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chrissv4mp · 12 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 WARM ME UP

NAVIGATION ; OCT 26 — COCKWARMING

WARNINGS: SMUT, nipple play, cockwarming, dry-humping, degradation, humiliation(?), strap-on sex, teasing, billie's a little mean, orgasm denial :((

NOTES: was supposed to post this like a week ago, but i FORGOT TO WRITE IT // also very rushed ending 😓😓

WORDS: 3k

SUMMARY: The change from summer to fall wasn't exactly slow, and Billie tends to keep the studio quite cold. Good thing you tag along anywhere she goes.

TAGS: @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @br4ttyeilish @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @hrtsdollie @zayluvss

BILLIE EILISH × F!READER

The cool air of fall blows in through the crack in the window. It'd been that way since forever, and nobody had complained until the first fall Billie and Finneas began working in the studio.

There's been many complaints since then, ranging from friends to even Shark, her dog. He was never able to stay in the room for too long during the fall or winter, and it always made you and Billie laugh.

This fall, though, seemed particularly cold. Maybe you'd just been too comfortable with the temperature during summer, but when Billie came back from a trip to the bathroom, she wasn't wearing her usual attire that consisted of a muscle t-shirt or some jersey from her closet.

Her upper body was covered with a hoodie, the hood covering her head. The sleeves of her thermal peeked out from under the hoodie, and you quickly noticed that she changed from her baggy basketball shorts to grey sweatpants.

They hung low on her waist, exposing just the tiniest amount of skin. Your eyes flutter for a moment, caught in a trance as you watch her walk toward the desk.

She sat back in her chair, stretching before her hands gravitated toward the mouse on the table, moving it around and fixing little mistakes in the song she was currently working on.

You lean back on the couch in the back of the studio, cuddling under the blanket you had stolen from her room just an hour prior as you watch her work from afar. She seemed to be uncomfortable, the sleeves of the hoodie rubbing against her skin every time she moved her arms.

She rolled them up, only to roll them back down as the cool wind hit her again. Her heavy breaths were a tell-tale sign that she was getting riled up. It didn't help that she couldn't perfect this one beat either, a frustrated sigh falling from her lips.

"Everything okay?" You ask, the question lingering in the air for a few moments as Billie tries to calm her nerves. She spins in her chair, eyes softening as your face comes into view.

She nods, picking at the sleeves of her hoodie as she smiles at you reassuringly, "Just so fuckin' cold in here." She mutters, a shiver going down her spine as the tag of the hoodie brushes against the back of her neck.

That was her last straw, her hands moving down to the hem of the hoodie and pulling it over her head. Her thermal rides up along with the hoodie, giving you a quick glimpse of her soft skin.

The hoodie drops to the floor as she throws it softly, letting it rest somewhere away from the equipment and not in anyone's way. Her eyes meet yours again, and you both erupt into a fit of giggles at her small outburst.

She shivers again, but this time, an idea pops into mind. Her eyes snap to you again, spreading her legs wider to get comfortable as her hands move to rest on her thighs. You don't miss the small twinge of annoyance that sparks in her eyes at the knowledge that you were still under the blanket.

"C'mere." She rasps, motioning with her ring-clad finger, a mischievous smirk on her face. You hesitate for a moment, too comfortable under the warmth of the fabric, but as you catch the look in her eyes, you quickly scramble to get off the couch.

You're standing between her legs in an instant, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air blows in through the window and hits you. You clearly hadn't read the weather forecast this morning, only throwing on one of Billie's sweatshirts before leaving the house. You were still only wearing your thin sleep shorts and a tight tanktop.

Her intimidating gaze rakes down your figure, eyes swirling with hunger, yearning. Her hands fight the urge to reach out and pull you onto her lap, gripping at the fabric of her sweatpants as her eyes snap up to yours again.

She pats her lap softly, her smile growing wider and showcasing the star tooth gem that was in between her two front teeth. The gem that you always felt on your neck each time she marked you up.

You quickly scurry to sit on her lap, hands resting on her shoulders and clinging to her body for warmth. Her hands finally find your waist, slowly traveling down your body and cupping your ass. She squeezes teasingly, a chuckle escaping her throat as she hears you gasp.

She squirms beneath your body, muttering something about getting comfortable as some lame excuse. When she pushes her hips up, though, you feel it. You feel the fake dick beneath her sweatpants.

Her eyes meet yours again, and this time, you can finally decipher the mix of emotions swirling deep in her irises. She inhales sharply before speaking, "Want'chu to warm me up," her voice is quiet, eyes slipping from yours and landing on your lips, "Can you do that f'me, 'ma?"

You don't give her a reaction at all for a few seconds, mind running wild with every different, animalistic thought imaginable. Thoughts of things you wanted her to do you. Thoughts of positions you wanted to try.

The palm of her hand lands on your ass, not too harshly but with just the right amount of pressure to catch your attention, "I know you're cold, too. Look at yourself." She whispers, breath heavy just from watching you.

"Wearin' nothing but my hoodie and those... thin shorts." She stutters for a moment, mind racing as her grip on your ass tightens, pulling you up closer. She wanted you closer. She needed to be inside you.

She chuckles softly as you grip her shoulders tighter, hips slowly rocking on the bulge as a whine bubbles up in your throat. She doesn't stop your movements, hands staying comfortably at your ass as she guides your movements subtly.

Your arousal seeps through the thin fabric, creating a wet spot on both your shorts and her sweatpants. The wetness wasn't as noticeable on your shorts, but on her pants... it was more than noticeable.

Her own hips push up, teasing you in just the slightest and earning a mewl. Your jaw hangs open as you find the perfect angle, head falling onto her shoulder as your pace picks up. Billie holds you tightly, mocking your noises and only further embarrassing you.

It was humiliating enough that you were quite literally dry-humping your girlfriend in her brother's studio while he was out of town for tour, but the way she whimpered in your ear, repeating your noises back to you, made it worse.

"Fuck," She moans, exaggerating the volume of her voice as she throws her head back, "God, I'm just such a needy bitch I can't even wait to ride you, Billie..!" Her voice breaks off in a sinister laugh, her affect on you clear just by the way you nudge your body closer to hers.

She frowns in faux concern, eyes still dark and mischievous, no remorse or sadness hiding behind them, "Was that too harsh, baby?" Her tone lets you know that, even if you do answer, she won't stop.

"Billie..." You whine, pawing at her clothes. Your hips never stop, even if you wanted them to. And you did. You didn't want to have to endure the torture of her mean words. You just wanted her to fuck you properly, and that's the one thing she wasn't doing.

A quiet sigh falls from her lips, her breath tickling your exposed shoulder and the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that went straight to your core. She nods her head down at her lap, and you get the hint immediately, hands hurriedly rushing to tug down her sweatpants and let them pool at her ankles.

When the fabric that was constricting her cock is tugged away, it springs free, the indigo color reminding you of every single time she fucked you with it. On counters, over desks, in her bed, in yours, on the floor, in the shower, every place you could possibly think of, she'd fucked you there with this exact strap.

Billie clicks her tongue against her teeth as you stare down at the silicone, patting your bottom gently in impatience. For someone who always made fun of you for being needy, she sure was always craving the sight of you bouncing on her cock. Her hungry gaze meets your own, letting out a short breath before her eyes leave yours and travel down to your nipples.

They were creating an obvious print, and Billie just licked her lips as her eyes traveled back to yours, "Take it off." She growls, to which you nod, hurrying to throw it over your head and let it fall to the floor behind you. Her eyes immediately gravitate towards your perky tits, hands leaving your ass and gripping at your hips as her lips begin to trail kisses from your jaw to your chest.

Her lips suck at your supple skin, leaving a trail of marks all down your neck, leading to your perfect breasts. She wants to mark you everywhere, no spot missing as she hungrily sucks at the skin of your tits, lips finding their way to your erect nipple and wrapping around it as your fingers thread through her hair.

"Gettin' cold, baby, c'mon." She murmurs against your skin, looking up at you through her lashes with eyes swirling with lust and adoration for you. Only you. She smirks against you at your shaky sigh, lips parting in surprise as she bites down gently on your nipple, laugh muffled slightly, "Warm me up."

One of your hands leaves her hair, the other gripping tightly at her strands. You hastily tug down your sleep shorts, tossing them somewhere on the floor behind you. Her cock stands proudly, and you grab it before Billie can say another word. As you messily align the tip with your entrance, Billie watches with a smirk, her tooth gem showing and just making you all the more excited.

When you sink down on her cock, a guttural moan echoes all throughout the studio. The walls were soundproof, and nobody was here except you two, but it still made you attempt to hide your face in the crook of her neck. As she sees you start to lean forward, though, her hand leaves your hip and quickly wraps around your neck, stopping you.

Her lips leave your nipple, adjusting her position so that she can look you dead in the eyes. Her hips move, and you mewl quietly, biting your lip in an effort to stifle your moans. Her eyes tell you a million things, but you still don't get the hint, hips moving up, needing to ride her already. She'd teased you for far too long, and you were tired of it.

The hand on your hip stops you, grip tightening on your skin and pulling you down on her cock again before you even got an inch away. You let out a pathetic whine, the short feeling of the ridges of the strap against your walls making your mind hazy and your vision blurry. But, you still look into her cold blue eyes, regretting it instantly as she tilts her head with that stupid, sexy smirk on her face, "Didn't say I wanted you to ride me, baby,"

"Just said I was cold." She giggles, clicking her tongue as she pushes her hips up teasingly. She was being so mean, and yet you couldn't do anything about it, "And that I needed 'ya to warm me up." She corrects, her tone soft like she was talking to a child as she nodded her head slowly. Your lips push out in a pout, and Billie mirrors your expression mockingly.

You moan again as she adjusts her sitting position, spreading her legs further and watching as your face contorted into a twisted look of pleasure and frustration. She hesitantly dragged her eyes away from you, spinning in her chair slowly and hearing your quiet, short breaths as you shifted in her lap uncomfortably, "Gonna work, so..." Her eyes snap up to you again, her ring-clad hand moving from your neck down to your hip, joining the other.

"Don't want any distractions, 'mmkay?" Billie hums, cocking an eyebrow as she scoots her chair in closer to the desk. The shift makes the cock move in your cunt, eyes rolling to the back of your head as it brushes against your g-spot. The noise that falls from your lips is sinful, one hand tugging at her hair as the other paws at her chest through her shirt. The girl beneath you only bites her lip, slowly moving her eyes back to the monitor as she lets out a shaky breath.

You slowly roll your hips against her dick, eyes fluttering as you let out whimpers every now and then. The way you shift on her lap isn't unnoticeable, but you're too far in subspace to even realize that you're fully riding her now. She doesn't stop you, though. The base of the strap hits her clit with each of your bounces, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth heavily as she grips at the mouse. It should've broke with her tight grip.

"Y/N." She huffs, hands leaving the keyboard and mouse and quickly halting your movements. Your eyes stay on hers, a silent plea to keep going, but she still doesn't break, a stern expression on her face as she bites her lip, "Stop bein' so fuckin' impatient all the time." Billie grumbles, throwing her head back against her chair for two reasons. Both reasons known to the two of you.

You rolled your hips again, and she let out the smallest fucking whimper. Just that noise alone made you wetter, closer to your release as you clenched around the fake cock. She swore she could feel it, but maybe that was just because her clit twitched each time you moved on her lap. Your hands stayed at her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric as your head falls forward, noticing that your pussy swallowed her cock all the way to the base.

"Ma," She grunts, grip on your hips loosening. Her weak demands only turn your on further, wanting to disobey her just to see where it would get you, so you continue to rock your hips, slowly working your way up to bouncing on her lap again. She tries not to make too much noise, but she really can't help herself, whines and pathetic cries falling from between her lips as her nails scratch down your bare back, head coming to fall on your chest as she huffs and puffs weakly, trying to catch her breath, "Mm.. Mama—Gonna fuck—fuckin' destroy you tonight."

She's weak beneath you. The roles completely reversed now. But, as you continue to bounce wildly on her cock, losing your mind almost, her dominance starts to kick in again. The way you blatantly disobey her fuels the fire in the pit of her stomach, her mind racing with endless thoughts. Thoughts of various punishments she would give you once you two weren't in her brother's studio. Shit. This was her brother's studio.

"Fuck—Y/N." Her voice breaks, but you can hear the stern tone of it. You can feel the way her eyes burn holes through your body, grip tightening on your waist and slamming you down onto her cock. You can't help but tremble uncontrollably, incoherent babbles falling from your lips as you try to move again, but she doesn't let you, "God, you're just so cock-hungry, aren't you?" She scoffs, raising an eyebrow, "Such a dirty slut." She reprimands, but little does she know it only brings you closer to that sweet, hot feeling.

The smell of sex consumes the room fully, now, and Billie mentally curses herself for not remembering that he would be back in LA in only a few days. But, it was your fault, really. That's what she told herself, "Makin' a mess of Finneas' studio—God, baby. Are you that needy?" She whispers, voice dripping with venom and anger and all of the above. Her hands slowly lift you off her cock, and with the slowness of her movements, you almost cum on the spot.

Her eyes gauge the look on your face, though, quickly pulling you off her dick and denying you the euphoria of your orgasm. Her eyes are dark, even in the bright light coming from the monitors, lamps, and the windows. You whine pitifully as she sets you on her thigh, just a few inches away from the silicone cock. Using your puppy dog eyes would be worthless, so you just sit and slowly grind on her thigh, only to earn a harsh slap on your ass by the girl beneath you.

"Put your clothes back on and get your things." She whispers, standing up and pulling up her own pants, hiding the cock beneath her sweatpants again. She'd use it on you later tonight, in more positions than you could even think of. But, she wouldn't let you cum. No, not until you learned true patience and who was in control.

