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natsaffection · 2 days ago

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Code Red. | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha x Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24), Sexual tension, mention of sex, blood, hospital atmosphere

word count:

A/n: READ!! There’s way too much we could add to The Phantom, so I’m not even starting a series, because it would go on until I’m dead.

So, I’ll start with this chapter and add more whenever I have ideas or just want a Grey’s Anatomy episode with Natasha. AND I’m definitely waiting on my knees for your input, anything! Smut, fluff, hospital shooting…? 🧍🏻‍♀️

AND, dear Anon 🧸, please don’t point out any mistakes in this. Thank you 🙂‍↕️ I’m not nervous at all about having a real doctor on my profile.

The first thing you felt was warmth. Not the comfortable, wrapped in your own blankets kind of warmth. No..this was different. Too warm and too solid.

A slow, creeping dread settled in your stomach before your brain even caught up. Something was wrong. Your bed wasn’t this soft. Your sheets weren’t this silky. And..oh God, your room didn’t smell like this. Clean, crisp linen. A faint trace of something expensive. Something dangerous.

Your breath hitched as the weight beside you shifted, a slow, unconscious movement. Someone was next to you. Your entire body locked up. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

Your pulse skyrocketed as your fingers clutched the edge of the covers. Your entire life flashed before your eyes. Because you weren’t just in a stranger’s bed. You were in a stranger’s bed naked.

A slow, excruciating turn of your head confirmed your worst nightmare. There, draped across the pillow like a goddamn work of art, lay the most devastatingly attractive woman you had ever seen in your life. Red hair, tousled from sleep. A sharp, elegant jawline. Bare shoulders, toned arms, and, oh.

You whipped your gaze away, biting down on your lip to keep from making an undignified noise. You were going to die.

Memories flashed, fragments of last night slamming into you like a truck. The bar. The teasing smirk. A hand at the small of your back. A whisper at your ear. Your legs shaking as you stumbled through a door. The sheer heat of a body pressing you into the mattress. Oh my God!!

You bolted upright, panic exploding through your chest as you threw the covers off, eyes scanning the room for your clothes. There, jeans by the nightstand. Your shirt, hanging from the damn lamp.

“Fuck..” you whimpered, scrambling out of bed as quietly as possible. Your hands trembled as you shoved one leg into your jeans, your movements frantic. What did I do? What the hell did I do?! You had never done something like this. Never!!

A one-night stand? With a woman who was clearly older, clearly experienced, and clearly too damn attractive for your own good? No. Absolutely not. No. This wasn’t your life-

“Leaving so soon?”

Your soul left your body. You froze, every nerve ending screaming at the sound of that voice, low, smooth, amused as hell. Slowly, so slowly, you turned. And immediately wished you hadn’t.

The woman was awake now. And stretching. Naked. Completely, unapologetically, naked. You made a sound that could only be described as a dying animal. You whipped your gaze away so fast you nearly snapped your own neck. “Sorry..”

A low chuckle. “Cute.”

Your entire body locked up, heat rushing to your face. “You’re- you’re naked..”

“Mmm.” The woman sounded smug. “So were you, if I remember correctly.”

You clutched your jeans tighter, swallowing a scream. “I-I was drunk!”

“I was too.” she mused. “But didn’t seem to bother you when you were on your knees for me.”

Your knees buckled. “I-I have to go!” you blurted, tripping over yourself in your desperate attempt to shove your foot into your jeans.

The sheets rustled. And then, bare feet on the floor. Your stomach dropped. Your body locked as a presence closed in behind you. Overwhelming and too close. You sucked in a breath, hands trembling as you reached for your shirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” The voice was lower now, teasing, dangerous. You felt it before you saw it, a ghost of warmth at your exposed shoulder. A deliberate, torturously slow touch that never quite landed.

Your stomach flipped. “You were so eager last night..” she murmured, voice mocking, sinful. “Kept saying my name over and over again. Clutching my hair like your life depended on it-”

“S-Stop!! I don’t remember that!” you squeaked, your face burning.

A smirk. “Shame.”

