Hole still fluttering around your digits, you ease them free and shift enough to dismount. Colt mumbles a shaky thank you as you gently help him back into his jeans and redo the button and zip. Your own underwear is uncomfortably soaked, but you can’t bring muster up the will to care. Not when you’ve managed to wring such noises out of the man still trying to draw you back to him.

Pressing a kiss against his sternum, you make your way up between the channel of his pectorals, to his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, and finally to his mouth. He smiles into the kiss, satisfied and thoroughly spent. You separate from him and he nuzzles his nose against yours before you get too far. His breath ghosts over your kiss-swollen lips.

“Want to try to find the truck?” he asks, sounding on the verge of falling asleep.

“I’m comfortable here.”

You’re doubtful you could stand. Your legs feel as though they’re made of jelly. The journey to whatever parking lot Colt stashed his truck in feels far too daunting.

“Okay, baby.”

Heart leaping into your throat at the endearment, you tuck yourself against his side. The stunt man wraps his arm around you and coaxes you into laying your head on his wide shoulder. It’s a comforting anchor as the two of you make your bed in the sand.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up to the sun cresting the horizon and the sound of crashing waves accompanied by throaty snoring. You’re laying with your head on Colt’s chest, having migrated in your sleep. The stunt man’s thick arm is still curled around you, his hand on your hip. His other arm is thrown across his eyes.

Patchy memories of the night before flash in your mind, but you cannot find it in yourself to be embarrassed. You’d bend him over in front of all your coworkers if that’s what it took to for you to get your hands on his tanned skin again.

Colt senses your movement and peels his arm off his face with a groan. He looks exhausted but perks up at the sight of you. His smile is brighter than the early dawn light. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” you say with a smile of your own.

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 04: Kidnapped

John Price x gn! reader

Warnings: murder, mention of torture. Kind of strayed a little from the prompt I feel

It's pure luck that you notice, headphones catching on your laundry and pulling them from your ears just as the door bursts open. You know John isn't supposed to be home yet, not for a few more weeks. Freezing for a few seconds you strain your ears, already dialling John's number as you make out masculine voices from the foyer.

The confirmation that, yes, people have just broken into your house snaps your body into action. You lock the bathroom door from the inside then close it, running as quickly and quietly as you can to the bedroom.

The call goes to voicemail and you internally swear, dialling him once more. Again you don't get through and you try not to fume at John for working when you're about to be killed. There’s no point calling the police, they won’t arrive in time, you just want to hear your husband's voice one last time. 

You work your way through his coworker's numbers before surprisingly, it's Simon who answers. He doesn't even get a second to speak before you're hissing at him.

“There’s Russians in my house!” If your life weren’t in mortal peril you’d probably have laughed at the usually collected man’s brief moment of panic. “At least two” You’re already answering his unasked question, years of being John’s partner leaving you slightly more prepared than the average civilian. 

Whilst you're listening to Simon on the other hand of the line you've managed to rifle through the bedside drawer until you pull out a long serrated blade.

A knife meant you had to get close, but it was quiet, and far more readily available than the gun. Closing the drawer quietly, you rush back to the door. However, instead of closing it, you keep it open, hiding behind the wood and waiting for an opportunity.

You white knuckle the handle, trying to stop your body from shaking as the sound of the bathroom break-in attempt filters down the hallway.

You barely register that it’s John in your ear now over the blood roaring in your ears, a mix of adrenaline and terror leaving you shaking. He’s asking questions, barely concealed panic tinging his every word, but you’re far too scared to answer in case you’re heard. 

Heavy boots thud against the floor as an irritated voice filters through the hallway, one of the men is coming closer and it takes everything in you not to cry as John assures you that help is on the way and will be there soon. 

You both know that’s a lie.  

He’s out of the country, and even if his colleagues can contact the police it will likely be far too late. You want to tell him you love him, want to wax lyrical on how he’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. At this moment you have so many regrets, so many unvoiced thoughts that you can’t verbalise because it will give you away. 

The door you’re hiding behind creaks slightly as it’s pushed further open and silently you slide sideways to avoid acting as a human doorstop. You see a broad back, and in a stroke of luck, there’s no tactical gear to protect any vital points. Likely in an attempt at anonymity, but it doesn’t matter, you know to go for the throat. He walks towards the closed closet doors, smug triumph in his voice as he thinks he’s found you. 