You obey her this time, scurrying off her lap hesitantly and grabbing your things from the floor, dressing yourself, and collecting the blanket you had stolen from Billie while leaving the house. You sit at the couch in the back again, legs trembling with both excitement and from the fact that you'd just been denied. She turns off the equipment and the monitors before turning to face you with those beautiful ocean blue eyes of hers, a small smirk on her face.

"Car. Now." She demands, voice not trembling even a bit. She watches as you stand up on wobbly legs, eyes following you as your feet take you to the door. Her own feet follow close behind you, tongue poking the inside of her cheek as she takes a deep breath. She was gonna ruin you.

KINKTOBER

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avoidthings · 1 month ago

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kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot.

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again.

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten.

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something.

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier.

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint.

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight.

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders.

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight.

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber.

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.”

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks.

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth.

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said.

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly.

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway.

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips.

“Open.”

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest.

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late.

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view.

“Terry--”

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart.

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh.

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin.

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties.

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered.

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long.

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you.

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth.

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals.

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh.

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him.

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal.

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.”

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy.

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle.

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display.

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon.

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. Promptly, he grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed the inside of your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax.

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping the countertop behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you.

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth clashed at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar.

“‘Gonna make me cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen.

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?”

Ice cream.

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won.

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

#chantal writes #terry richmond x reader #rebel ridge fanfiction #aaron pierre #terry richmond

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iventilation · 1 year ago

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How To Instal Range Hood?

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starkeyisthelastname · 4 months ago

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can you do some more drew smut 🫢❤️

you just write him so goooood 😩

thank you baby! i got you! 💖 because a lil quick morning sesh with Drew. 😩

If he wasn’t working on a project, filming or there wasn’t an event he needed to go to, he wanted to have you close. He already missed you when he was gone as couldn’t always go with him everywhere. He had gone to an event the night before and was still sound asleep this morning, his long limbs sprawled out across the bed, as you carefully opened one of the dresser drawers.

Just as you reached your hand in to pull out one of his t-shirts to slip on, you heard Drew’s incredibly sexy morning voice. “Come here sweet girl.” His low voice drawled out, raspier than usual and making your insides flutter with warmth. You turned around, his naked body slowly being revealed as the sheet slipped down his toned physique. His thick morning wood was evident, making you bite your lip as his large hands reached out for you to pull you on top of him.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his hands running along your bare waist as your own fingers came across to run across the growing scruff along his strong jawline. He had just opened his eyes and was still the most sexiest, most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

“Was just gonna make some breakfast, I was hungry.” You said with a cute laugh, which was contagious enough for his dimples to shine through right back. He then hummed, blue irises raking over your naked frame and back up to your face. “Hungry, huh? Well how about this, I’ll help you make breakfast, if you please let me fill that sweet hole up first.” His voice almost in a whisper.

How could you say no to that? With a nod, you bit your lower lip and lifted your hips up a little so that you could slowly slide down onto him. He was so big, stretching you out in all the right places. “You feel so fucking good Drew!” You whimpered, throwing your head back a little.

Drew let out a delicious groan, your slick cunt wrapping around him tightly. He watched with hooded eyes as you leaned back a little so that you could begin to bounce on top of him. It was quite the sight to see and only fueled his fire even more. “Yeah, you like that baby?” His voice hoarse as his thumb came down to rub your clit.

You knew you weren’t going to last long in his position, especially with him now rubbing your pearl. Your beautiful moans rang throughout the room, crying out his name every time you came back down. You nodded, needing him closer which left you clinging onto the chain around his neck as he began thrusting up into you. “Fucking love it so much, I’m gonna make a mess!” You mumbled, your head now in the crook of his neck.

Drew’s breaths were heavy in your ear, a string of curses and dirty words leaving his mouth as he drilled up into you at a heavy pace. “Make a mess on that fucking cock my sweet love, I’m so close to filling your pretty hole up.” He grunted.

The feeling of your cunt clenching was all the confirmation he needed for him to let go and fill you with his seed. The both of you moaning each other’s names, as you clung to one another in the most hot and loving way, climaxing together after a quick yet messy morning session.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey prompt #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #obx #obx smut #outer banks

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stellarbit · 7 months ago

Text

Shadows of the Order

the sad batch x reader

5.5k words themes hurt and comfort

You were separated from the Batch when Order 66 was executed on Kaller. Even as a Jedi dropout you weren't safe. Left behind, you have to recover and restart in the world after the Republic. You'd hoped to never run into Clone Force 99 again, but that hope ran out one day. featuring: a b1 battle droid

You know who deserved better? The clones. You know who else? The B1 battle droids. So I stuck a clanker in here for funsies. Had a ton of fun writing this. Hope y'all enjoy a little anguish. I'll be doin a spicy one next.

You fought alongside Clone Force 99 for a long time before the Battle of Kaller. Before Order 66. After meeting the padawan, Caleb, at the rendezvous point, you’d split off from the group to assist a team of troopers on the mountain while the boys joined General Bilaba.

The troopers you encountered recognized you from your days with the 501st. Despite your repeated efforts to clarify that you were no longer a Jedi, they seemed unconvinced. Fortunately, after dispatching a group of droids, the remaining Separatist forces were routed towards the main front, allowing your group to do the same.

As you neared the midway point down you noticed the troopers falling back. Sliding to a stop in the snow, you turned back. There were about 10 of them, all standing around one holding a holocomm of a hooded figure. Half of them looked at you in sync, fixing the grip on their guns, the rest followed a heartbeat later.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Somewhere far down the mountain you heard screaming and blaster fire at the same moment the troopers turned their guns on you. You took off away from the troopers before the first shot rang out.

“Get the Jedi!” A lone trooper pierced through the chaos.

Quick thinking led you to drop a stun grenade, followed by another, as you sprinted onward. The explosions managed to incapacitate some of the troopers, but not enough. Switching your blaster to stun mode, you sought cover behind a nearby tree, emerging only to neutralize the nearest clones before a shot hit your right shoulder, propelling you into a desperate sprint away from them.

With escape and evasion as your only viable options, the Marauder seemed too distant to reach in time. Instead you aimed for a waterfall you spotted while landing. It was a slim chance, but your best hope for losing the troopers.

As you fled, you deliberately dug your fingers into the wound on your shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in your wake. It was a risky move, but if you had any hope of evading capture, they needed to track you. When you saw the water through the trees you wasted no time in ripping away your chest plate. As soon as you got to the crest of the waterfall you launched your chest plate over the edge.

With one glance over the cliff, you gritted your teeth, pressing into your injured shoulder, crouched, and lowered yourself over the ledge. You grabbed high over the ledge and drug your bloody hand back down over. One more look below to ensure a safe landing spot and let go. Relying on the Force to guide your descent into an alcove leading behind the cascading water.

Once there, you swiftly shed the remaining pieces of armor, discarding them into the rushing stream as you shifted farther into the veil of the waterfall.

When you finally heard the troopers at the cliff edge, all you could do was listen, wait, and hope they fell for it.

“Looks like she tried to scale down,” one of them remarked, his voice carrying over the sound of rushing water.

“There! In the water, I see her armor!” Another trooper's voice rang out, sending a jolt of panic through you as you desperately sought cover. Their voices dropped too low to hear before you caught the tail end of the conversation.

“Confirmed, Commander Grey. The Jedi has been neutralized. Visual confirmation obtained,” a trooper reported, the cold finality of his words chilling you.

The clone trooper paused, most likely receiving transmission. “Yes sir. Alright boys, we are to rejoin Commander Grey and head out. His forces eliminated Bilaba and Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan. Gather the stunned troops and let’s move out.” That was the last thing you heard before the troopers left.

Your heart stopped. The blood in your veins froze. You lurched for something - anything - to steady yourself on. One moment everything was normal and the next you were being gunned down by clones you risked everything for. Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan.

There wasn’t enough air in the tiny alcove to think, the waterfall was too loud, the water hitting your face too cold. Desperately, you gripped the slippery rocks as your legs gave out.

Nothing made sense. Questions raced through you, each more unsettling than the last. Had all of the clones turned on the Republic? Why were they targeting Jedi specifically? Clones that served with General Bilaba for years suddenly gunned her down.

Nothing added up. If the orders affected all clones, there was a good possibility that the Bad Batch was also following them. Despite their independent streak, they were still clones, some orders had to be followed. It was a sobering realization - one that left you feeling vulnerable and nauseous. You weren’t going to be safe until they left. If they left.

The thought of aiming a weapon on the members of Clone Force 99 cracked something inside you. Besides, it was foolish to think you had a chance against all of them. With an entire army of reinforcements, attempting to take them on would be nothing short of suicidal.

Survival became your sole focus. There was no time to dwell on what went wrong or how to escape the planet's unforgiving terrain. For now, all you could do was stay hidden, biding your time until the coast was clear.

One by one, you discarded your armor and any identifiable markers into the water. It wasn’t about shedding your identity; it was a practical decision, one you could handle. Not long after, the sound of footsteps echoed from above. You pressed yourself against the rock again, your senses on high alert.

An eternity seemed to passed before the person moved. “The Jedi target was neutralized. If she’s not already dead, she’s as good as it.” It was Crosshair’s voice, cold and detached.

There was another moment of silence before you heard Tech’s voice, “Affirmative. Blood stains indicate she attempted to scale down the cliff and subsequently fell.” His tone was as clinical as ever but you almost fooled yourself into thinking there was something else to it. “Pieces of her armor are wedged in the rocks below. Crosshair is correct, if she did not perish on impact the likelihood of her survival is negligible. We need to leave.”

They weren't out there to rescue you; they were there to confirm you were dead.

It was all too much to process. Every muscle, every bone, every nerve in your body seemed to fail, leaving you a trembling mess. When the two men finally left, you didn’t know.

“We don’t leave our own behind.” You heard Hunter’s voice and heard his lie.

They left you. You fought for them, yet they hunted you down and abandoned you.

Long after night had fallen, you mustered the strength to climb out of the alcove, your injured shoulder protesting every movement. Descending into the battlefield, you searched for a salvageable ship and supplies. Amidst the wreckage, you stumbled upon the one thing you weren’t looking for.

General Bilaba’s lightsaber. She must’ve lost it in the struggle. Such a valuable thing lost to the snow and wreckage, not even retrieved. Disposable. You held the cold metal in your hand before tucking it away.

You found one ship that might manage to get off the ground. Nearby, you spotted a partially disabled battle droid, still in remarkably good condition despite its current state. It appeared to have been incapacitated by a stun grenade. As you examined it, Tech's lessons on droid maintenance flooded your mind, particularly the techniques for reprogramming them for combat purposes.

Kneeling beside the droid you flipped it onto its back to access programming. You’d pulled it off before, reprogramming battle droids to counter attack. You just never thought you’d need the skills like this.

The process was far from seamless. You electrocuted yourself on the power supply, nearly damaged a circuit board while removing the restraining bolt, and the rewiring process dragged on longer than expected, especially under the cover of darkness.

Eventually, the battle droid sprung to life, clutching its head as it sat up. You lowered yourself onto one knee as the droid adjusted itself. "Where am I?" its questioning began, its metallic voice filled with confusion. "Is the battle over? Did we win?"

Hearing the droid address you instead of immediately engaging in combat felt oddly surreal, but given the day's events, it was perhaps the least strange thing. "What is your primary directive?" you asked, trying to gauge its functionality.

It clunked a hand against its head. "Huh, that's odd. I don't seem to have one."

That was a start.

You rose to your feet and offered your hand. "In that case, how about we team up and find a way off this rock?"

Its head swiveled from side to side as it processed the proposal. "You mean, I get to choose?"

You let out a small scoff and maintained your outstretched hand. "Your options are coming with me or staying here to rust."

"Fair point," the droid responded, almost cheerfully, as it reached for your hand. "So, what's the plan for getting off this dump?"

You gestured toward the ship you hoped to salvage. "Can you handle starship repairs?"

“Sure thing, boss. Want me to clean it up?”

You threw it a puzzled look, “Why would I-” You shook your head, “No, we need to repair it enough to get it off this planet.

“Well, that doesn’t make sense.” The B1 unit pointed at the ship. “That ship doesn’t need repairs, we just crashed it.”

Maybe picking a battle droid for an assistant wasn’t the best choice. “Was it your group that crashed it?”

“Yep!” It said too proudly. “Happens all the time. But I told you, this one doesn’t need repairs to fly.” The droid paused for a second, tapping a metal digit to the tip of its face, then added. “Yet.”

That didn’t bode well for survival. You waved for it to follow you, “Let’s see if you’re right.” Over your shoulder you asked. “What can I call you?”

“My identifier is OOM-672.”

Walking amongst dozens of disabled B1 units you mused, “Looks like you’re about to be one of the last OOM models in the galaxy. So why don’t we cut that down to O2?”

“Wow!” The way it vocalized almost added syllables to the word. “Yeah, O2 sounds much better! What do I call you? Master?”

You cringed at the sound of that. “I’m not your master, O2. We’re going to have to settle with being friends or buddies.”

“You got it, Buddy!”

Thankfully, O2 was right. The ship could fly and it had enough fuel to get you far from Kaller. Enough to get you all the way to the Outer Rim if you wanted. It was risky, but following the pattern of the day, it was your only chance at survival. You just didn’t let O2 pilot.

After the rise of the Galactic Empire, you and O2 settled on a planet in the Mid Rim. You scavenged and sold enough equipment from Kaller for a comfortable amount of credits to start off with. You pieced together a new identity, often concealing your face beneath a helmet and relying on a voice modulator. Being dead in the eyes of the Empire had its advantages.

The best way to stay hidden, you figured, was to stay in plain sight.

You wormed your way into ownership of a small inn. Although, your background as a Jedi and a soldier left you ill-prepared for running a business, and you struggled to turn a profit.