You whimpered. You needed to leave. Before you did something stupid, like look at her again. “I- I have work!” you blurted, nearly falling over yourself as you shoved your arms through your shirt. “I- I have my first day-”

“Oh?” The amusement in her voice was undeniable. “First day?”

Your blood ran cold. You had said too much. But before you could backtrack, before you could even process the absolute disaster you had just walked into, she moved. Closer.

A single finger ghosted down your spine. Barely there. Not touching. Not quite. But enough. Enough to shatter every last coherent thought in your brain.

Your knees buckled, a firm grip caught your waist, steadying you. “Careful, sweetheart.” the redhead purred, lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Wouldn’t want you falling apart before your shift even starts.”

You made a noise you would never admit to. That was it. You were leaving. “I-I gotta go!” you sputtered, yanking yourself free and bolting toward the door, nearly tripping over your own shoes.

You didn’t look back.

You stumbled into the hospital lobby, heart still racing, legs still weak, body still on fire from this morning’s disaster. There was no time to process, before you could even take a breath, you were swept into a sea of white coats and nervous chatter. The new interns, all buzzing with a mix of excitement and terror.

You needed to get it together. You needed to forget. You needed to pretend you hadn’t just woken up in some impossibly sexy, dangerously confident woman’s bed.

“Are you okay?”

Your head snapped up, startled. A guy, tall, dark hair, sharp eyes, watched you curiously. “Yeah.” you lied instantly, gripping your bag’s strap like a lifeline. “Totally fine. First-day jitters, y’know?”

He smirked. “Oh yeah, we’re all on the verge of puking, don’t worry. I’m Levi, by the way.”

“Y/n.” you replied, shaking his hand, “are way too calm about this.”

He chuckled, and soon, more introductions followed, Taryn, Helm, DeLuca names and faces blurring together in your already-frazzled mind.

Then, a clap cut through the chaos. “Alright, listen up!”

A senior resident had arrived, scanning the group with a sharp, assessing gaze. “Welcome to hell. You’re the new interns, which means you’re at the bottom of the food chain. You don’t speak unless spoken to, you don’t slow us down, and most importantly, you don’t kill anyone. Got it?”

A chorus of nervous “Yes, doctor.”

Between navigating the endless white hallways, trying (and failing) to keep up with the nonstop stream of medical jargon, and the sheer terror of knowing you were now responsible for actual patients, you were barely holding it together.

But finally, finally, you felt like you were catching your breath. Until you slammed straight into someone. The impact sent you stumbling back, clipboard slipping from your grasp, papers flying everywhere.

“Crap, sorry-” you started, already bending down to grab your things. Then you looked up. And your blood turned to ice.

Your heart sank, breath caught in your throat, the entire hospital suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating, too cruel.

Because standing before you, in full scrubs, arms crossed, an obnoxiously amused smirk plastered across her face, was your one-night stand. The woman whose bed you had fled from like your life depended on it.

The woman you had spent the entire morning trying to erase from your memory. Pure delight flickered in her emerald eyes, her smirk widening as she took you in.

“Well, well.” she drawled, clearly entertained. “Look what the hospital dragged in.”

You wanted to die. “You..!” The word stuck in your throat, barely making it out as you gripped the edges of your coat. “You work here?!”

Natasha’s smirk deepened, her arms folding across her chest like this was the funniest thing she’d seen all day. “I do now.” Her gaze flicked to your intern badge, amusement curling at her lips. “And you, Dr. Y/l/n… are probably my new intern.”

You stopped breathing. Your stomach plummeted. Your jaw tightened, heat crawling up your neck, not from embarrassment, not from flustered panic, but from pure, burning frustration.

This couldn’t be happening. No, this was actually a nightmare. You clenched your fists, forcing your voice to stay professional, even. “No.” you said flatly. “No! You are not my attending!”

Natasha arched a brow, that damn smirk never fading. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You gritted your teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

She chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

You flinched. Hands curling into fists. Jaw locking. Blood boiling. You had worked your ass off to get here. You had sacrificed everything to stand among the best, to become a damn surgeon. And now? Now you had to work under the woman you had made the worst mistake of your life with? Absolutely not.

“This is unprofessional!” you snapped. “I don’t care what happened last night, but here? In this hospital? You are my boss. Nothing more.”