You step towards him as quickly and quietly as possible. As you get within striking distance he turns, but unfortunately for him, you’ve already built up momentum and are witness to the surprise on his face as the serrated blade slices through the skin of his neck like butter. 

You know better than to stab, you don’t possess the strength, the downside though, is the torrential spray of blood that gushes from the violently slit throat. 

His blood covers you as the man makes guttural choking noises, unable to do anything else with his ruined vocal cords. John’s screaming on the other end of the phone, demanding to know what’s happened but you’ve frozen in shock. 

Those few frozen seconds prove to be your downfall, you’ve forgotten there are two assailants, and the other man has busted down the door of the bathroom and found it empty already. 

“Drop the knife!” It’s a command, and after looking up at the furious Russian man aiming a gun at you, it’s one you quickly follow. A whimper escapes you, frightened tears finally pouring down your cheeks as you await your death. 

John’s still begging you to answer him and with courage you didn't know you possessed you manage to whisper one last ‘I love you’ before your phone is grabbed and crushed beneath the man’s heel. 

“Sorry ‘bout this.” The man sneers and you barely have the time to think that he doesn’t look or sound very sorry before the butt of his gun meets your temple and the world goes black. 

From the moment Simon had burst into the room interrupting his meeting with Lawell, phone in hand and panic in his widened eyes John knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

He’s up from his chair so quickly that it falls over, and barking at Simon to update him in on the situation. The phone is snatched from his lieutenant's grip and placed against his ear as he tries to get you to respond. 

He hears your shaky breaths and some vaguely angry shouting in the background but you never respond. He hears your fear, hears the telltale gurgles of a dying man but his heart doesn’t stop until he hears those three words. 

There’s a resigned finality to them and Price has tears in his eyes as he repeats the words in a desperate chant, unable to do anything more than listen as you scream and the line goes dead. 

He must’ve blacked out temporarily after that, because when he came to a few seconds later Simon was holding him up and the man’s phone was shattered into pieces on the other side of the room. 

It’s not until hours later that he gets an update. The police had arrived to find a man dead on the carpet of your bedroom, throat violently slit, but no sign of you. 

The following week was torture. He barely ate and didn't sleep until his body physically gave out. The boys were worried, and on more than one occasion he’d snapped. If it wasn’t for Simon’s interference he might have even hit Soap simply for trying to get his captain to rest. 

It’s another week before they finally get any news, and it comes in the form of a bloodied box containing a USB. Immediately John knows what it is and even as his men beg for him not to watch, even as the horror floods his veins and the bile fills his mouth he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the screen in front of him. 

You’re chained to a chair, soaking wet, bloody and shaking. He watches as a man runs a knife down your collarbone and you scream, crying and begging for John. 

It’s a warning. To back off, or you’ll die. 

The video cuts off with another one of your screams and a mocking accented voice letting John know that this is all his fault.

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 18

An: Thanks for your patience, March is a really busy month for me! The tension is building and I can't wait for the next part (19 is looking steamy).

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2800

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of knives, mentions of death.

I think of all the phone calls I’ve made throughout my life. The hundreds of hours I’ve spent talking to friends and family. Sharing the exciting news of getting into college with my childhood best friend who moved away in elementary school. Gossiping with my favourite coworker about an awful shift when she didn’t open with me in the morning. Listening closer to hear the whispers of shared secrets between the few people I really care about. Talking late into the night about that one person I couldn’t scrub from my mind. The conversation slowly dying down but neither of us ready to hang up. Neither of us ready for the silence after the line goes dead.  The relief of hearing their voice after days or weeks of nothing. All those conversations flicker through my mind as I stare at the landline sitting on Captain Price’s desk. It’s a clunky, faded, black thing with a rubber coil attaching the receiver to the phone and the numbers on the keys have long since rubbed off.

I’m not prepared to hear his voice. After learning all I know about him, I don’t think it’ll sound the same. There’s no way the man I’m about to speak to is the one I’ve known my whole life.

Soap was supposed to be here. Then five minutes ago, he was called out to demolitions by another sergeant who said it was “urgent”. I wasn’t sure what his specialty was until recently and after getting to know him better, it makes perfect sense. He spends almost every waking moment out there, yet won’t tell me what they’re doing. Whenever I ask, he sits up straighter and has to suppress his smile, but I don’t miss the excitement in his eyes when he says it’s classified.

Right now I’d rather be there with Soap than sat in front of Price and Ghost and some scrawny man with equipment hooked to that damn phone. I’d rather be almost anywhere than here.