“O2!” You shouted from the lobby.

The battle droid sauntered in from the dining area. “Yes, Buddy?” The droid’s nickname for you always worked a smile out of you.

You tossed them a rusted-out metal part, which they scrambled to catch, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. After a few failed attempts, they finally managed to grasp it securely. “The circulator for our boiler is busted. Can you head to the market and fetch a replacement? The parts dealer should have one available.”

“Roger, roger!” O2 chimed enthusiastically, ready to depart.

You yanked them by the shoulder. “O2,” You warned. “Do you remember how to pay?”

They rolled their head in an exaggerated display of weariness. “I know, I know - ‘charge it to the tab.’”

Raising an eyebrow, you waited for more. “And?”

O2 tapped a compartment on their chest, revealing a few credits inside. A result of some previous tinkering done by you. “And I have the extra credits.”

“And what’re they for?” You pressed.

“For ‘just in case.’” They replied

Stepping forward, you pushed the compartment closed. “In case of trouble, O2,” you reminded them firmly. Giving them a light knock with the back of your knuckles, you added, “Give me a call if you find yourself staring down the barrel of a blaster.”

As far as O2 was concerned, they had it easy. You rescued them from decommissioning and in return, all you asked for were simple tasks and the opportunity to tinker with their hardware. The tinkering, more often than not, turned out for the better - at least most of the time.

When you and O2 first arrived, the presence of a battle droid initially unnerved the townsfolk. However, they grew accustomed to O2's quirky demeanor. O2 was more goofy than intimidating almost by design. Plus, after a few instances of O2 causing trouble with the neighbors, they quickly learned to keep their hands off the droid. Often with a not so subtle reminder of a vibroblade at their throats.

O2 ambled through the town, exchanging waves with the occasional vendor. Stalls and shops lined the narrow, winding streets, colorful canopies providing shelter from the sun for the patrons below. Amidst the hustle and bustle, droids weaved through the crowds, delivering goods and providing services to customers.

As O2 approached the parts dealer, raised voices caught their attention. Nearby, at a fruit stand, a vendor held a pear just out of reach of a young girl. "That's not fair!" the girl protested, reaching for the fruit. "I already paid you!"

Deviating from their path, O2 made their way toward the girl. She appeared to be a young human with light hair, a visitor to the town.

"Hey, stop that!" O2 called out in their attempt at an authoritative tone. They reached the girl and bent slightly to address her. "Are you in trouble, young human?"

The girl turned to O2, visibly puzzled. After a moment of assessing the situation, she nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah," she replied, more confidently this time. "Yes. He's taking my money but insisting I still owe him more." She pointed a finger accusingly at the vendor.

O2 looked between the vendor and the little girl several times. When they finally grasped the situation, they exclaimed, “Ohh! You’re in trouble and need more credits. That’s perfect!” They poked open the compartment on their chest, revealing the credits.

The girl shook her head in disbelief. "N-no, I've already paid," she insisted, casting a disdainful glance at the vendor. "He's just trying to cheat me."

Raising a finger in a gesture of understanding, O2 interjected, "You're in trouble and these credits are for 'in case of trouble.'" They plucked out a few credits and pivoted at the hip to offer them to the vendor.

From behind the booth, the vendor's expression shifted to one of quiet annoyance, yet he begrudgingly began packing a bag with pears. "There's no trouble, O2," he retorted curtly, dropping the bag into the girl's arms. "Now, move along, kid."

The girl frowned at the man but did turn away. She looked up at O2 with a smile. “Thanks,” She pulled a curious face and stepped back from the droid for a better look. “You’re a B1 battle droid. What are you doing here?”

“I’m purchasing a new part.” O2 held up the broken circulator as proof.

She held back a smile. “No, no. I meant, weren’t all battle droids supposed to be decommissioned.” She gestured around her, “So what are you doing out here alone?”

O2 didn’t have time to respond when a man yelled, “Omega! Get away from that thing!” A male with a face tattoo shoved through the crowd and slammed the battle droid in the chest with the hilt of a blade.

“Whoa!” O2 yelled, stumbling backward into the fruit stand.

The little girl squeezed between O2 and the man. “Don’t hurt them, Hunter!” She threw her arms out to shield O2. “They were just helping !” Three other men arrived behind Hunter while O2 righted themself.

One of the men, with a socket for a hand, pushed to the front of the group and pointed his prosthetic at the droid. “Omega, you don’t know what that clanker is capable of.”

“Hey!” O2 whined in protest and shook a fist at him. “You can’t call me that!”

“Says who?” Growled the largest man of the group.

“Says my buddy!” O2 started reaching for its head to send out a comm when the fruit vendor grabbed his hand.

“O2!” He laughed nervously and patted the droid harshly, “There’s no trouble.” The vendor pointed a finger at the men. “I’m not dealing with their friend today, so move out.”

“Friend?” The big guy repeated incredulously.

The cyborg hovered his hand over the blaster at his hip. “Where’s your master, droid?”

O2 thrusted their head in a sassy manner, “I don’t have a master.”

Hunter moved Omega to the side and put his knife just below O2’s head. “Why don’t you take us to this friend of yours?”

“That depends.” O2 said skeptically. “Are you looking for an inn?”

Hunter passed a look to the men behind him. “An inn?”

“Only customers can come to the inn. So - are you looking for an inn?”

Hunter lowered the knife and jerked his head to say ‘get going’, “Sure thing. Now, let’s go.”

“Roger, roger.” The droid said with a little salute and then tapped his fingers to the tip of his face. “Say, do I know you guys?

“Move it, clanker.” The cyborg ordered again.

Back at the inn, you waited in the lobby reading through bank statements. The front door was open to the street, allowing you to hear O2’s distinctive footsteps approaching. You pushed away from and around the desk to greet them. “That may have been your fastest run yet. How much - oh!” You stopped mid sentence when a young girl trailed in behind the droid. Behind your headgear you smiled, “Did you make a friend?”

The little blonde waved up at you, “Hello.”

A dent in O2’s chest plate caught your eye. You motioned for the droid. “O2, what did you do to your chest plate?”

“Well, I didn’t do it.” The droid sassed, but moved forward and leaned down for you to inspect. You reached up, held their head, and moved it side to side for inspection. Other than the dent they were fine. You patted their face in relief when, from the corner of your eye four figures filed in.

You went stock-still at the sound of a familiar voice, Hunter’s voice. “You own this clanker?”

This was it. This was the day you died.

Giving O2 one last pat, you turned to face the Bad Batch standing in your doorway, as formidable as ever. Hunter led the group, with Echo on his left, Tech on his right, and Wrecker flanking Echo. Crosshair was conspicuously absent. Their mismatched armor was newly painted in vibrant colors.

Silently assessing them, you took a moment to compose yourself, shoving your fear and anger as deep as you could. Their demeanor said they didn't recognize you and you needed them gone before they did.

"Sure," you replied vaguely, your voice muffled by the voice modulator. Keeping your gaze fixed on the clones, you instructed O2, "O2, grab my satchels from the back." Without hesitation, the droid complied.

"What are you doing with a separatist battle droid?" Echo's voice bristled as he stepped forward. "Do you realize how dangerous that thing is?"

Images of Echo tending to your wounds flooded in, abruptly interrupted by the recollection of red blaster shots narrowly missing your head.

"OOM-672 has been reprogrammed," you replied, waving your hand dismissively. "They no longer pose a threat and wartime objectives have been nullified."

"Incorrect," Tech said as he tapped the side of his helmet to move his visor. "If the droid's reprogramming is faulty, it could revert to its original directives at any moment. Depending on the data stored in its memory, that could prove dangerous should it fall into the wrong hands." He advanced toward O2, pointing a finger. "Allow me to examine it—"

“Their programming is fine.” You instinctively took a step back, bumping into O2 with the bags you requested. One had spare credits for bribing them out of your parlor and, in case that didn’t work, the other contained a blaster and Bilaba’s lightsaber.

As you sorted through the first bag for credits, you spat, “No one lays a hand on the droid except me. Especially not a bunch of clones." With a flick of your wrist, you tossed a handful of credits at Hunter. "Now get out of my lobby.” You made the mistake of addressing them as clones and hoped the odd comment passed over them. They obviously didn’t look like other clones to the untrained eye.

"Oh!" O2's voice chimed in recognition, but you swiftly raised a hand to silence the droid.

“Do we look like we work for the Empire?” Wrecker asked, almost growled, with hands on Omega’s shoulders.

Hunter glanced at the credits before tossing them back. “Just let us look at the droid,” he urged.

Without missing a beat you caught the credits, brandished the blaster, and aimed it at the leader. Immediately, the other brothers aimed their blasters at you. "Got a malfunction in those helmets?" You gestured toward the exit with your weapon. "I said leave. No stranger gets their hands on my droid."

“Strangers?” O2 stepped to your side and pointed at the group of clones. “They’re not strangers. We know them.”

Your blaster dipped for a moment, frustration nipping at you before you firmed up your grip. “O2, knowing someone for five minutes doesn’t mean you know them.”

“Just calm down.” Hunter said slowly.

“Five minutes?” The battle droid shook their head in confusion. “We go waaay back.” They hummed a thoughtful sound. “Although they did stun me on Kaller.” A chill gripped your spine at the mention of Kaller.

"Kaller?" Omega's gaze flitted between the men around her. "Where's that?" The rustle of shifting armor filled the lobby as the four men exchanged glances, their blasters trained still on you.

“Who are you and how did you get that droid?” Echo's voice carried a forceful edge as he pushed you.

“Get out.” You repeated with more venom. “Clones follow orders. That’s an order.”

Hunter slowly raised his hands, removing his helmet and revealing his tattooed face. The sight of him made it hard to breathe through.

"We're not with the Empire," Hunter declared. "And we're not big on following orders, either."

"Liar!" Your scream reverberated through the room, the voice modulator straining against your volume. Something flickered in Hunter's expression.

For someone with no skin in the war, you were proving to be awfully reactive.

"Hunter," Tech intervened firmly, prompting you to swing your blaster in his direction. "Look at that blaster." You glanced down at your weapon, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“What about it, Tech?” Hunter asked.

“That blaster has nonstandard modifications. Only five like it exist.” Tech explained, his tone serious.

“Not the time to be admiring blasters.” Echo snapped.

“The issue is,” Tech shot an annoyed look at his brother. “They are my modifications.” His grip relaxed slightly. “We have four of them and the other was - ”

You fired a shot at Tech before he could finish and attempted to fire another when Hunter lunged at you. He knocked the blaster from your hand and swung for your head. Wrecker shoved the kid behind him while you and Hunter exchanged blows, his hitting much harder than you remembered.

You saw Tech activating a stun grenade as O2 reached for your blaster. Yanking a vibroblade from your hip, you rammed the hilt of it into the side of Hunter’s head, causing him to stumble back. Swiftly, you lurched in the way of the stun grenade, intercepted it, and threw as far as you could behind you.

Echo took no time in disarming and disabling O2 while Hunter regained his senses and grabbed for you. His touch was a breath away when you thrust out your hands and blew him back with the Force. Before Hunter could register what happened, Wrecker grabbed you by the neck, and yanked you from the ground.

You clawed at his hand but couldn’t stop the giant crushing your windpipe and ripping off your headgear.

Seeing your bare face, livid and unable to breathe, shook Wrecker and gave you the chance to slam your feet into his stomach. He dropped you to the ground where you writhed and gasped for air. Your dropped blaster was nowhere in sight, but the other satchel was.

Still retching for air, you threw a hand out and the lightsaber flew to you. Green light blasted out of the hilt, parallel to the ground and putting a thrumming barrier between you and the clones.

“A Jedi?” Omega said in wonder, poking her head around Wrecker. Wrecker, notably, didn’t push her back behind him.

They all lowered their weapons and Tech, Echo, and Wrecker removed their helmets. Different shades of shock on all of them. “Sarad?” Tech spoke softly.

“Stay away from me.” You growled from the ground. Slowly, you repositioned yourself, strengthening your stance to pounce or run.

“We thought you were-”

“Dead?” You cut Wrecker off and cut a look at Tech. “Guess you aren’t as thorough as you think.” At that, Tech’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“We didn’t follow that order.” Hunter interjected.

“Liar!” You lashed out. “I heard the troopers. ‘Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan.’”

Hunter started lowering himself to your eye level. “We let him escape.”

Echo stepped forward, his eyes avoiding yours. “We thought you were dead,” he admitted. He closed his eyes for a moment before finally meeting your gaze. “We thought the other troopers got to you, but we came looking for you as soon as we could.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, in your eyes the only thing they deserved were holes through their chests.

Out of all of them, Tech stood the straightest, his demeanor showing no sign of shame in their handling of the situation. Still, he thought carefully on how to say what he needed, his hands clenching and unclenching as he processed it.

When he locked eyes with you, it was clear he’d considered his words meticulously, repeating the process in his mind multiple times before coming to the same conclusion

“With your blood and broken armor, there were two plausible outcomes,” he began, counting them out with his fingers. “First, that you perished either by the troopers or the falls. The second, that you…” His gaze momentarily shifted away, seeing your armor in the rocks. “... that you escaped.” Returning his gaze to yours, he continued, “In both scenarios, our intervention would have only made things worse. And Crosshair-”

You jumped to your feet in a challenge, Hunter quickly positioning himself between you and the others. “I don’t believe you,” you hissed, swinging the saber to the side before snapping it back in front of you. “So finish what you started.”

Hunter maintained his steady gaze as his brothers holstered their blasters. “We won’t fight you,” he assured, his tone resolute. Your eyes darted between them, searching for any sign of aggression. Seconds stretched on but the men held their ground.

“He’s telling the truth,” Omega whispered, joining Hunter at his side. "All clones were programmed to follow that order." She cast a meaningful glance at the men surrounding her. "But their altered states made them immune to the order."