Natasha’s grin widened, far too entertained. “Boss?” she echoed, feigning innocence as she took a step closer. “That’s funny. Didn’t seem like you minded me being in charge last night.”

Your blood boiled. Your body tensed, face burning, not in embarrassment, but in sheer, unfiltered frustration. “I don’t want to work under you.” you bit out.

Natasha’s eyes gleamed, her smirk turning downright wicked. “Oh, sweetheart.” she murmured, voice low, teasing, dangerous. “You already did.”

You nearly exploded. Heat rushed to your face. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to say something, to argue, to shut her down, to tell her exactly where she could shove her insufferable smirk.

But you couldn’t afford this. This was your career. Your future. So instead, you forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, forced yourself to be the bigger person.

“This is a professional environment.” you said stiffly, snatching your clipboard off the ground. “I don’t care what happened. It’s done. It’s over. I’ll switch teams if I have to, but I refuse to let this interfere with my job.”

Natasha hummed, mockingly considering your words. “You do that..” she mused. “But until then, Dr. Y/l/n…you’re stuck with me.”

Your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palm as you swallowed the thousand curses sitting at the tip of your tongue. You straightened your spine, lifted your chin, and without another word, stormed past her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

——

The ER was chaotic, but in a way that was almost comforting. Here, surrounded by the hum of beeping monitors, the shuffle of rushing nurses, the sharp calls of orders being thrown across the room, you could breathe again.

Here, you could focus. You could forget. Forget the fact that you had woken up in Natasha Romanoff’s bed. Forget the way you had slammed straight into her in the hallway like some kind of rom-com protagonist in a fever dream. Forget the way she had smirked, amused as hell, like she hadn’t just wrecked your entire existence with one night.

Because right now? There was a patient to save. And that was all that mattered. A nurse shoved a chart into your hands as you jogged toward the trauma bay. “27-year-old male, motor vehicle accident. Multiple lacerations, blunt abdominal trauma, and a closed femur fracture. BP’s dropping, and he’s tachycardic. He’s all yours.”

Your first real patient. Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t hesitate. “Got it.”

Pushing through the curtain, you snapped on gloves, immediately assessing the scene. The man on the stretcher was ashen, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Blood soaked through his torn shirt, pooling from a deep gash across his abdomen. His leg, bent at an unnatural angle, lay immobilized.

Internal bleeding. Hemorrhagic shock. “Sir, can you hear me?” you asked, pressing a hand against his shoulder.

The man groaned, eyelids fluttering. “Hurts…”

“I know, we’re going to help you.” you assured him, eyes flicking to the monitors.

He was crashing. “We need two large-bore IVs.” you said, voice steady. “Hang a liter of lactated Ringer’s. Crossmatch for blood.”

“Already on it.” a nurse confirmed.

Grabbing trauma shears, you cut through his bloodied shirt. The wound was deep, gaping. Bad. Focus.

You reached for the ultrasound probe, pressing it against his abdomen, and there it was. Dark, pooling black on the screen. Blood. Internal hemorrhage. Your stomach clenched.

“Scan is positive.” you reported quickly. “He’s bleeding into his abdomen.”

“We need imaging.” a nurse said, already prepping the portable X-ray for his leg.

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ll get an abdominal CT after he’s stabilized-”

Then the monitor alarm blared. BP dropping. Heart rate spiking. “Pressure’s tanking!” a nurse shouted.

Your pulse skyrocketed. You knew what to do. You knew, but suddenly, everything felt too fast. Your mind whited out. Your hands shook as you grabbed the saline bag, fumbling with the IV.

“We- we need to push more fluids, get blood down here-”

“Move.”

The voice was sharp. Cold. Unyielding. Before you could process, Natasha swept past you, taking control of the situation without hesitation. Gone was the amused, smug woman from earlier. Gone was the flirty, teasing tone.

This was Dr. Romanoff. And she was all business. “Push a unit of O-negative now.” she ordered, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “I want a second line in, 18 gauge. Keep the fluids running. Prep for an emergency laparotomy.”

The room snapped into motion. No hesitation. No wasted time. Natasha’s hands moved expertly, assessing the injury with calculated precision. “He’s peritoneal. This isn’t something we wait on.” she said briskly. “He’s going up to the OR.”