The script crinkles in my hand. The Captain already gave the go-ahead. Now it’s all on me. I feel Ghost’s eyes on me. I want to find some comfort in them, but just can’t. After he left, he told Price about the mole. He had to, I get it, but I also can’t help the feeling that nothing I say will stay between us.

I wish I was back in his room, lying on top of the covers and reading his copy of Huckleberry Finn knowing that no one could get to me. Only Simon.

And then the phone is in my hand, pressed against my ear: ringing once, twice. And then it stops. Shuffling sounds fill the other line. Then, I hear his voice. That voice that softens when it speaks to me. That has always been so understanding. That ordered those men to mercilessly take the lives of innocent civilians praying for salvation.

“Y/n?” he asks, almost unsure – like the possibility of talking to me might just be too good to be true.

“Hi,” the word dad almost slips from my lips, but I know if it does, I won’t be able to keep it together. My hands don’t feel attached to my body. Like somewhere in the numb space of my forearms, they were simply disconnected. My mouth is dry and I eye the script, but can’t get the words to come into focus.

“Are you okay? Have they hurt you? Are you eating?” there’s just something to his voice, that I can’t quite pin down. Something disingenuous. Like he’s only playing the role of a concerned parent. When I meet Ghost’s eyes, I know he hears it too. He nods, urging me to speak.

“I’m fine,” my voice is strangely even. “They said I could see you again. That they’d make a trade,” the rest of my body disconnects from my mind and suddenly I’m standing beside Ghost watching myself talk on the phone. The hope in my voice is real. The girl on the phone is going to go home safely to her dad. And it sounds like she genuinely believes every word she’s saying.

“Oh my sweet girl,” he croons. “I want nothing more. Your mother and I have been worried sick.”

“Mom?” I latch onto the hopeful word. “Is she there with you?”

“No, but she’s somewhere safe, being guarded by some of our best. You’ll get to see her soon,” he purposely leaves out her location, unknowing of 141’s extensive intel.

“Dad, I-I,” just like in the script, Price audibly warns me we’re short on time. An intentional move to add more pressure to our conversation. My father will have heard him in the background. “They said I can’t talk much longer,” my tone is rushed and worried. I see a small smile tug on the corner of Price’s mouth. I’m convincing.

“Hey,” he says. “Soon enough we’ll have all the time in the world,” the ultranationalist who snuck into my room said he was displeased that I leaked the ambush info, but you’d never pick up on that while listening to him on the phone. He hides his cruelty so well. Even knowing what he’s capable of now, the man I’m speaking to just doesn’t sound like the type. “But y/n, I’m going to need to know what they want from us first. Okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble like a scared child. I smooth out the script across my thighs and read off their demands. I recite the names of five men. Two of their leaders and three of 141’s soldiers who were taken prisoner at one point or another. Neither my father nor my uncles are on the list. There’s no way they’d trade one of themselves for me. Even I know that.

“Those are the men they want?” I hear a newfound tension in his voice as he shifts in his seat.

“That’s what they told me to say,” my eyes are glued to the paper. If I look at Ghost or Price now, I’ll lose my concentration.

He sighs deeply, “I’ll need a few days little bird, those are some top dogs. But I’m going to get you out, don’t you worry.”

I sniffle as though this is too much. Like hearing his voice made me realize how much I miss him and now I might cry. “Love you,” my voice cracks.

“Love you too darling,” the line goes silent for just a moment. “I’ll be in touch,” with these words, his voice significantly deepens. He’ll be in touch. He has his ways of contacting me despite 141’s precautions. I should expect a shadowy visitor very soon.

Then he hangs up. I place the phone back on the mount. Horror creeps its way up my shoulders and I know I’m back in my own body.

“Well done,” Price congratulates me. He’s surprised I did so well. I don’t come off as the type of person to perform well under pressure – I normally don’t – yet the phone call was almost flawless.

“Thank you,” I attempt a small smile, but inside, I feel awful. Dirty. Blindsided. I can’t believe that is the same man I’ve known my entire life. Sinking betrayal anchors my bones to the depths of the Mariana Trench. The immense pressure makes my head feel as though it’s about to implode upon itself. But along with the shame I now carry because of our kinship, there’s also molten anger stirring within my core, threatening to erupt.