For months, anger had been your constant companion, fueling you through each passing rotation. Anger at the Jedi Purge, at the failures of the Republic, and most of all, the seething rage at the Bad Batch for leaving you behind to bear the weight of it all alone. Months of grief and pain don’t just disappear.

The room seemed to warp and blur around you, your grip on the saber beginning to falter. Clinging to it tightly, you gritted your teeth, fighting to maintain your composure. The world snapped back into focus when tears finally breached your resolve, slipping down your cheeks unchecked.

“Then….” your arm dipped before falling limply at your side. “You left me for dead.” Your voice cracked and the words came out in a sob. “You left me behind.”

You thought the pain of them hunting you was the worst thing you could experience. The realization of abandonment was worse. A tight knot formed in your stomach, threatening to make you sick.

Driven by months of simmering anger, you shook your head through your tears. , “I survived without you, and I’ll keep surviving without you.” You let the green light of the saber fade. “So just leave.” The last words came out less like the command you wanted it to be and more like plea.

Wrecker ‘s eyes went wide, “You think after all this time,” he gestured toward you, “when we just got you back, we’d just leave?” A defiant look passed over him. “Sorry, not happening.”

“Sarad,” Tech spoke like it was just the two of you. YoYou closed your eyes briefly, savoring the familiarity of his tone. For a moment, you thought they might all disappear, as if they were never there. “Leaving you was a choice we never wanted to make. But it was the choice that led us here and ensured your survival. Keeping you alive was more important than keeping you by our sides.” He nodded, standing firm in his choices. “Your survival was the only acceptable outcome.”

The lightsaber grew heavy in your hand.

Wrecker reached out with a pleading gesture. "The regs would've— we couldn't..." He faltered, searching for the right words, but Omega touched his forearm and urged him forward.

Wrecker stepped through his brothers and although you flinched like you might run he reached out and touched your face. First with one hand and then a second when you tried to turn away. Holding you like that, seeing you safe in his hands, made it hard for Wrecker to ever imagine letting go.

Tears continued to flow down your cheeks, falling over his hands. Wrecker swept them away with his thumbs before pulling you into his arms. "Sorry, Sarad. We're sorry."

Your hands hovered on either side of you, it was the first time you’d truly touched another organic lifeform since Kaller. The lightsaber hit the ground and you fell into Wrecker.

You’d let yourself feel angry at them all those months alone, but, in an instant, it was overshadowed by the grief of having been without them.

Pulling just out of Wrecker’s embrace you rubbed away the remaining tears. “I’ve missed you.”

“We missed you too.” Echo answered for the group.

Looking between them all, you felt like the world was a little safer. There were a few things standing out to you though. First being the little girl with them and Crosshair’s absence.

Immediately reading you, Hunter touched Omega’s shoulder. “A lot has changed.”

"I can see that," the girl smiled warmly at you, her expression oddly familiar despite never having met before.

Tech breezed past you, heading straight for O2. He knelt beside the droid, adjusting his goggles before turning to you. "So, you really salvaged this droid from Kaller?" You affirmed with a nod, prompting a look of mild disturbance from Tech. "And it's proven to be useful?" Another nod from you. "Well, that's just as surprising as your survival," he remarked, his tone tinged with genuine curiosity.

"Be kind to O2," you interjected, joining Tech by O2's side to rouse the droid. "They're my friend."

Echo scratched the back of his head, a sheepish expression crossing his features. "That's... going to take some getting used to."

Omega joined you and Tech, her eyes wide with fascination as Tech began to point out various features of the battle droid. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched the interaction unfold. The inn you had purchased never truly felt like home, much like Coruscant and the Jedi Order before it.

But here, amidst the Bad Batch, you finally felt a sense of belonging. You were home.

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is-the-sky-blue · 2 months ago

Text

OVERWHELMED: GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Fluff, satosugu x reader, reader is called mom, papa satoru, dad suguru

You were overwhelmed.

The warm steam from the pot below you wafted up to your face, the obnoxious low rumble of the range hood sucking up the air as to not let your smoke alarm go off, yet again. The curry bubbled and you stirred the mixture of carrots and potatoes, leisurely. "Mom," it was a troubled call, you turned, facing the long haired child perched in a chair at the table behind you, her brown eyes glassy as she stared at the textbook in front of her.

You were quick to lower the heat, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before settling it down on the handles, placing the glass lid atop the stainless steel before shuffling over to her, fluffy socks adorned with a strawberry pattern, given to you as a little surprise from an ordinary grocery run, protecting your feet from the cool tile. "Tsumiki honey, what's wrong," you coo, taking a seat in the chair next to her, the girl's lips pouted in frustration as she pinched her brows.

"I dunno how to do this," she points, pencil led prodding at the textbook pages scrawled in graphite, loitered with jokes and absurd comments that your dear girl would never do, knowing that this, probably twelfth generation textbook's drawings, were presents from students past. It was a math question, simple algebra that she was only introduced to yesterday in class, and your ever keen student was quick to do her homework on Saturday as to not stress out tomorrow, as her Papa promised to take them all out on a fun day trip.

"Let me take a look," you murmur gently, offering a smile to try and quell her irritation as you stared at the notebook pages, neat handwriting full of numbers interrupted as she tried to answer question 6c, smudges of pencil rubbed away by eraser staining the paper and you reevaluate the problem, carefully repeating it onto the sheet. "This one is quite tough," you nod, hoping to show that her struggle was valid, "but basically you have to-" you start, ready to walk her through the steps to find an answer when yet another call drew your attention away.

"Mom!" this time it was a wail.

"Just a second baby," you pat the girl's hair, "I'll be right back," you promise, getting up from the cushioned seat to step towards the living room, crying children hidden behind the couch, as the open concept layout usually allowed you to see all your kids at once.

You spot the two twins, eyes glassy as Mimiko held a doll tight in her grasp, body shifted away from her sister as Nanako crossed her pudgy arms over her chest, tearful glare directed towards the former.

"What's wrong," you murmur, sore muscles slightly protesting as you pulled into a crouch assessing the situation. Your usually two well behaved girls who generally got along with one another were fighting for the nth time today. They were having a rough time, both irritated, grumpy and getting on each other's nerves consistently on this somber Saturday

"Mimiko won't share," Nanako cries, rubbing harshly at her puffy cheeks as salt rivers stain her face, falling in large droplets. You are quick to tenderly grasp her hands, careful touches wiping away the dew. You turn to face Mimiko, knuckles turning pale with the death drip she had on the pink haired doll.

"You two have loads of dolls though," you try to reason, plucking up a different toy, presenting it to the red faced girl.

"But I want that one," she sobs, hiccupping and you tried not to sigh too loud.

"Mimiko," you call, the child pursing her lips as she turned her body away in defiance.

"I want a turn," she huffs when you don't retract your scolding gaze, "Nanako's been playin all day wif her," she shakes the pink haired toy, glittery strands catching light and you don't know what to do. Nanako was crying because Mimiko had stolen the toy, and you knew the girl had been politely asking all day just to be denied.

It wasn't right that she took it, you know that, but it also wasn't right that Nanako hasn't been sharing. You didn't want to just take the doll away completely, even if a nagging voice said that a mere threat wouldn't hurt, but the high percentage that it'd leave both girls' crying already gave you a headache.

They were just tired. Bad dreams plaguing them last night, preventing them from sleep, they needed a nap but wouldn't settle down for one, not even after being cradled and read to. No matter how many picture books you pulled out, or if you just tucked them into their beds, neither agreed to your plan and now it was too late, settling for a nap now would only result in the inability to rest when it was actually bed time.

You bit your lip, their lack of sleep also resulting in your lack of sleep, achy limbs tired as you shut your heavy fatigue ridden eye lids as bawling tears continued to drip, "Nana-" you were about to start only to be interrupted yet again.

"Mom," it was raspy this time and you heed the call, facing a sleepy Megumi, his face florid as sweat beaded on his forehead, duvet you wrapped him in trailing along the hardwood floors as he pulled it onto his shoulders. His spiky hair was slightly matted, eyes a little red, nose running.

"Megumi" you coo, your sick boy padding to walk into your arms, falling into your embrace eagerly as he nuzzled into your neck, his cold nose making you slightly cringe as he burned up in your grasp, fever overheating his tiny figure.

"m'sorry," he begins and you don't want to question what happened as you wrapped the blanket tighter around his little form, "I missed the bucket," he confessed, his fingers timidly grabbing at your sleeve, toying with the fabric and you knew what he meant, the little stomach bug beating up his organs had made you gift him a plastic container for all his vomit. "I didn't mean too," his voice wavers, you could feel your shirt begin to grow damp but all you could do was hold him tighter.

"It's okay," you try to keep the irritation ebbing away at you from your tone.

"Mom."

They all needed you, tears falling down fast as different anxieties permeated your house, home full of grief as they each battled with different problems. Tsumiki struggling with her homework, Mimiko and Nanako bickering yet again over something trivial but huge in their little world, while Megumi tried to fight off a sickness but was currently losing, and you trying to grapple every thing, your sanity quickly slipping as their sadness poured into you, the tired little smiles you kept up slowly fading away as you could feel your own anxieties claw up your throat.

All your children were crying, frustrated wails, and you were barely keeping it together, clutching your son tightly as you tried not to fall into a pit of tears yourself.

You were overwhelmed.

Overloaded with tasks and duties, you had to help Tsumiki finish her school work, settle this doll dilemma, clean up the little mess Megumi made and still finish up dinner. Your list was all consuming, trying to drown you as your house shook, trembled.

Your family was having a rough day.

Everyone was troubled and you-

You couldn't do it all.

You barely registered it, chaos consuming your leaden muscles as you did your best to organize your frantic thoughts, but when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder the tension in your chest, weighing down on you eased. "Let us handle it from here love," a sweet murmur, his dark hair was messy, result of a tough day at work but he was quick to roll up his sleeves, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, soothing your berating mind and you could only nod, brain refusing to process an argument as he turned to the two twins.

"C'mere Megumi," your white haired counterpart now next to you, reaching out for the duvet coddled boy who merely nuzzled further into your grasp at the call and you can't help but keep him close, quicksand sinking limbs finding their way to cuddle him even further.

"It's okay Toru," your voice is laced with a slow molasses, tired dribbles as you mumble, blinking your stinging eyes, retreating tears falling back from your waterline, "can you just," and you bite your tongue, feeling a strange quiver form in your throat as an inexplicable lump formed, but he's cupping your face, squishing the fat of your cheek with his easy going toothy grin, pink lips parting to let an ever loving smile shine affectionately at your drained visage.

"Can do!" and he's popping to his feet, knowing your sentence without your words, upbeat aura exterminating the lingering gloom that held heavy in a foggy cloud from the ceiling. His call of Tsumiki's name is kind before he's taking the seat next to her, getting to work and slowly your growing checklist of tasks melted, shredding into tiny little strips as they rips apart the paper, taking a chunk to handle by themselves.

Your knees audibly crack as you stand, his warm cheek in the cove of your neck as he put up no fight to slump in your hold. "Let's get you a bath, yeah Gumi," you hum, body gently rocking as you pad down the hallway and towards the bathroom, light flickering on with a warm glow to paint the white tiles.

"M'sorry," he's murmuring again as you set him down, guilt ridden eyes swathed with remorse as you slowly began to fill the tub, squirting out some of the soap from a half-empty bottle of bubble bath, watching as white foam slowly floated to the surface, "I-I'll do better," he sniffles.

"You don't need to be sorry baby," you brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away, heat emanating from the slick sweat of his skin, dampening your fingertips as you gingerly peel the blanket off his body, pang of pity hitting your heart as he shuddered, "you didn't do it on purpose," you hum, "and all you need to do for me is drink lots of water, get tons of rest and get back to your strong and healthy self, okay my Gumi bear," you smile, watching the boy cringe at your little nickname.

"Don't call me that," he whines, voice nasally as you help him take off his clothes before settling him inside the water filled tub.

"Why not," you tease, turning off the tap but he could only puff out his chest, no reason coming to mind as he submerged his body into the water, steam slowly relieving his congested pathways.

"I- It's embarrassing," he tries and you coo with a sly little smile.

"Are you embarrassed of me," you purse your lips in faux pain.

"That's not what I said," he rasps out, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumps his back against the porcelain, defeated.

"Mhm I see how it is," you sigh dramatically, snickering at his pout before you lean to boop his nose. "Will you be okay on your own," you ask the boy, observing as he picked up a cloud of soap and squashed it between his palms.

"Mhm," he nodded and you grin, giving him an affectionate rustle of the hair before grabbing the slightly soiled clothing, lingering smell of vomit and sweat clinging to the fabric of his pajamas as you stepped outside the bathroom, leaving the door open just a smidge as you padded towards Megumi's bedroom, the door wide open, readying yourself to untuck his bedsheets only to find his mattress already bare.

"It's in the wash," he murmured against the shell of your ear and you lean into his warmth, resting your head on Suguru's lowered shoulder, "do you need me to take that too," and his hands are quick to take the clothing from your grasp.

You simply shut your eyes for a moment, listening to his breathing, "thank you," you hum out when you blink open, whirling around on your toes to face him.

"It's no problem baby," and he's pressing yet another calming kiss to your forehead, easing the worries that had begun to clamber up your chest, "you should go take a break, I can finish giving Megumi a bath," he murmurs against your skin but you shake your head as he pulls away.

"No, I can do it," you affirmed, the worried look in his gaze doing little to force your hand, "I want to do it," you reiterated and his shoulder's slumped as he acquiesced, letting you have your way yet again.

"If you say so," he's sighing, "but let me know if you need anything, alright, you've already done a lot today, don't push yourself pretty," and he's kissing your cheek this time, flashing you an understanding smile but you are quick to peck at grinning lips, withdrawing much too early for his liking.