The OR. You stared, blindsided, mind short-circuiting. You had expected Natasha to take over. To push you aside and tell you to go chart it like a good little intern.

But the OR? That meant surgery. That meant you were going with her. “He’s going up?” you repeated stupidly, voice higher than it should’ve been.

Natasha shot you a look. “That’s what I just said. Unless you want to stand here and watch him bleed out?”

You snapped out of it. “N-No, I- right, OR. Got it.”

“Then move.”

She didn’t wait, already calling ahead to the surgical team as the gurney rolled forward. You hesitated for only a second before grabbing the other side, helping push the stretcher toward the elevator. Your heart hammered, adrenaline surging through your veins.

This was happening. You were going into the OR. On your first day. As the elevator doors slid shut, Natasha finally looked at you. Not with amusement. Not with the teasing glint she had worn this morning. This was different. This was real.

“Do not freeze up in there.” she said, her tone cool, firm. “If I let you assist, you stay focused. If you panic again, I’m kicking you off the table. Understood?”

You swallowed. You nodded. “Understood.”

She studied you for a beat, then nodded. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to the bright, sterile lights of the operating room. And just like that, you were in it. Bright overhead lights glared down on the open abdomen of the man on the table, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air, mixing with the sterile burn of antiseptics. The beeping monitors echoed through the room, a steady, nerve-wracking reminder of how little time they had.

Your hands shook as you stepped up to the table, gloved fingers hovering over the surgical field. “Y/l/n, you are assisting me, not standing there like an idiot.” Natasha snapped, not even glancing up. “Hands on the field. Now.”

You snapped into motion, placing your hands on the edges of the incision, breath uneven as you took in the damage. Blood. So much blood. The patient’s abdomen was a mess of pooling crimson, dark and slick, spilling out with every passing second. Too much blood.

“He’s still bleeding out.” Natasha said briskly, already moving, hands precise, unforgiving, unstoppable. “I need a better view. Retract.”

Scrambling for the retractor, you adjusted your grip, unsteady fingers pulling back the edges of the incision, exposing the ruptured spleen beneath.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “The splenic artery’s still hemorrhaging..” she growled. “Suction, NOW.”

You fumbled with the suction catheter, pressing it into the cavity, watching as more blood gushed out, fast and relentless.

“Another clamp.” she ordered, hand outstretched, not even looking up as the instrument was placed into her palm. “Suction here. I need a clearer field.”

The nurse complied instantly, moving in sync with her. Natasha was in control, the chaos of the OR bending to her will, her focus so absolute that for a moment, you were just trying to keep up. You had never seen someone move like that, so sure of every decision, so damn precise. And you had certainly never seen this version of Natasha before.

Gone was the teasing smirk, the smug amusement, this was nothing like the woman who had toyed with you in the hallway, nothing like the one who had made you feel like the punchline of some inside joke. This Natasha was something else entirely.

“Y/l/n, I need you to assist.”

The words snapped you back into focus. You moved to the other side of the table, the weight of the moment slamming into you. This was real. This was happening. Your heart pounded, but you nodded, swallowing the nerves that threatened to choke you.

You were ready. Or at least, you thought you were. Then it all went wrong. The blood flow surged again, faster than expected. The clamp slipped from its position. A sudden gush of dark, arterial blood flooded the cavity, spilling over the sterile drapes, soaking everything in red.

The room changed instantly. A beat of silence, then voices overlapping“BP dropping-” “He’s losing pressure-” “Get another unit of blood down here-”

Your vision blurred. The sounds around you became distant, muffled like they were coming from underwater. The instruments in your hands felt foreign, too heavy, too light at the same time. You could feel the eyes on you, the other surgeons, the nurses, the interns watching from the observation deck above, staring down at you like a lab experiment about to fail.

Your breath caught in your throat. You were freezing. Natasha’s hands had stopped. She wasn’t fixing it. She was waiting. The realization hit like a slap. She wasn’t saving you. She was letting it happen. Letting you drown in the moment. Because if you couldn’t handle this, if you couldn’t keep it together when things got bad, you had no business being in this OR.