“Thank you, Sergeant, you’re dismissed,” Price turns to the man who recorded the call and waits for him to leave. Ghost hasn’t said a word almost this entire time. Yet he closely watches the man leave with his equipment as suspicious as ever. He doesn’t trust a soul. Especially now. “Within the next few days, your little friend will pay another visit. We’ve installed another camera outside your door and tapped the room. Tell him the truth, just like he asked, we don’t need to aggravate them further, but it is essential he doesn’t think you snitched again,” Price’s tone has turned serious. He understands the gravity of the situation.

The ultranationalist could decide to kill me if he thinks I snitched again. He would certainly order the execution of my friends back home. While Price doesn’t care about them, he needs me alive. They won’t have the opportunity to ambush the Ultranationalists without me alive for a supposed exchange.

“Any questions?” he asks. For once, I have none.

“No sir.”

“Right. Ghost, your request is approved. Take the afternoon to complete it. Return her to her quarters before 1800,” he nods once toward the lieutenant. And then we’re off.

I don’t know why, but I expected him to say something as we navigate the halls. However, like usual, Ghost is completely stoic.

When we first met, I was always silently instructed to walk in front of him. Ghost was suspicious of me. Despite being cleared by intel, part of him still considered the possibility that I could be an Ultranationalist. By walking behind me he eliminated any chance of a surprise attack. His analytical eyes would trail up and down my frame trying to decipher any hidden motives. He’d take note of the length of my stride. How I hold my head, my shoulders. How my hands fidgeted and I picked at my nails and then my cuticles once they were too short.

Something has changed since then. A lot has changed.

Now I walk beside him. Close, but not close enough that our arms brush. Not close enough to attract suspicion. He no longer glares at me like I could turn on him at any moment. There’s so much more depth to his eyes when they steal small glances my way. Sometimes – like now as we walk along the sparsely populated halls - I feel him step closer so we’re almost touching, the heat of each other’s body is just noticeable, before he reminds himself that someone could come across us at any moment. Then, after a brief moment of indulgence, he once again shifts away to a more professional distance. I sense the same kind of longing pulses through his veins as mine.

My thoughts are interrupted as we continue to walk past my room.

“Aren’t you dropping me off?” the confusion is evident in my voice as my pace slows. Ghost turns to look at me while keeping his pace.

“No. We’re training,” he says. Training? Is this the request Price mentioned earlier? What kind of training is he referring to? What is Ghost planning?

“We are?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms. His long legs are hard to keep up to as they stride with purpose.

“What kind of training?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Ghost says. And if I’m not mistaken, I almost detect a hint of teasing in his voice.

Yet, Ghost doesn’t take me to a gym or shooting range, instead, he leads me right back to his quarters.

“Is this a joke?” suspicion is evident in my voice. I hesitate as he waits for me to enter first.

“Negative,” the curt response is typical. He isn’t about to volunteer any additional information.

“What could we possibly train for in your room?” my mind involuntarily wanders to a variety of things, but none that will help with the exchange. As I make eye contact with him, my cheeks flush almost immediately. Ghost’s gaze is strong and unwavering. He knows exactly where my thoughts have drifted.

“I’ll show you,” he motions to the door. A small ball of nervous energy forms in my lower stomach. The type that has no place being here right now. The type that’ll get me into trouble. “First, I want to know your thoughts on the phone call?”

“I don’t want to think about the phone call,” I say as I leave him behind in the hall. Once inside, he takes his vest off and hangs it on the back of the door. Facing away from me, he slips off the skull mask and quickly replaces it with a plain black balaclava. My whole body freezes at the sight. I can’t believe he just took it off in front of me. His hair is darker than I thought it’d be. The strands are a stark contrast against his fair eyelashes. He wears it clean cut like most men in the military, short on the sides and more forgiving on top. But it’s overall longer than I imagined. My mind drifts to what it would feel like to run my fingers through the delicate strands. To gently trace my nails along his scalp. To roughly grasp him by the hair as he–

“It’s not often Price congratulates someone on their performance,” Ghost’s head tilts as he gauges my response. I don’t speak, my mind still stuck on the fact he took his mask off in front of me, even if I couldn’t see his face. “You were almost as good there as you were during the interrogations,” he continues. Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t know if it’s a feeling of flattery or embarrassment.

“I’m not good at it. It feels like I’m not even there,” like the actions aren’t even my own. It’s a dangerous feeling. How far can a person go when they don’t feel responsible for their actions? How far could I go?

“But you know you are?” his tone becomes mildly concerned. Does he think I’m slipping from reality?