"I won't," you reassure, patting his arm, urging him to go and he chuckles, retreating back to the laundry room as you go to grab another set of pajamas for Megumi to wear.

Your heart felt a little lighter, the happy sounds of an understanding Tsumuki echoing down the hallway before she was sharing a high-five with Satoru, a resounding, elating smack reverberating as you take a small peek down the hall, her once pinched brows no longer furrowed with stress as your white haired partner thoroughly explained the topic in a way she could understand, patiently answering all her questions and kindly nudging her along the right path whenever she made a mistake. The sight had you smiling, there were no tears, no yelling, the image much unlike your childhood, her ability to even ask for help showing you that you must be doing something right, after all you didn't want her to face the same struggle you had when it came for asking your parents for any kind of assistance.

Turning back to the bathroom you nudge the door ajar with your hip, spotting your little spiky haired boy with a rubber duck in his hand, pushing it along the water and he's quick to stare at you, meeting your gaze as you plop the fresh clothing onto the counter. "Mom," he calls and the word no longer burdened you with such despair as it had moments ago, of course you loved your title, the very words being attached to you giving you an indescribably joy as your little found family discovered comfort in you as a mother figure, but you couldn't deny that a few moments ago the very call of that label had you broiling with stress.

"Yes love," you hum, quick to pull the stool over, sitting near the edge as Megumi glanced up at you, bubbles staining his fingertips.

"Will Papa still take me on the trip tomorrow," he sniffles, dry eyes blinking up at you with worry.

"Of course he will Gumi," you reach a hand out, petting his hair before cupping his warm face between your palms.

"W-What happens if I don't feel good tomorrow too," he whimpers, eyes going glassy as his lips pull into a pout and you could feel a little tremor shake your heart, small fracture nicking away at it as you pressed a tender kiss to his scalp.

"Then we'll reschedule it baby, okay," you murmur, staring into his heartbroken gaze, "it'll be alright."

"But I don't wanna ruin it," he mumbles so quietly, guilt ebbing away.

"Honey you won't ruin anything," you assure, "no one is leaving you behind, and no one will be sad if we can't go tomorrow, besides it wouldn't be fun if you weren't there."

"Promise."

"I promise my love," and you interlock your pinky with his, rubbing away a stray tear that managed to fall, "now how about we get you dressed and back to bed," you offer, a gentle smile accompanying your words and he grins, nodding.

You were quick, drying the boy before pulling the dog themed shirt on his head, helping his arms through the fabric before tugging it down. "Cozy," you muse, fingers lightly tying the drawstrings of his fuzzy pants.

"Mhm," he hums, fast to find solace in your embrace as you carefully adjust him to settle on your hip, standing up. You survey the bathroom, empty tub still slightly foamy along the edges, drain covered in bubbles that you didn't focus on, preoccupied with dressing the sickly boy, the blanket he had dragged around, abandoned on the floor, crumpled in a corner, the floor slightly imprinted with wet footsteps.

You purse your lips, rubbing small circles onto his back as his face burrowed into the crook of your neck, dark hair tickling the skin but you pay no mind, occupied with your disinterest on cleaning the space, you had left a slight mess.

Shutting your eyes you sighed, maybe you could just pretend it wasn't there for a moment, you tried to offer yourself, turning to head towards Megumi's bedroom only to spot that his bed was still bare and you were soon painfully aware that both pairs of bedsheets you had used for his bed were now soiled and in the wash, the first set vomited upon in the morning when he had felt the brunt of his ailment clawing at his stomach.

You could feel irritation clamber up your limbs, leaving an unsettling itch in your bones as you push your weight onto your toes before rocking back onto your heels, uncertainty bubbling beneath your skin as your frazzled brain wracked for a solution. "He can sleep in our room for a little while," and the bubbles faded into nothing, heat of the element reduced to zero in an instant as your unsettled waters no longer even simmered.

His hand is on Megumi's forehead, checking the little boy's temperature while the other lay relaxed on your hip, leaving an assuring squeeze, "do you want me to take you Megs," Satoru offers, knowing full well he'd be denied, and rejected he was, the boy merely clinging to you tighter with a pout.

"It's fine Toru," you hum, his hands slightly fixing your hair before pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Alrighty then," he snickers, and you barely have to turn your head to know he and Megumi were sticking their tongues out at each other, "I'll go clean up the washroom then," and he shifts his focus to you.

"No that's alright, you should go rela-"

"I should be saying that to you pretty," he quirks a grin, cutting you off, "now go on," and he's shooing you away, hands on your shoulders before lightly ushering you out, "let me work," he tsks, opening the door, letting you walk into your shared bedroom before quickly scampering off with a cartoony whistled song.

You can't fight off your smile before shuffling towards the messily made bed, the rumple of sheets a painful reminder of your inability to focus this morning, waking up to sobs, the idea of making the bed no longer at the forefront of your brain, and it still wasn't. You collapse onto the mattress, lightly tackling Megumi beneath your body.

"Get off me," he giggles, squirming, fists pushing at your shoulders.

"What, you don't want my love," you gasp dramatically, peppering kisses over his face until he's shoving you away, hoarse voice laughing as he wriggles, crawling towards the head of the bed but you grab his ankle, "don't make me fight you," you tease, pulling him back, his happy little shriek of, 'let me go,' making you grin before you lift him into your arms, wrapping around him tight before squeezing him, planting one last firm peck to his cheek, his happy face lessening all your lingering unease before pulling the both of you beneath the covers.

"You're silly mom," he's snickering.

"Oh really," you laugh, resting his head upon the pillow, laying on your side as he puts his hand onto your face, pudgy fingers squeezing at your cheek, contorting your facial expressions, "I think you're pretty silly," you muse, reaching out to smush his face, his lips puckering as you forced him to look like a fish.

"Nuh uh," he huffs pulling away from your grasp before using both his hands to try and force your face the same way, and he's giggling.

"Nuh uh," you mock, "what do you mean nuh uh," you tease lightly tickling at his sides.

"Nuh uh," he shrieks again, squirming before burrowing into your embrace, putting an end to your attack as he cuddled close and you couldn't help but reciprocate. "Mom," he's calling again.

"Yes," you coo, running your fingers through his hair.

"Can we go see a T-rex."

"Hmm," you raise a brow, "where'd that come from," you ask, slightly perturbed by his out of the blue question.

"Yuji told me at school that his papa took him to see T-rex bones."

"Oh, is that so," you coo, rhythmically patting his back, "we can go to the museum and see dinosaurs together when you're all better."

"With Tsumiki and Mimiko and Nanako."

"Of course, we'll take Tsumiki, Mimiko, Nanako, Dad and Papa," you grin, "so make sure to get lots of sleep and drink lots of water, okay."

"Okay," he's murmuring and despite his prior burst of energy his eyes were closing.

"Goodnight," your kiss his scalp, gently rocking his body and even though he drifted off you continued to lay there, weary limbs finally relaxing.

"Wake up love," you don't even remember falling asleep.

You blink your eyes open, "You need to eat."

"Hmm," you groan as you stirred, staring at both their figures and you suddenly realize your arm's no longer hold the weight of a child, "where'd Megumi go."

"Asleep in his own room," Suguru coos, helping you sit up, thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

"What time is it," you ask eyes trying to adjust to the bright light of the digital clock on the bedside table.

"9:30ish," Satoru grins, taking a seat next to you, "the kids are already in bed."

"Why didn't you wake me up," you yawn, leaning your weight onto Satoru, "I could've helped."

"You've already done so much today," Suguru sighs and you hum into his touch, "wanted to let you rest."

"M'sorry," you murmur, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"Why are you apologizing love, we are the ones who should say sorry," and Suguru is settling down onto your other side.

"We left you home alone to take care of all of them, it must've been tiring," Satoru is holding your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

"You had to go to work, it's fine."

"Regardless," Suguru tacks on, "but you did a good job today," he praises and you find yourself melting, lip wobbling.

"No I didn't," and a surge of sadness washes over you, your emotions taking over, "y-you came home and everyone was crying, I was going to cry too, and, and I didn't know what to do."

"That's okay my love," and Suguru is pulling you into his arms, "you did your best."

"But still."

"Baby it's hard looking after four kids by yourself, you did amazing, it was just a rough day," and Satoru is kissing your forehead, "we should've come home earlier but even without us you did great."

"I should've been able to handle it."

"You did handle it."

"I got overwhelmed."

"And that's okay," Suguru assures once more, "it's a lot of work and it's normal to feel that way, that's why we're here, okay baby, it's not your job to look after all of them on your own, we're a team, you can depend on us," he continues, soothing your anxieties, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"My pretty girl had a long day," Satoru coos, lightly pinching your cheek, cracking a coy smile, "let's go eat yeah, I'll warm dinner up again," he grins, reaching for you, carefully picking you up.

"I can walk," you protest, your arms snaking around his neck as he slid his arms beneath your bottom.

"And I can carry you," he sing songs, padding towards the door while Suguru quietly shushes him.

You were overwhelmed but Satoru and Suguru were quick to help you out.

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x y/n #satosugu x you #gojo x reader x geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader x suguru #jjk fluff

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wandering-winchesters · 2 months ago

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Sleepless Confessions

Summary: In the stillness of the bunker’s kitchen, a sleepless night turns into a tense, unspoken confession between you and Dean Winchester, where vulnerability and unspoken emotions crack through the surface, leaving both of you teetering on the edge of something deeper, unsure if you'll find peace or fall further into the darkness.

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:47 AM, its numbers glowing ominously in the dark. You’ve been staring at it for what feels like hours, counting down the minutes as anxiety claws at your insides, refusing to let you find peace. Your thoughts are racing, a relentless cycle of worries and what-ifs that keep you wide awake despite your body’s desperate need for rest.

You toss and turn, trying to will yourself to sleep, but it’s useless. The weight on your chest only grows heavier, making it impossible to relax. With a frustrated sigh, you throw the covers off and sit up, running a hand through your hair. There’s no point in staying in bed if you’re just going to lie there, suffocating in your own thoughts.

Quietly, you slip out of your room and head down the hallway, your footsteps nearly silent on the cold floor of the bunker. You don’t have a destination in mind—just the need to move, to escape the confines of your own head. Eventually, you find yourself in the kitchen, the dim light from the range hood casting a soft glow over the countertops.

You open the fridge, the cool air brushing against your face as you scan the contents. You’re not really hungry, but maybe a glass of milk or something will help calm your nerves. You’re just reaching for the carton when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Your heart sinks a little when you turn around and see Dean Winchester standing in the doorway. Of course, it’s Dean. Anyone else, and you might have been able to brush them off, but with him… Well, it’s complicated.

He’s wearing his usual sleep attire—a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt—and his hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene, clearly puzzled.

“What’re you doing up?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that breaks the silence. There’s no bite in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

You quickly turn back to the fridge, trying to hide the unease that’s bubbling up inside you. “Couldn’t sleep,” you reply, keeping your voice casual. “Thought I’d grab a drink.”

Dean steps further into the kitchen, his gaze never leaving you. “In the middle of the night?”

You shrug, pulling the carton of milk out and setting it on the counter. “Yeah. It happens.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you pour the milk into a glass. The silence between you stretches on, heavy and awkward, and you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s trying to figure out what’s really going on.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You grab the glass and turn to face him, forcing a small smile. “What about you? Why are you still up?”

Dean leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Same reason as you, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.”

The admission surprises you, and for a moment, you just stare at him. It’s rare for Dean to admit when something’s bothering him, even to Sam. But then again, you’ve noticed the subtle changes in him lately—the little signs of restlessness, the way he’s been more on edge than usual. It’s clear he’s dealing with his own demons, though you doubt he’d ever talk about them openly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your milk. “Seems like neither of us is getting much sleep these days.”

Dean nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. He’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder if he’s going to drop the subject. But then he looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft but serious.

The question hangs in the air, and you suddenly feel exposed, like he’s peeling back the layers you’ve worked so hard to keep in place. You’ve never been good at letting people in, especially not Dean. The way he challenges you, the way he always seems to get under your skin—it’s easier to keep your distance, to maintain the walls that keep your emotions in check.

But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the weight of your sleeplessness pressing down on you, those walls feel fragile, ready to crack at any moment.

“I don’t know,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You immediately regret it, wishing you could take them back. But it’s too late now.

Dean’s expression softens, and for a second, you see something like concern flicker in his eyes. He steps closer, his posture less guarded than usual. “What’s going on, Y/N? You’ve been off lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The last thing you want to do is burden him with your problems. Dean’s got enough on his plate as it is, and the idea of opening up to him—of all people—feels both terrifying and absurd.

But there’s a part of you that wants to. A part that’s tired of carrying it all on your own.

“It’s just… everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like, every time I try to sleep, all these thoughts keep coming at me—things I’ve done, things I’m worried about, stuff that could go wrong… It’s just too much.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his expression. But when he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, almost understanding.

“Yeah. I get that.”

You glance up at him, surprised. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no teasing or sarcasm—just a quiet understanding that catches you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You’re so used to the back-and-forth with Dean, the way you’ve always butted heads, that this softness feels foreign. But it’s also comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

Dean shifts his weight, leaning against the counter next to you. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s oddly grounding, like an anchor in the midst of your spiraling thoughts.

“I get it, Y/N,” he repeats, his tone low and sincere. “It’s not easy to shut that stuff off. Trust me, I’ve been there more times than I can count.”

You look at him, really look at him, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, the lines etched into his skin from years of carrying burdens that no one should have to bear. Dean’s been through hell—literally—and somehow, he’s still standing. If anyone would understand what it’s like to be kept awake by anxiety and fear, it’s him.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice small, almost hopeful.