Your lungs burned. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You couldn’t breathe- A touch. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a single gloved hand pressing against the back of yours, steady, deliberate.

Not taking over. Not fixing it for you. Just grounding you. “Look at me.”

The words weren’t sharp this time. They weren’t barked over the chaos. They were quiet. Firm. Your eyes flickered up, locking onto green. Natasha was looking at you. Not the patient. Not the monitors. You.

Not mocking. Not amused. Just watching. Your chest tightened, but then, something clicked. You had trained for this. You knew what to do.

The blood obscured the view, but the clamp had only slipped, it wasn’t lost. You forced your hands to steady, gripping the instrument properly this time. Found the artery beneath the pooling blood. Slid the clamp into place, securing it with the exact pressure needed to stop the hemorrhaging without crushing the tissue.

The bleeding slowed. The monitors stabilized. For a second, the entire OR seemed to pause. Then Natasha nodded, expression unreadable, and went back to work. “Good.” she said simply. “Now keep up.”

And just like that, you were back in it. The panic didn’t disappear completely, but it shifted, settling into something you could control. Your breath steadied. Your hands followed Natasha’s instructions, each movement more sure than the last.

By the time they were ready to close, you could barely believe it. You had almost fallen apart, but you had done it. And Natasha had let you break just enough to prove you could put yourself back together.

As you placed the last suture, Natasha watched you for a moment, then simply pulled off her gloves and tossed them onto the tray. Without looking at you, she said, “You won’t forget that moment.”

The hallway outside the OR was quieter than it should have been, considering how loud your heart was pounding. The rush of the surgery still coursed through your veins, but it wasn’t just the adrenaline anymore.

It was her. Natasha. The woman who had pushed you to the edge in that OR. The woman who had watched you struggle. The woman who had let you drown just enough before forcing you to swim. And now, she was standing against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like she already owned the world.

Or worse..like she owned you. “Not bad.” she mused, tilting her head slightly, watching you with undeniable interest. “For an intern.”

You swallowed, fingers curling into your scrub top as you forced yourself to breathe. You should walk away. You should thank her, say Goodnight, Dr. Romanoff, and pretend your legs weren’t seconds from giving out.

But something was gnawing at you. Had been since you stepped into that OR. Natasha had picked you. But why?

The question stuck in your throat, creeping under your skin until you couldn’t ignore it. You forced yourself to ask. “Did you..Did you pick me because we-”

God, you wished you could swallow the words back down. But Natasha was already on you. She stepped forward, slow, predatory, her smirk deepening as she leaned in just enough to make your body lock up.

“Because we fucked?”

Your breath caught. Your face burned. The heat of her body, her presence, too overwhelming, too much. And then, just for a second..That teasing flickered. Just for a second, Natasha’s smirk softened. And when she spoke again, her voice was lower.

“I picked you because you were the best.” she said, her eyes locking onto yours like she was pinning you in place. “Because you had the highest scores. Because your recommendations spoke for themselves. Because I wanted to see if you could handle real pressure.”

Your chest tightened. And somehow, that made everything so much worse. Because you had been afraid of the answer. Afraid that this morning had been a mistake you would never outrun, a stain that would follow your career before it had even started.

But it wasn’t. Natasha had picked you because you were good. And somehow, that made everything so much worse. You barely had time to process it before someone else entered the hallway.

“Dr. Romanoff.”

You turned just as another surgeon approached, her stride purposeful, her eyes locked onto Natasha like she knew exactly what she wanted. She didn’t even glance at you. Instead, she stepped in close, fingers grazing Natasha’s arm with easy familiarity, her touch dragging just enough to linger.

“I’m waiting for you..” she murmured, voice low. Suggestive. “Sleeping room.”

Your stomach twisted. And Natasha? Natasha just smiled. Not her usual smirk. Not teasing. Not mocking. Something pleased. Something interested. She turned back to you, her smirk curling just enough to be infuriating.

“I’ve got business to do.” she said smoothly. “See you around, Dr. Y/l/n.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t move. You just stood there, watching as Natasha turned, as she let that other woman lead her away, as she disappeared down the hall like none of this even mattered.

Like you weren’t still standing there, pulse still racing, skin still burning from where she had touched you. And maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe this was exactly what you should have expected.