“I know I am. It’s just easier to separate myself from what I’m doing,” I think out loud, my voice slowly fading toward the end of my sentence. Maybe it’s my brain’s way of protecting myself?

“Y/n, if it’s too much let me know,” Ghost says seriously as a gloved hand reaches out and touches my chin. It has been too much since the moment they kidnapped me. But now all I can do now is figure out how to survive until the exchange is over. “For this too.”

The second half of his sentence catches my attention.

“And what is ‘this?’” what does he keep alluding to?

Ghost’s delicate hand on my chin leaves as he reaches for something strapped to his belt. The gloved hand unsheathes a steel knife. He flips it around and offers the handle to me. I hesitantly take it from him, all the while closely watching his eyes. There’s a glint to them. Something troublesome. At this point, his intentions could be anything.

“What’s your safe word?” his husky voice is suddenly a lot lower as he takes a step backward and squares his shoulders. There’s an ambiguous spark in his eyes. One that’s about to catch fire. I can almost smell the damp, smouldering smoke in the air.

“Safe word?” my breath catches in my throat and I try to force a swallow. I choke back a nervous laugh.  He’s joking, right? The knife feels unnatural in my hand.

“Think of one, sweetheart,” he rasps. There’s that damn name again. The one that makes it so fucking hard to think. My mind snags on it like a loose thread to a nail, pulling every thought out of order. Only he can mend me.

“Um, I don’t – Soap, I guess?” his call sign comes to mind first.

“Not Soap. Something different,” his head juts to the side with disapproval.

“Okay. Fine. Pizza then,” I’m still confused as to why he wants me to have a safe word.

“Pizza,” Ghost repeats to himself, burning it to memory. He takes another step back and I almost feel myself relaxing. My shoulders don’t feel so tense. The knife is no longer so heavy. I glance down at the mean little thing in my hand. I wonder how many people have died by this blade?

Ghost doesn’t wait for my eyes to return to his. From the edge of my peripheral, something large lunges at me. He’s incredibly fast. Just a flash of movement in the dim light. Fear hasn’t had the chance to take over yet. Instinct kicks in and I jump back out of the way, just narrowly escaping his first attempt at grabbing me. But there’s nowhere to go. The room is small and he’s closer to the door than I am. He wants me to fight. He’s forcing me to.

“The fuck are you doing?” I angrily spit at him as I corner myself between the dresser and wall, knife still in hand.

Ghost looks as terrifying as ever as he shifts to face me once more. His intimidating frame takes up the entire walkway between the bed and dresser. Those thick shoulders heave along with his chest as his breathing deepens. His gloved hands stay open at his sides, eager to grab at me again. Ghost’s sharp eyes look darker than before. He is completely locked in on me.

There is no escaping what comes next.

Pt 19:

[jjkamochoso]

Helloo! I read your written about isao shinomiya and it was amazing!

Can you write another one about him like if he get jealous :) ?

Yes I can, and here it is below!! Thanks for your patience and for your support!! I’m so happy you like my work and I’m always glad to help bring your ideas to life so I appreciate you choosing me for the task!! Much love and I hope you enjoy🥰❤️🫶

Director Jealous- I Mean, General

Fluff

Isao Shinomiya x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A/n: I made up the Platoon Leader character, just fyi :)

You sighed, setting your lunch tray down with a bit more force than intended, the loud clunk of plastic hitting tabletop reverberating through the dining hall. It was another fine day at the Ariake Maritime Base but you were so exhausted that you decided to take your second meal break early. Being Chief of Staff was certainly no joke—you always had meetings to attend, battle plans to write out, training to keep your body in top shape. You loved your job, though, because it made you feel like you were truly making a difference in the Defense Force. It certainly didn’t hurt that rising up the ranks allowed you to spend more time with Director General Shinomiya, who you considered a coworker, and was the man you’d been hopelessly in love with for an embarrassingly long time. You didn’t mind pining from afar since the prospect of approaching him with a topic of anything but anti Kaiju tactics was much too scary. You also weren’t worried that someone else would confess romantic intentions to him before you ever could because his gruff demeanor and no nonsense attitude certainly weren’t causing people to fight for his affections.

Not that people were lining down the block to steal your heart, either.