Dean nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. I don’t talk about it much, but… sometimes, it feels like my brain’s running a marathon. Can’t slow it down, can’t turn it off. And when you’re stuck in that loop, it’s damn near impossible to get any sleep.”

You bite your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. There’s something about hearing him admit that he struggles too, that he’s not as invincible as he seems, that makes you feel a little less alone. Like maybe you’re not as broken as you thought.

“What do you do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “When it gets like that?”

Dean hesitates, glancing away for a moment before answering. “I usually just… keep busy. Work on the car, clean my guns, watch crappy TV. Anything to keep my mind off it. But that’s just me. Sometimes, talking about it helps too. You know, getting it out there instead of letting it fester.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. You’ve never been one to open up, especially not to Dean. But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the night pressing in around you, it doesn’t feel so impossible. It feels… safe, somehow.

“I’ve just been feeling overwhelmed,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “There’s so much going on, and I’m scared I’m going to mess it all up. And then I start thinking about everything that could go wrong, and it just… it feels like too much.”

Dean doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze steady and focused on you. There’s no judgment, no impatience—just a quiet understanding that makes it easier to keep talking.

“And I know it’s stupid,” you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “I know I should just let it go, but I can’t. It’s like my brain won’t stop reminding me of all the ways I could fail, all the mistakes I’ve made, and it keeps me up at night. It’s exhausting, Dean.”

He nods, his expression softening even more. “It’s not stupid, Y/N. We all have those moments. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve stayed up worrying about stuff I can’t control. But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re still standing, and that’s what matters.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that, to have someone acknowledge your struggles and remind you that you’re not alone in them.

“Thanks,” you whisper, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I just… I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Dean gives you a small, almost sad smile. “I get that. I’m not exactly the poster boy for emotional support, but… I’m here. And I mean that, Y/N. If you ever need to talk, or just… not be alone, I’m here.”

It’s a simple offer, but it means the world to you. For so long, you’ve been keeping everyone at arm’s length, afraid to let them see the cracks in your armor. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to do that anymore. Maybe it’s okay to let someone in, to lean on them when things get too heavy.

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I appreciate that, Dean. Really.”

He nods back, and for a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet of the kitchen, the weight of the night pressing down on you both. But this time, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. With Dean there, it feels manageable, like maybe you can get through it.

“Come on,” Dean finally says, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s go back to bed. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words settle over you like a warm blanket. There’s a comfort in the simplicity of his suggestion, in the way he doesn’t push you to confront everything right now. Just one step at a time, one moment of peace in the chaos.

“Yeah,” you agree softly, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Dean gives you a small, reassuring smile, one that reaches his eyes in a way you don’t often see. It’s a glimpse of the man behind the armor, the one who cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.

You set your glass of milk down on the counter, realizing you don’t need it anymore. The anxiety that had you in its grip has loosened its hold, if only just a little. And that’s enough for now.

Dean waits for you, not in a hurry, just letting you move at your own pace. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel like he’s really there for you, not just in words but in action. As you turn to leave the kitchen, he falls into step beside you, his presence a steadying force.

The walk back to your room is quiet, the silence between you companionable rather than tense. The bunker is still, the only sounds the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the floor beneath your feet. It’s late—too late for conversations like this, but somehow, it feels like the perfect time.

When you reach your door, you pause, turning to face Dean. He stops too, his gaze meeting yours with that same steady intensity. There’s something unspoken between you, something that wasn’t there before—an understanding, a connection that feels deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

“Thanks, Dean,” you say again, feeling the need to express your gratitude one more time. “For everything.”

He nods, his expression softening in that way that’s becoming more familiar. “Anytime, Y/N. You know where to find me.”

There’s a moment where you consider saying more, opening up even further, but you decide against it. This is enough for tonight. You’ve taken a step forward, and that’s what matters.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, reaching for the doorknob.

“Goodnight,” Dean replies, his voice low and warm.

You open the door and step inside, but before you close it, you glance back at him one last time. He’s still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression. It’s almost as if he’s making sure you’re really okay before he leaves.

With a small smile, you close the door behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. The bed is still rumpled from your earlier restlessness, but as you crawl back under the covers, it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming anymore. The anxiety is still there, lurking at the edges of your mind, but it’s muted now, softened by the memory of Dean’s words and his presence.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, and this time, sleep doesn’t seem so far out of reach. You know the worries will still be there in the morning, but somehow, it feels like you might be able to face them with a little more strength. After all, you’re not alone in this.

As you drift off, the last thing you think about is the way Dean looked at you—like he really saw you, like he cared. And for the first time in a long time, that thought brings you a sense of peace.

In the hallway, Dean stands for a moment longer, staring at your closed door. There’s a part of him that wants to knock, to make sure you’re really okay, but he knows you need your space. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He’s never been great at this—at connecting with people, at being there for them in the ways that matter. But tonight, he thinks he might have done something right. And that’s a start.

With one last glance at your door, Dean turns and heads down the hall toward his own room. He’s tired, the weight of the day—and the night—settling heavily on his shoulders. But there’s a lightness in his chest, too, a sense of relief that he doesn’t fully understand.

Maybe it’s because, for once, he didn’t push someone away. Maybe it’s because he let himself be there for you, and in doing so, found a little bit of peace for himself too.

When he finally lies down in bed, sleep comes easier than he expected. And as he drifts off, his last thought is of you—of the way you looked at him, of the trust that seemed to pass between you in those quiet moments in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, he’s content to just let it be.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester falls asleep with a sense of hope.

tag list: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz

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redroomreflections · 1 month ago

Text

A New Plan

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A Family of Her Own Series

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

Summary: After the fall of the Avengers, Natasha Romanoff returns home to her secret family—a life she's carefully hidden away for years. Struggling to balance her role as a mother and wife while avoiding the dangers of her past, Natasha is forced to make difficult decisions that impact her loved ones.

This Chapter: As she reconnects with Reader and their two children, their quiet life is disrupted when Natasha brings home a broken Wanda Maximoff WARNING - MENTIONS OF THE RAFT AND SLIGHT ABUSE

Natasha gripped the steering wheel tightly as she guided the car down the backroads, the dirt and gravel crunching beneath the tires. She’d chosen to drive this time instead of flying—fewer eyes on her, less chance of being tracked. The landscape stretched out before her, wide and open, but her mind was elsewhere. She could feel the tension in her chest building with every mile, a heaviness she couldn’t shake. All she wanted was to be home and in your arms.

The small town loomed in the distance, tucked away and quiet. It was a place no one would think to look for her, and that’s exactly why she chose it. You had insisted it was safe, that no one would bother you here, but Natasha knew better. Safety was temporary, fleeting.

The house came into view. It looked the same as when she’d left, the weathered fence surrounding the small plot of land, the pickup truck still parked in the driveway.

But something was different. In the driveway, standing next to the pickup, was a man. He was tall—6’2”, maybe taller—with a broad build that filled out his faded muscle T-shirt. His brown hair was cropped short, and his skin had the kind of deep tan that came from spending long hours working outdoors. His arms, thick with muscle, were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the side of the truck, talking easily with you.

You, with your hands resting on the hood, were grinning, completely at ease. A laugh escaped you, light and genuine, and Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen you look so relaxed, so unguarded. The man said something else, his voice low but audible enough to send another ripple of laughter from you. You tossed your head back, your hair catching the afternoon sunlight, and gave him a playful shove on the shoulder.

Natasha felt her chest tighten.

The sight of you—so comfortable, so familiar with each other—sent a wave of discomfort rolling through her. She knew you had a life outside of her. You had friends in town, and people who checked in while Natasha was gone. But still, watching you together like this, seeing the way this man made you laugh, felt like a sharp pang in Natasha’s gut.

She stopped the car just before pulling into the driveway fully, her hands hovering over the steering wheel. Her fingers itched to move, to go confront the man, ask you who he was, why he was there. But something held her back. Instead, she reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over your contact.

The phone rang once, twice, and then you answered, your voice still carrying the warmth of your laughter. “Baby, hey, it’s so good to hear your voice.” You held up a finger to signal for the man to wait.

From where Natasha sat, she could see your smile soften, the way your posture shifted like you were waiting for something. The man glanced at you, curious, but you waved him off, turning your attention toward the phone.

“I’m here,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than she intended. She watched as your brows furrowed slightly, your eyes scanning the driveway until they landed on the sleek black car, still idling a few feet away.

“Oh,” You said, straightening up from the truck. “You didn’t pull in.”

Natasha hesitated, her eyes flicking back toward the man. “Who’s that?” she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

You glanced at the man, then back to Natasha’s car, your smile fading just slightly as you realized what this could look like to Natasha. “That’s Kevin,” You said, sounding almost amused. “He’s just a friend. He’s been helping me with the truck. It crapped out on me this morning on the way to the grocery store. He was nice enough to give me a ride.”

“Right,” Natasha said, gripping the phone tighter. “Send him home.”

You looked flustered, your eyes darting between Kevin and Natasha’s car. “Baby, seriously?” You asked softly, your voice low enough that Kevin couldn’t hear.

But the way Natasha was staring through the windshield, her expression unreadable, made it clear there wouldn’t be a debate about this. You exhaled, a hint of frustration in the huff, but you pushed a smile onto your face and turned to Kevin.

“Hey, Kev, thanks so much for the help today. But I think I’m good for now.”

Kevin, clearly picking up on the shift in your tone, raised an eyebrow. He glanced toward the car and then back at you. “Yeah, no problem,” he said, trying to be casual, but there was curiosity in his voice. “You sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Kevin hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before he gave a small shrug. “Alright, take care.” He gave a short wave before heading toward his truck.

You turned back toward Natasha’s car, watching Kevin go. Natasha didn’t move until his truck had disappeared down the road. Only then did she slowly push the car door open, turning slightly so that her face remained out of Kevin’s view until he was completely gone.

Once the coast was clear, she stepped out, her movements deliberate, like she was still holding back a storm of emotions. You were waiting by the truck, your arms crossed, a mix of confusion and concern on your face.

Natasha approached you, and without a word, pulled you into a hug. Your arms wrapped around her instinctively, your body softening against hers. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but in that moment, it eased, if only for a second. Natasha exhaled into the hug as if finally allowing herself to breathe after holding so much inside.

“Wanda’s in the backseat,” Natasha said quietly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “She’s…tired. She’s still recovering from the Raft.”

You blinked, the shift in conversation catching you off guard. “Wanda?” Your brows furrowed in concern.

“It’s been three weeks, but she’s still not herself,” Natasha continued, her voice thick with worry. “She needs rest. A lot of it.”

Your face softened, the frustration from earlier melting away as you looked over at the car. “Of course,” You whispered. “Let’s get her inside. The kids are napping so it should be a while before they try to bother her.”

Natasha nodded, but she didn’t move just yet, still holding onto you like she needed to ground herself in the moment. You didn't complain, instead, you reached up, cupping her face and brushing your thumb gently along her cheek.

"Are you okay?" You asked, studying her face. "Was it...bad?"

Natasha shook her head. "Not really, but, it wasn't..." She trailed off, unable to find the words.

"It wasn't home," You finished.

Natasha's eyes dropped to the ground. "I just need some time."

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Natasha's forehead. "As long as you need, baby," You promised. You could see movement just behind Natasha. Wanda stepped out of the car, disoriented and a little dazed, as she walked over to you. The teen looked skinny. Too skinny for your liking.

You smiled kindly at Wanda. "Hi, Wanda, welcome home. Would you like to rest in the guest room or?”

Wanda smiled softly, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. She still seemed dazed, not completely aware. "Rest sounds good."

You nodded. Usually, this would be the part where you hugged but you didn’t know if she would want it. Seems it’s what Wanda expected too but instead she took your hand.

Natasha moved first, leading the way into the house.

“You know the way,” You gesture to Wanda. “There are towels in the bathroom too. If you need them.”

Wanda nodded, squeezing your hand briefly before letting go.

Natasha followed you into the kitchen, watching you begin to put together a snack.

"Who is Kevin?"

You sighed softly, not turning to look at Natasha.

"A friend."

"What kind of friend?"

You set the knife down and looked at Natasha. "Why don't you just come out and ask what you really want to know?"

Natasha's jaw clenched. She was finding something to latch onto. Anything to make her not feel so useless in this moment. Anger was what she usually settled on. Though she’d never outright accuse you of anything. She has faith in your marriage or so you hope.

She steps around the counter to meld herself into you. A kiss to make it better.

“We’re here for a while,” She says instead.

You nod. "The kids will be happy.”

“And you?”

“I’m always happy when you’re home,” You lean into her embrace. “Even when you get a little bullheaded and ask me silly questions.”

You feel her chuckle. "Sorry."

You turn in her arms. "You know I only have eyes for you."

"I'm a lucky girl."

You press a kiss to her nose and then her lips. "Go check on Wanda. I'm making her favorite sandwich. I’ll send it up in a few. "

"I'm glad I'm still your favorite."

"Always and forever,"

Natasha leaves the kitchen. She pads up the stairs, finding remnants of the kids along the way. She pushes the door open to find Wanda lying on the bed, her eyes closed, though she's not sleeping. She can tell from the way her fingers are tapping on the duvet.

"You're not sleeping."

Wanda's eyes flutter open. "How'd you know?"

"I've been where you are. I was younger and the only reason I stayed awake was because I didn't feel safe sleeping.” Natasha shrugged. “Was the shower okay?”

"Yes, thank you."

"The kids will be excited to have you visit."

Wanda smiled weakly.

"They'll be happy to see you," Natasha said.

"I'll be happy to see them too," Wanda nodded. “Is it okay if I don’t come down as quickly?”

Natasha nods. "Of course, they'll be in bed by 7. So you have some time.”

“Is Y/n okay with me being here ?” Wanda’s voice sounds so small.

“She is happy you’re here too,” Natasha nods.