Maybe Natasha had only been proving a point, showing you that you had nothing to prove. That you had been chosen for your talent, not for a night you barely remembered. But the sick feeling in your stomach said otherwise. The way your skin still tingled said otherwise. And the fact that Natasha hadn’t looked back?

That said everything.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanov

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beloveds-embrace · 13 hours ago

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If I might give a brain worm unto you that has been wiggling around my noodle: Dukedom AU x Designationless reader AU.

The boys treat her the way they do partly because of their relationship and the threat she is to it, but also because she’s not like them. The staff of course follow suit.

The reader, while having long since adjusted to the terrible circumstances surrounding her simply just existing, was really hoping that this would be a new start. She’d heard on and on about what a hero and a good man Duke Johnathan Price was and built up a fantasy in her head of what he would be like. Maybe he’d look past what was “wrong” and treat her like a person. He did ask for her hand in marriage after all. That had to mean something, right?

It breaks her heart when she recognizes the scrunch of his nose, the disdain, the explicit barring from nests and bonding expected of a pack. It was the same situation she’d always been trapped in, but in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

Or something like that.

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 😩😩

The first time you see him- truly see him- you believe your heart and mind have played a cruel trick on you.

You’ve heard so much about Duke Johnathan Price. His reputation precedes him, woven into tales of heroism and integrity. A man of honor, a soldier, a leader. A man who chose you. The supposed man of your dreams.

Even now, sitting stiffly across from you on your first dinner as husband and wife, he looks every part of the noble figure painted in stories. Broad shoulders draped in fine fabrics, a beard neatly trimmed, hands steady as he cuts into his meal with a precision that speaks of years spent wielding a blade. He is handsome, powerful. Capable.

And yet, when he looks at you, there is nothing in his eyes.

Not curiosity, not warmth. Not even disdain at first- just a lack of acknowledgment so profound it makes your throat tighten.

Then his nose scrunches, barely perceptible but devastating nonetheless. Because it's not the first time this has happened, and you’ve seen that expression before. It won't be the last, either, but you had hoped...

Your stomach churns.

It is the same look others have given you when they realize what you are. Or rather, what you are not.

Not an Alpha, nor an Omega. Not even a Beta.

Just a ghost of what should have been.

You set your fork down carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice how unsteady your hands get. Across the table, Chef Johnny emerges from the kitchen, setting down a fresh plate for Duke Price with far too friendly smile. The dish is a work of art, beautifully plated, steam curling in delicate wisps.

Your own meal is… not the same. The vegetables are overcooked, the meat a little too dry. A careless oversight, perhaps?

But then you notice how Kyle, the head butler, watches you with an impassive expression. How none of the maids refill your glass as swiftly as they do John’s.

How the room feels colder than it should.

You eat what you can, ignoring the tightness in your throat, ignoring the stares.

This marriage was meant to be a new beginning.

You had dared to believe, just for a moment, that Duke Price would be different. That he would not look at you like you were wrong. But it seems you were severely mistaken.

The rejection from him, thus, is quiet. The rejection from the rest of the duchy, thus, is just as quiet.

There are no harsh words, and no blatant cruelty. But there are barriers. Invisible ones, carved deep into the very bones of the household.

Certain rooms are not meant for you. The Duke’s- because calling him John now feels far too inappropriate for you, his damn wife- study is always closed when you pass. The library, though technically open, is always occupied when you wish to visit. You are never explicitly barred from entering, of course, yet when you step too close, the weight of silence and the stares and the whispers push you back.

And the nesting rooms- warm, safe places where bonds are nurtured and scents are shared- are not for you.

You learned long ago that you do not belong in such spaces from your own parents. But you had still hoped...

The first time you wander too close, you barely make it past the threshold before Duke Riley blocks your way. He is taller than Price, broader in some ways, with sharp, piercing eyes that assess you coolly. You've early on caught to the... relationships your husband has.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around your skirts. “I was just- ”

“Off-limits.” His voice is flat. Final.

You nod, pulse stuttering. You do not need to be told twice.

But it is not just Simon.