You sighed again, this time taking some food to your mouth in an attempt to enjoy your meal. The saying is correct that it’s lonely at the top: you’d worked so hard in your career that you had no time for a significant other and you rarely saw your family due to other obligations. Even friends were slim pickings here at headquarters since most people in First Division wouldn’t chance talking to a superior like yourself in such a casual way and the rest of your peers were either gone on business trips or holed away in their own offices nonstop.

“L/n, right? Chief of Staff?”

You turned your head to face the person standing next to you. You recognized the smiling man as a First Division Platoon Leader. You nodded, allowing him to continue.

“Wow, I never see you high rankers out here! Can I sit?”

He motioned to the seat next to you and again, you nodded. He was right that the higher ups weren’t in the dining hall too often. You usually chose to eat in your office, trying to get as much work done as possible at all times. Today was a rarity for you in that you really needed a break. You also really needed a friend, so you let him talk your ear off as you munched away.

“I’m Kiyoshi Kato, Platoon Leader. Of course, you probably already knew that. Anyway, I’ve been working on this idea for a smoother evacuation plan…”

Kiyoshi then delved deep into his well thought out plan. You wanted to be frustrated that you couldn’t escape work in the one place that no one ever gets work done, but you had to admit, his idea was genuinely smart. You saw where improvements could be made, but overall, it was pretty solid.

“I’m impressed, Kato,” you said, giving him a hearty pat on the back, “you made some really good points in that idea of yours. Why don’t you type up a proposal and run it by my office later?”

You had never seen someone’s eyes light up quicker than his did in that moment.

No one had ever seen a man’s eyes darken as quickly as Isao Shinomiya’s did when he saw you speaking with and smiling at a subordinate. As he stood in the doorway of the dining hall, an unfamiliar squeeze of his heart was harshly felt. He had come by your office earlier, hoping to catch a glance of you and exchange pleasantries, but when you weren’t there, he frowned deeply. Where could you be? You were always in your office. In fact, he walked by there so often he inadvertently learned your schedule. It was only 11:30am; you usually didn’t leave for lunch until 11:47am. Lo and behold, he found you at the dining hall, much too early and off schedule for Isao’s liking. He wanted to walk forward and break up whatever moment you two were sharing, but he found himself unable to move, his gaze frozen on the scene in front of him. You had been smiling that wonderful smile of yours, but something was horribly wrong—your hand was resting on the back of another man. Isao’s own hand was clenched in a fist by the time you moved away from the mystery man, and his boots hit the ground with a heavy thud of each step as he finally reached your table.

“L/n. When you’re finished with your meal, I need to speak with you.”

The words left his mouth before he could convince himself it was a bad idea to approach you. What he was going to speak to you about was yet to be determined, but he knew he couldn’t stand seeing you with this other man for another minute.

“D-director General, sir! I was just leaving, sir!” the man saluted nervously, turning to you and saluting you as well before clearing his tray in a hurry. Isao wanted you to have friends, but you deserved to be around someone who actually understood you, someone who was of a higher caliber and rank.

Someone like him.

“I think you scared off poor Platoon Leader Kato,” you joked, letting out a laugh that rivaled the lightness of a feather.

“Hm. If he’s that scared of me, he shouldn’t have that job,” Isao said, his harsh tone holding more disdain than usual, but you didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll be on my way. Enjoy your meal,” he told you, quickly turning on his heel and all but running out of the dining hall. He needed answers, quick.

“Narumi! What do you know of a platoon leader named Kato?”

The Director General found himself in the middle of the disheveled room of the man who knew almost everything about everybody in the First Division—Gen Narumi. That is, if this Kato guy was powerful, anyway—if he was a weakling, Narumi wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to who he was. Isao didn’t know whether he preferred the guy to be strong or a bumbling fool.

“Huh? Why are you being so loud so early?” Gen questioned, emerging from a pile of blankets with his handheld gaming system.

“I don’t have time for your games, Narumi, this is important.”

“Fine, fine,” he groaned. “Kato, huh? Name rings a bell. He’s smart but his strength could use some work. Why, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Isao snapped, way too fast to avoid suspicion by the dark and light haired man.

“Oh, really?” Gen asked, a sly smile working its way on his lips, “‘cuz I think you’re lying.”

“I’m leaving,” Isao said, walking away, but Gen spoke up once more.

“This is about y/n, isn’t it?”

Isao stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t use our Chief of Staff’s first name. I won’t tolerate that kind of blatant disrespect.”

Gen raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, sorry. This is about L/n, isn’t it?”

Isao’s silence was all Gen needed to know his assumption was correct.