Wanda smiles at her and turns on her side, facing away from Natasha. Natasha leaves the room and takes a detour to the nursery. She only wants to peek inside at the baby. Inside she finds Nicky standing up against the bars of the crib, his pacifier in his hand, and the stuffed lamb under his arms.

He coos happily and makes a grabby motion at her.

"Hello, sweetheart," Natasha smiles. She enters the room, scooping him up. "How are you doing, handsome?” This greeting is different than the last time she was home. As promised she continued calls and texts when she could. She’d spoken over the phone to the kids at first chance and often sent voice messages of her reading a book or singing a lullaby that you’d played every night for them.

She presses kisses to his cheeks, her lips brushing against the dark hair growing.

"Mama, mama, mama," Nicky chants. He rests his pacifier on her shoulder and grips her hair.

“What? When did you start saying words?” Natasha asked if he could respond.

He babbles and she kisses him again.

"My boy," She whispers.

"Mama, Mama, mama, mama," Nicky coos happily, tugging on her hair. He does the sign for food and she laughs.

"Hungry?" She guesses and leaves the room with him in her arms. She takes him downstairs and he makes another noise. She follows his eye-line and sees you walking into the kitchen. “I’ve got this one.”

Nicky starts to babble and reaches for you.

You smile and kiss his hands. "Hello, handsome, did you have a good nap?"

"He was talking to me," Natasha grinned.

"Mama!"

You gasped, your eyes wide. "When did he learn that?"

"Just now. I didn't know."

"Me either. I know he’s been trying but wow. If that doesn’t welcome you home I don’t know what will.” You kissed Nicky’s cheek again.

“Oh, I can think of a couple of things,” Natasha smirks.

"Do you want to take him to the table or are you feeding him now?" You choose to ignore her suggestiveness.

"Trying to get rid of me already?"

"Never," You laugh and walk to the fridge. “I’ve been trying the baby-led weaning. So, he eats with us now.”

"I love that,"

You grab his meal from the fridge.

"So, I thought about dinner," Natasha began. "Chinese, or pizza, or Italian?"

"What's the special occasion?"

"I want to celebrate."

You turn and raise an eyebrow. "Celebrate what?"

"Our marriage. The kids. Being back home with you. Pick your favorite."

You set the bowl on the table and lean up on your toes. "How about you? You're my favorite."

Natasha leans into the kiss. "Chinese it is."

"Sounds good," You smile and walk away.

Natasha gets Nicky seated and starts feeding him. He smiles at her widely, showing off his dimples and teeth, and Natasha smiles back.

She loves her kids more than life itself. She didn't know it was possible to love anyone like she loved her children. She notices the little things about him. Like the scratch on his nose that probably came from his long unclipped nails. Or the way his hair has started to curl like Stella’s did around this age.

Nicky grabs the spoon and brings it to his mouth, his fist closed around it.

“Self-sufficient,” Natasha comments. Tiny footsteps come from behind her. Padding softly against the floor.

“The princess is awake?” You announce as you finish Wanda’s sandwich.

Natasha turns and sees the toddler in the doorway.

"Baby,"

Stella reaches for her and Natasha pulls her up on her lap. Natasha takes her time alternating between feeding Nicky and cuddling with Stella. Natasha feels the soft weight of Stella in her lap, but something is off. Usually, her daughter would be talking her ear off by now, rattling on about sharks, princesses, or some discovery. But today, Stella is quieter. Natasha feels the little girl shift in her arms, resting her head against her shoulder, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of Natasha's shirt.

"What's on your mind, princess?" Natasha asks softly, brushing a few wild curls from Stella's forehead.

Stella doesn’t answer right away. She just keeps twisting the fabric in her hands, her green eyes flickering up to Natasha’s face before dropping back down. A subtle tug of discomfort pulls at Natasha’s heart. Usually, Stella is so expressive—so open—but now, there’s a hesitance. Natasha keeps her voice gentle. "Did you miss me?"

Stella nods, still looking down, and Natasha hugs her closer, pressing a kiss to her head. “I missed you so much too, sweetheart.”

"You're quiet," Natasha prompts, rubbing small circles on Stella’s back. "What’s going on in that head of yours?"

Stella shifts a little more in Natasha's lap, then hesitates. After a moment, she holds up her knee to show a small, red mark on the skin—a scrape, barely healing, but big enough for a child to take notice.

“I got a booboo,” Stella whispers, pointing to her knee.

Natasha’s heart tightens. "Oh no, when did that happen?"

“Outside... I was runnin' and then I fell. It hurts.”

Natasha takes her daughter's tiny knee in her hands, inspecting the scrape with a frown that deepens into something softer. "I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to make it better sooner."

Stella shrugs, almost like she’s used to it, and Natasha feels a pang of guilt deeper than anything she can easily push aside. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself to stay in the moment, to not let the feeling of having been away for so long consume her. "You know what I think?" Natasha says softly. "I think this calls for a special kiss. My magic ones always make the pain go away."

Stella, still a little shy, watches as Natasha presses a gentle kiss to the boo-boo, her lips brushing against the scraped skin. It’s a simple gesture, but Natasha feels the weight of it—the need to prove that she’s here now, and she’s not going anywhere for a while.

“Better?” Natasha asks, lifting her gaze to meet Stella’s.

Stella finally offers a small smile, her grip on Natasha’s shirt loosening. “A little bit.”

Natasha lets out a laugh and wraps her arms tighter around her daughter. “Good. We’ll keep working on it, okay?”

Stella leans into her, resting her head on Natasha’s shoulder, the earlier shyness slowly melting away. Natasha kisses her hair, feeling the warmth of her daughter against her, and glances over at Nicky, who is now fully engrossed in his food.

It’s that moment when you glance at Stella, content and quiet in her lap, and Nicky, who is absorbed in his food, that you decide it’s safe to slip away for a moment. They’re occupied enough for you to check on Wanda. She’s always been good at hiding her pain, but the way she squeezed your hand earlier—tight like she was holding on for dear life—told you more than she intended. You know she needs her space, and you’d give her that, but deep down, you can sense she’s struggling. She needs someone, even if she won’t say it out loud.

Wanda is the youngest Avenger, still trying to figure out who she is in a world that’s hurt her more times than it’s helped. You’ve always had a soft spot for her like she’s one of your own. After everything she’s been through, you want to do more than just help. You want her to know she’s not alone. Not anymore.

You make your way up the stairs, quietly stepping into the hallway where her room is. The door is cracked just slightly, letting a sliver of light slip through. You knock gently, just to announce your presence, before easing the door open.

Wanda is sitting in bed, propped against the headboard, her hair still wet from her shower, strands hanging limply against her face. She doesn’t move much, but her eyes slowly drift up to acknowledge you. They’re weary, red-rimmed like she’s been fighting a battle in her head since the moment you left the room.

You set the sandwich on the nightstand beside her, offering her something, anything, in the hopes it might make her feel a little better. Then, without a word, you sit down on the edge of the bed beside her.

“Hey,” You say softly, keeping your voice low and gentle.

Wanda doesn’t say anything right away. She just watches you, like she’s trying to figure out why you’ve come. You don’t push. You just sit there, waiting, letting her take the lead.

“I thought you’d be with them,” She finally says, her voice rough and quiet.

“I am. I was,” You answer, turning slightly to face her. “But I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

She shrugs, dropping her gaze. “I’m fine.”

You nod, knowing she’s anything but fine. She’s been through hell and back, and you’re not expecting her to open up easily. “I know things have been… a lot,” you offer carefully. “But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Wanda presses her lips together, a flicker of something crossing her face, but she doesn’t respond.

You lean back slightly, giving her a bit more space while still letting her know you’re there. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Wanda, still staring at her hands, asks quietly, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

It’s such a simple question, but it hits hard. You think for a moment before responding, your voice soft but sure. “Because you’re family, Wanda. You might not feel like it, but you are. And family looks out for each other.”

She swallows hard, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. She wipes at them quickly, as if embarrassed to be seen like this. “I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hurt people with my powers. In Lagos and then I hurt Natasha and..."

You reach over, putting a hand on hers, hoping the contact might provide some comfort. You can only imagine what it must be like, to carry so much power in your hands and have no idea how to use it. No one to teach you.

She looks at you and you squeeze her hand gently. "You're not a bad person, Wanda. What happened, none of it was your fault. You're doing the best you can."

"The best I can got me locked up in an underwater prison," Wanda says tiredly. "With a collar around my neck like I wasn't a human."

"None of that was your fault either," You assure her. "It was because of the Accords."

"The Accords made me a criminal," Wanda mutters bitterly.

"No," You shake your head. "The Accords were a mess. It shouldn't have gone the way it did."

Wanda sniffles and rubs at her nose. "You don't hate me? You should."

"You've made some mistakes," You agree. "But we all have. That doesn't mean I should hate you."

Wanda doesn't speak again.

"I could brush your hair for you," You offer.

She doesn't say anything, but after a moment, she nods.

You grab a brush from the nightstand and carefully begin untangling the knots, your touch gentle. Wanda stays quiet, and you don’t push her, letting her have a moment of silence. You think maybe she hasn’t had a lot of moments like these, where someone cared enough to let her be, to see past the magic, and recognize that underneath it all, she is just a kid.

Wanda lets you brush her hair. Her mind is a thousand miles away, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. The silence stretches on and finally, she breaks it.

"How do you know when the pain will stop?" She asks quietly, her voice wavering.

You pause, the comb halfway through her hair, and meet her eyes in the mirror.

"When do I stop feeling this way?" She whispers.

"It takes time," You breathe deeply. "It's not something that goes away overnight. You have to work through it. Take small steps. Talk to someone. It's not a race, Wanda. It takes as long as it takes."

She sniffles and tears slip down her cheeks.

You put the comb down and wrap your arms around her, letting her bury her face in your shoulder, her tears soaking into your shirt. You stay with her, holding her, as sobs rack her body.

"It's okay," You soothe, rubbing her back gently. "Let it out."

She cries into your shoulder, her chest heaving.

"Let it out, sweetheart." You kiss her head. Right now, Wanda would cry. But tomorrow you know she would wipe it all away. She would hide her tears, and the pain, and pretend like it didn't bother her. She would put on a smile, and a mask, and tell everyone she was okay. Because she was afraid of being a burden, of showing too much. But you won't forget this moment.

Wanda sniffles, wiping her eyes, and you hand her a tissue.

"I'm sorry," She mumbles.

"For what?" You ask, running your fingers through her hair.

"For this. For breaking down. I don't do this often."

"You don't have to apologize. I'm always here if you need to talk or if you want me to brush your hair," You promise her.

"I am still having trouble eating but," Wanda looks at the sandwich in her hands, her voice soft and hesitant. "I will try."

"Don't force yourself," You assure her gently. "Do what's right for you."

Wanda nods, her eyes dropping back to the sandwich as she inspects the bread, lettuce, and tomato. With a small, cautious bite, she tastes it.

"Good?" You ask, watching her reaction.

"It's a start," She says with a faint, watery smile.

"That's all you need," You tell her warmly, pressing a comforting kiss to the top of her damp hair before stepping away, leaving her to eat at her own pace.

**************

A little while later, Natasha finds you in your bedroom, her footsteps soft as she approaches. You’re rummaging through drawers, sifting through clothes in hopes of finding something that might fit Wanda. Natasha comes up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist, and resting her chin on your shoulder.

"The kids are watching TV," she murmurs. "Nicky's in his pack-and-play. That gives me a few minutes."

"For?" You glance at her briefly before returning to the pile of clothes, dropping a couple of T-shirts on the bed.

"Telling you what's going to happen," Natasha says quietly, her voice serious.

"Am I in trouble?" You joke, though the tension in her tone makes your heart pick up pace.

"No," Natasha sighs, "but I am. We still are. Being here in the US... it puts us all in danger."

You pause, your hands still on the fabric. The weight of her words sinks in. "So what are you suggesting?" you ask, looking over your shoulder at her.

"We can't stay here."

"So you're leaving again?" You ask, trying to hide the pain in your voice. "How soon?"

The detachment in your tone hits Natasha hard. She can feel the distance you’re trying to create between yourself and the idea of her leaving again, but she presses on. "I was thinking you could come this time," she suggests softly. "I have the connections. We bring the kids. It would be quiet. They’d get to explore a new environment. Just for a while."

"A while? A few months? Years? What happens after that?" you ask, your voice growing sharper, more frustrated.

"I don’t know," Natasha admits, shaking her head. "We’ll figure it out."

"Well, that’s reassuring," you sigh heavily. You sit down on the edge of the bed, your mind racing. "I mean, that’s insane, right? Being on the run with two toddlers?"

Natasha lowers herself beside you, her hand resting lightly on your leg. "I don’t want to leave you again," she says softly, her green eyes searching yours. "It’s the only way for us to be together. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t know it was 100% safe."

You shake your head, your gaze dropping to the floor. "We have lives here. We have a home. It’s not perfect, but we make it work."

"We’ll figure out a way to make it work out there too," Natasha insists, her voice steady. "It’s just for a while. Until things settle down."

"But what if they never settle down?" You counter, your voice breaking with the weight of everything. "What if this is just how it is from now on? Running, hiding?"

"I don’t know," Natasha admits again, more quietly this time. "But I can’t keep leaving you behind. Not when I know there’s another option."

You look at her, torn between the life you’ve built here and the uncertainty of what she’s proposing. You know she means well, and you know she’s right about the danger, but the thought of uprooting everything feels impossible.

"I’ll think about it," you finally say, the words heavy with hesitation.

Natasha nods, understanding that this isn’t an easy decision. "That’s all I can ask for."

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #black widow x female reader #natasha x you #afamilyofherownau

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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the yandere x yandere ask and your answer got me going maaaaaaad....pleeeease just one little story, just a snippet I beeeeg you...