Kyle remains distant, fulfilling his duties with impeccable efficiency yet never offering you so much as a fleeting smile. The other servants follow suit eventually, mimicking his detachment. Even Johnny, who seems the warmest of the three, does not linger in your presence the way he does with the others.

But it's the absence of touch that is the worst.

In a household full of Alphas and Omegas, where scenting and casual touches are second nature, you are untouched. Unacknowledged.

Not wanted.

The realization festers deep in your chest, an old wound reopened in a new, unfamiliar place.

You do not cry beyond shedding a few, lonesome tears in your rooms.

Instead, you simply adjust, and that adjustment means the shrinking of your world.

At first, you try to push forward, to do your duty as a Duchess with grace. You ensure the estate runs smoothly, oversee the staff, attend the necessary gatherings.

But the strain of existing in a space that does not want you wears you thin.

So you stop attending the dinners, no longer willing to sit across from a husband who does not see you.

You withdraw from the bustling halls, the grand rooms filled with people who murmur behind your back but never speak to your face.

Even your reflection in the mirror begins to look unfamiliar. The light in your eyes dims, your gowns hang looser on your frame. You hear the maids whispering.

"She’s wasting away."

"Maybe it’s for the best."

"No one can love someone who fades into the walls."

"No one can love someone so different. So... unnatural."

You wonder if it even matters, curled in your bed. They will continue their whispers even if you appear, even if you don't appear.

And still, no one comes for you. No one considers you.

Not your husband, and not his pack that you will never be a part of.

Not a single soul.

#noona.asks #noona.writes #cod omegaverse #i love this idea so so much omfg

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slutoru1207 · 3 days ago

Text

Superhero's Secret

Invincible!Mark x reader

You never meant to find out. Really, you didn’t. But fate—or maybe just your awful luck—had other plans.

It all started with a late-night coffee run. You were coming back from your shift at the bookstore, sipping on an overpriced latte, when you heard it. The unmistakable whoosh of someone moving at impossible speeds overhead. You glanced up just in time to see a figure plummeting from the sky, smashing into an alleyway just a few feet ahead of you.

Any reasonable person would have bolted. Any smart person, at least. But no, not you. Fueled by a mix of adrenaline and morbid curiosity, you ran forward, peering into the alley.

And there he was.

Invincible. Groaning, pulling himself up from a fresh crater in the pavement, blood smeared across his lip but already fading, his yellow and blue suit torn in places. You froze, heart hammering, barely able to process what you were seeing. But then it got worse.

Because as you watched, he yanked off his broken mask and ran a hand through his mess of black curls, muttering curses under his breath.

Mark Grayson.

Your classmate. Your sometimes-lab partner. The same guy who had once awkwardly asked if you wanted the last slice of pizza at a study session. That Mark Grayson.

“Oh, fuck,” you blurted before your brain caught up with your mouth.

Mark’s head snapped up, wide brown eyes locking onto yours. A second of silence passed—maybe two. Then he bolted toward you so fast you barely had time to squeak before he had a firm but gentle hand over your mouth.

“Shhh! Please don’t scream,” he whispered, voice frantic. “I can explain. Or—actually, no, I don’t even know how to explain, but just—just don’t freak out, okay?”

You nodded frantically, because what else could you do? He let go of your mouth but stayed close, searching your face for any sign that you might run.

“Uh,” you began, still processing. “So. You’re Invincible.”

Mark winced. “Yeah.”

“Like. The Invincible.”

“Still yeah.”

You took a deep breath, staring at him. He looked exhausted, like he had just come back from a battle—and knowing what he did, he probably had. But beneath all of that, he was still Mark. The guy who struggled with calculus and got overly excited about new comic book releases.

“So, what happens now?” you asked hesitantly. “Are you gonna, like, Men in Black me? Mind wipe? Drag me into some secret lair?”

Mark groaned. “God, I wish I had some kind of mind-wiping tech right now.” Then, running a hand down his face, he added, “No. But… I do need to make sure you’re safe.”

“Safe?” You blinked. “From what?”

“From literally everyone who would love to use you against me,” he said, expression serious now. “If people find out that you know my secret, they won’t just leave you alone. And I can’t—I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you. You swallowed. “So… what are you saying?”