“He didn’t try asking them out, did he?” Gen wondered, his eyes wide.

“He better not have,” answered Isao, his blood pressure steadily rising. “Did he mention doing such a thing?”

“No, it was just the first thought that came to mind.” Gen was furiously slamming the buttons on his gaming console. “Now that I can see you’re clearly jealous for whatever reason, would you care to tell me why?”

Shinomiya wanted to be surprised that Gen guessed correctly, but he figured that he was being much too obvious about his interest in you that even the man who never took his eyes off the screen in front of him could see right through the lovesick director.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Narumi,” Isao grumbled. “I actually have to get back to work. Unlike someone.”

“Whatever you say, Director Jealous,” teased Gen, wearing a knowing grin. Isao so desperately wanted to chew him out for being so, well, Gen, but he had to get back to his office before you got there. Without a second glance, Isao exited the room with a slight slam of the door. Walking down the halls, he pondered Gen’s words. Was he actually… jealous? The Director General, jealous of a platoon leader who dared to speak with someone Isao was fond of, but never declared himself to be? He scoffed internally.

I’m like a child with a schoolyard crush.

He checked his watch and cursed. You’d be arriving at his office any moment and he was still pretty far from his destination. He doubled down on his speed, eventually throwing himself in his desk chair, acting as nonchalant as possible with 30 seconds to spare.

“Director General? You wanted to speak with me?” you asked, knocking on the door.

“You may enter.”

Isao tried to calm his beating heart. It was from all the fast walking, of course, not from the prospect of seeing your lovely face sat across from him.

No, not that at all.

“How may I help?” you chirped happily, taking up a spot in the chair in front of the Director’s desk.

“What did Kato want from you at lunch?” he inquired, not wasting another moment to get to the bottom of this. The real question was, how would Isao react if Gen’s first thought was right—if Kato tried asking you on a date? He felt murderous intent slowly creep up inside him and he tried to shove it down while he waited for your answer.

“Oh, that! He had a fantastic idea regarding evacuation routes,” you answered. “I told him to prepare a proposal and we’d look it over when he was finished. Nice man. Very intelligent.”

“I’m sure he is,” Isao said, clasping his hands and resting them near the bridge of his nose. “He didn’t… ask anything personal, correct?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

You looked very confused. That was a good thing, meaning Kato hadn’t approached you with romantic intentions, but Isao didn’t know how he’d explain such an odd question. Was now the right time to tell you the truth?

“L/n, listen. I…” He stopped. You were looking at him with such kind eyes that he didn’t how to form a sentence. It had been many years since he fell for somebody, and now that a person has finally stolen his heart once more, he couldn’t remember how to act accordingly.

“I didn’t like how he encroached on your free time with talk of business,” he said, a half truth coming from his mouth.

“I promise he didn’t bother me, Director. I took lunch early anyway. He probably tried to find me in my office first.”

“No he didn’t,” Isao mumbled, but you caught what he said.

“How do you know?”

Uh oh.

“I know because… I was looking for you at that same time,” he admitted, trying desperately to suppress the blush that threatened to overtake his cheeks. He was a grown man, for heaven’s sakes, he shouldn’t become a bumbling mess when talking to a person he found attractive.

“Oh? You must really enjoy talking to me, then, if you were searching me out prior to my impromptu meeting with Kato,” you gently joked.

“I do enjoy spending my time with you, yes.”

You didn’t falter. “Well, I’m pretty fond of you as well, Shinomiya.”

“I didn’t like how friendly Kato was with you,” he finally blurted out, the silly confession making him wish he was anywhere but within those four walls of his office.

“Am I wrong to assume that you’d wish that was you taking my up time at lunch instead of him?”

Isao’s eyes widened slightly in shock. “How did you…?”

“I had a hunch, that’s all,” you said, wearing a coy smile. “Shall we discuss your jealous tendencies over a coffee sometime? Maybe, say, 11:30 tomorrow morning?”

Isao was never the type to be taken aback so easily, but it felt like his world was being flipped completely upside down right now. It was like being on a rollercoaster, but he didn’t think he ever wanted to get off the ride—not if you were there next to him.

“I’d like that, L/n,” he answered, his softened eyes betraying his normal stone-like expression.

“Good, I’m looking forward to it. If you’ll excuse me, I have to text Narumi a thank you.”

Isao resisted the urge to growl out profanities. He was gonna kill that meddling kid!