I think I am addicted to your writing ❤️‍🔥

Ok ok you here's your little snippet I am not immune to begging (I am weak)

Word count: 1.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only, Yandere!König x Yandere!Reader, situationship with toxic König, light bondage, slight degradation, crazy idiots in love A/N: *sigh* for God's sake.

"No."

Your refusal echoes in the empty hall as you rush toward your room. The one you are talking to is marching right behind you… A giant Austrian killer, a one-man fucking machine, and a terror to women.

You know you shouldn't have said it today – hissed bitterly on the comms how everyone knows König is good with a gun after the new girl commented on what a good shot your foreign lover was.

You wanted to shoot that girl, and now hated yourself for it. Hated - and loved - how a certain lovesick madman was again following you like an oversized puppy in heat. Had followed you ever since you praised his killing skills (you were the first girl to do that, goddammit), and agreed to go on a date with him. At a gun range, no less.

You try to ignore how your neck tingles as you open the door to your room. Out of breath, you turn to slam it shut, but a strong hand shoots to prevent your strength. It stops the door from moving even an inch.

"No," you repeat while looking up at the blazing blue eyes.

How can such a cold stare scorch your skin? How can those eyes burn your very reason to a crisp…?

"I'll visit you after silence then," he promises darkly, and the tingles turn into a downright shiver.

"No you won't. I'll lock my door."

"I'll break in."

"...You're fucking crazy !"

"You have no idea, Liebling." He steals a peek down at your chest, rising and falling like a wave because you are so riled. You can almost hear how he licks his lips under that hood. "I have to return your strings, oder?"

Rage and thrill fight for your attention as you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

"You–you took my…" you gasp, hating the way you sound like a pearl-clutching woman appalled by such indecency. Truth is, you are appalled. And aroused. But you're not a pearl-clutching woman.

"Pervert," you spit the word out with hot pride. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink at your insult.

"Ist das so? And who wanted me to tie her up last night? Hmm?"

Shit... Your cheeks pang with heat.

Tight moans and pleas of "Use that paracord on me," and "Fuck me like I'm your prisoner," flood your mind, as does his low growl of "You're mistaken, Liebling. This is no play. You are my prisoner."

You thought he would've tied you into a bed, but no: this pervy lunatic tied your hands to the ceiling, not tight, but tight enough to render you helpless as he gave you a 15-minute edging session with his tongue, followed by more than just one profound fucking session with that ridiculously long Austrian cock.

He raised you in his lap and fucked into you from standing, took you from behind like an animal, used your body any way he wanted to until you were dumb and full of his cum.

He pulled orgasms, quivering breaths and lewd moans out of you while whispering painfully sweet things in your ear – then left you hanging there after he was satisfied. You thought he went to get a towel, which he did... but he also went to get himself a beer.

He drank that pilsner in front of you, wearing only and only that stupid black hood. Surrounded by his guns and knives, this man looked like a god of war: muscles sheened in sweat, heavy cock glistening with your juices, looking at you with smug pride as the warm seed ran down your thighs.

"Let me down," you finally broke before him, pouting and throbbing from the multiple orgasms he just gave you.

"Ask nicely, Liebling."

"Please, let me down… My wrists hurt."

He came to release you from that rope immediately, carried you to his bed, and cooed what a good girl you were, taking his cock so many times like you were made for it. Cleaned you up with a warm, wet towel and promised he would bring you food from the mess if you promised to stay put. (You promised, and he did.) He even offered you a sip of that yucky beer and asked if his prisoner had everything she needed.

But what's worst is that he dares to shame you for what happened last night.

"What kind of a woman wants to be used like that...? You're dirty," he slurs, eyes flashing with desire.

"You're the one who's dirty," you half yell, then snap your mouth shut, knowing half the barracks just heard your announcement.

He just tilts his head as if it's quite normal to have an argument about who's more fucked up in the middle of an echoing hall.

"Eh? I bet you're wet even now." His voice is high and tight from anticipation. "Shall I make an inspection?"

"I will slap you if you do that," you declare with a lift of your chin. Your shoulders draw back and your hand squeezes into a fist, ready to deliver on that threat.

He looks down at your tiny paw – nothing escapes him, not even the slightest movement at the corner of his eye. But when he looks back at you again, his eyes are filled with a sinful dare.

"I'm warning you. If you come inside, I'll–"

He steps forward immediately and catches your punch like it's only a meager leaf in his way. You pout furiously as you send another fist flying, aiming for that hood – quite lousily, to be honest. Of course he catches that too, then spins you around like you two are dancing jive and forces you against a wall with his body.

It's the softest, most loving little shove and pin, and the only thing that's knocked out of air is your pride as his groin presses against your ass and shoves up, hard enough to force you up on your toes.

"You're not a woman, you're a wildcat," he rasps in your ear as the warm darkness of the hood brushes your neck. His hand rests on the wall next to your face like a warning not to squirm while the other is already traveling up the back of your thigh.

He's going to make that inspection, no doubt, shove his hand beneath your belt and into your camos. See if you're wearing another pair of "filthy strings" – or that's what this crazy dude calls the revealing underwear he says is "not suitable for decent women."

The funniest thing is that you started wearing them mainly because they clearly drive him mad...

"König..." you moan your want into the air as he slips that hand down your pants. Your hands got trapped between the wall and your chest as he pressed you there, but you wouldn't try to prevent him even if they were free.

You want to tell him how good he is with his guns, all of them. You want to tell him that you hate the new girl. You want to tell him you'll be his prisoner, always…

He takes a good, long sniff of your neck, causing your ass to grind against the hard bulge in his pants. He doesn't like the smell of gunpowder on you, doesn't like it that you're almost as good with a rifle and a scope as him. He wants to take you away from all harm and make you his little wife.

(The only harm that has ever fallen upon you is this crazy titan who makes love to you like it's the end of the world.)

"Kleine Wildkatze," he murmurs softly in your ear while agile fingers find your soaked cotton, the fragile shield between lust and madness. "I will tame you. Don't you worry about that. One day you will be purring in my lap..."

#könig x you #könig x reader #könig cod #yandere könig #yandere x yandere #könig imagine #konig x you

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nayedoll · 4 months ago

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Joost request where it’s there meetcute and reader is a tattoo artist and she’s tatting him up and he’s trying to flirt within the small talking without trying to embarrass himself and she finds it cute, idk just an idea, change whatever you like

like a tattoo; part 1

joost klein x reader

read part 2 here 🫐

a/n: pretend that joost has a “t’ komt goed” tattoo for the sake of this.

word count: 1.5k ☁️

───────────────────────

A light drizzle was falling as Joost quickly got off the bus and picked up his pace so as to avoid being late. His earphones hung from his ears as he reached the tattoo studio, catching his breath for a moment and fixing his hood before opening the glass door to the building.

The place was relatively small, though beautifully decorated with plants and low lighting. Joost looked around confused, noticing how there was no one there as he took a seat on the couch.

“Hallo?” he yelled out but got no response, the jazz music coming from the record player filling the silence of the rather empty room. His phone rang in his pocket and he picked it up, relieved to see that it was his tattoo artist, Alex, calling.

The call was brief as the man on the other line apologized for not being able to make it to the appointment and explained that a friend of his would substitute for him. Joost was skeptical, expressing his fear of trusting a complete stranger to ink his skin for life but his friend was quick to calm him down.

“Don’t worry man, she’s really good. She might be even better than me,” he laughed and that helped Joost relax a bit. “She’s also really pretty. And into blondes. This could be your lucky day, Klein.”

“You think?” Joost joked around some more before hanging up. As he did so, a door that he hadn’t noticed, opened and you came out smiling at him.

“Oh hi! Have you been waiting for a while?” you asked him, internally cursing yourself for losing track of time. Joost stayed silent for a second, taking in the sight of you. His friend wasn’t lying, you were beautiful and that caught him off guard.

“No, no I haven’t,” he replied, nervously averting his gaze from you, “I just got here, actually,” he added, smiling.

“Good, so should we start?” you suggested motioning for him to come inside the room. He got closer, your height difference becoming more noticeable with each step and extended his hand for a handshake.

“I’m Joost by the way,” he said and you scoffed, shaking hands with him.

“I know who you are,” you looked up at him as he puckered his lips fighting back a smile and nodded. His cold hand lingered on yours before you pulled away and headed inside the room.

Joost quickly followed you, taking a seat at the big black chair surrounded by plants and some posters on the wall. The room carried the smell of vanilla and citruses which he assumed was from your perfume.

“Soooo are you gonna tell me your name?” Joost furrowed his brows and looked at you while you were preparing the equipment, admiring how cute you looked when focused. You smiled, still not looking at him and gave him your name. “I like that name,” he said with an awkward laugh, “it’s pretty.”

You thanked him, laughing quietly to yourself. You had been to a few of Joost’s concerts before, from which you had formed the impression that he was more of the flirty and cocky type. However, his awkwardness —which you found cute nonetheless—proved you wrong a thousand times.

You turned your back to him for an instant to grab something from the cluttered shelves behind you. Joost took the opportunity to check himself in the mirror next to him, slightly fixing his hair and chunky glasses. He then quickly turned to you again as you walked up to him, grinning softly.

You put your hair in a ponytail, revealing your neck to him and he gazed at the little heart tattoo behind your ear. “Cute tattoo,” he remarked, pointing at the area behind your ear, then asking if you had more tattoos. You smiled, always excited to show them off.

“Here,” you pulled your sleeves up and got closer to Joost, showing him your fingers that were inked with various little tattoos. Joost lightly grabbed your hand to examine every inch of your tattooed digits, caressing them with his thumb every now and then.

“I have some on my fingers too,” he grinned as he lifted his right hand, showcasing the numbers tattooed separately on four of his fingers.

“Shit, you’re born in 1983?” you said shocked, initially expecting him to be around your age. “No, no, no,” he repeated, laughing and shaking his head. You nodded, feeling a strange relief at his denial.

“1997.” he smiled.

“We’re the same age.” you noted, watching as he raised his eyebrows.

“Lucky me,” he said with a cute laugh. You rolled your eyes, a big smile beaming on your face.

“Any more tattoos you wanna show me?” he suggested, changing the subject.

“Let’s get done with your tattoo first and then you can see mine all you want.” you responded, your words sounding flirtier than you intended them to be.

“Alright, alright.” he playfully put his hands up, getting another laugh out of you.

Joost gazed at you, charmed by your presence alone. This moment felt like heaven to him, your smile as pleasant as the warm sun on an early morning. He could swear he had never seen another girl as pretty as you, already mourning the moment he would have to leave and say goodbye.

“Where do you want the tattoo again?” you asked him, breaking his intense stare. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie up, exposing his forearm adorned by numerous tattoos and little blonde hairs. “Here,” he pointed at the side of his forearm near his wrist. You nodded and gently grabbed his hand, cleaning the area with some rubbing alcohol.

You didn’t talk much for the next hour, seeing as you were too focused on perfecting his tattoo. Joost didn’t mind as he got to study your face, noticing the way your lips slightly parted while concentrating or how you tightened your grip on his hand as you held it down in place. You caught him staring a few times to which he responded by smiling softly, the pinkish blush on his cheeks becoming more visible each time.

“Aaaand we’re done” you backed away, carefully looking at Joost to see his reaction. His face lit up at the sight of the tattooed phrase on his hand, ‘t komt goed.

“Do you like it?” you asked, biting your lip anxiously.

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” Joost scoffed. “You’re really good.” he praised you.

“It was an easy one,” you humbly stated, rolling your eyes as a form of sarcasm which earned a cute laugh from him.

“Maybe next time I’ll challenge you with a harder one,” Joost replied and you raised your eyebrows at him. Next time? you thought, feeling a jolt of excitement in your stomach at the impression that he’d be coming back.

“Who said I’ll do your tattoo next time?” you joked as you enveloped the tattoo with a plastic wrap, your warm touch making Joost’s heart pound faster than ever.

“Don’t worry I’ll make sure of it. You’re better company than Alex,” he chuckled as you furrowed your brows, turning to face him briefly.

“You think?” you asked, he nodded with a sweet expression, his stare painting your cheeks with a discreet blush.

Some minutes passed, in which Joost waited for you to finish putting everything in its place like you were tasked to do, seeing as his appointment was the last one of the day. The closeness between you grew stronger by the minute, what started as a random encounter slowly turning into a precious friendship—or more.

“We should hang out normally, you know, without a tattoo getting in the way,” Joost said, nervously playing with his hair as he walked with you to the bus stop. The weather was sultry with raindrops drizzling over you, in classic Amsterdam fashion.

“I agree,” you looked at him, watching as a shy but satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth. The dim street lights highlighted his face angles perfectly and you couldn’t help but stare as he talked about his interests with so much excitement.

“Ladies first,” he stepped to the side, urging you to get in the bus first. You scoffed, hurried in and Joost followed with a sly smile. You rested your hand against the metallic bar of the bus since it was too crowded to sit. Joost slightly towered over you, leaning against the window to stabilize himself. His fingers lightly brushed against yours as he touched his hand on the bar as well, sending a rush of electricity through you.

“Where do you live?” he asked and quickly shook his head, “That didn’t sound creepy at all”. You laughed, answering his question.

“That’s a pity,” he replied, “I have to get off at the next stop.” You made a sad face, a tiny pout forming on your lips. Neither of you wanted the night to end, feeling like you had hardly gotten to know each other in those three hours.

“Give me your phone” you said and he handed you his phone with curious eyes. You saved your phone number in his contacts before giving him the phone back with a satisfied expression. “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure will.” Joost responded as he hesitantly got off the bus and you waved at him shyly. You gazed out the window, smiling every now and then as you recalled the past evening with Joost. You didn’t exactly know where this was going but you were excited to find out.

#joost klein #joost #joost klein x reader #thanks anon!

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