Mark exhaled, looking almost pained. “I’m saying… you might need to stick with me. For a while.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Like. Live with you?”

A red flush crept up his neck. “I mean—maybe? Just until we figure something out. I—shit. I’m really sorry about this.”

You should have been panicking. Maybe even annoyed. But instead, all you could focus on was the fact that you were going to be living with Mark Grayson. And you were pretty sure he wasn’t just flustered because of logistics.

“Okay,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “Guess we better set some ground rules, huh?”

Mark let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re handling this way better than I expected.”

“Oh, trust me,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “I’m totally freaking out on the inside.”

And just like that, the most unexpected chapter of your life began.

#mark x reader #invincible fanfic #invincible season 3 #invincible comic #invincible smut #invincible x you #mark grayson invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible

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evilminji · 2 days ago

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God, I am... so obsessed? (SI-OC thoughts)

PIDM/SVSSS/Xanxia let me gooooo .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

Back on my bullshit, with another Treasures Maker™. But like... make um TANK. Go ALL in. No being coy about it. No holding back. Balls to the wall, batshit insane Treasure Maker.

A real "w-why would you..." Sort of creator. Tentacle with a knife sort of "....wanted to see what would happen." Kind of gal. No one is safe and EVERYONE is nervous. Put the crafting supplies DOWN, shimei! Back AWAY from the crafting rooms! You KNOW you have to be supervised in there!

No one wants another... Incident™! (WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THE INCIDENT™!!!)

Cause like?

They? Had a brother. That brother? Was gross. We love um, but teenagers, man. Violence and boobs. 2 Edgy 4 U media. That sort of shit. It was his bread and butter for like... Puberty.

Not! To say he was a bad kid! God, no! But he WAS basicly soaking in sweat, hormones, and teenage "oh god I'm so horny I couldd die but also AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!!!" Brain fuckery. Not fun. She survived it, does NOT recommend, but still retains the Sisterly right to ROAST his deeply shit reading tastes (lightly).

After all? Who amongst us? Has not read terrible, terrible Smut based power fantasies? People in glass houses and all that.

.....she DOES wish she, you know, stuck it out. Read that trashfire COMPLETELY. Not just the spark notes, wiki, and that hilarious rant compilation of the Honorable Cucumber Bro (A Legend, we stan. God, what a psycho(affectionate)). But like... not her genre, man. She's an otome nerd. Her Meta knowledge aint worth SHIT.

But! Trying to relate to her brother? Listening to him excitedly talk about the latest chapters and current arcs? DID leave her with SOME knowledge. Enough knowledge.

Specifically?

This world is SHIT to women.

Like? A legit horror reality. Everyone has somehow? Still got that bullshit, purity culture, your honor is stored in your virginal, mint condition, breeding stock hoo-haa. While being surrounded by more natural aphrodisiacs then any Hentai universe could excuse! Like? EXCUSE ME!?

You can't SPIT, without hitting three Fuck Or Die plants and the aphrodisiac poisoning monster that LIVES IN UM!

But we, the WOMAN, would be a whore, should we be struck by the damn near inevitable? Airplane... you sexist HACK! (*Qinghau... feels like he's in danger*)(He swears he DIDNT MEAN IT! He just didn't think of the implications! About A LOT OF SHIT!)

Not to MENTION?

The fucking (quite literally) BODY HORROR fuckboi Protagonist! With his MONSTER DICK! Like? Look... she is a GROWN ASS WOMAN, okay? She KNOWS how sex works! Apparently, she is one of the privileged few in this universe who DOES. And while her little brother and that hack author may buy into the troupe "all women want huuuuuge, big, improbable, monster dicks"?

Ha ha! GOD, No. They do NOT. That is PURELY a male thing! It's a masculinity thing. Some power fantasy, male envy, "look how manly I am" bullshit. WOMEN? Have ORGANS. And while there ARE outliers (gods bless, we salute you. Go for greatness, you mad, mad queens.) MOST of us? Like bits that FIT.

You know... WITHOUT the Protagonist's so called "blood Gu". (Thanks! That's a HORRIFYING THOUGHT! Both on the "what do MEAN he, a non medically trained fuckboi, LITERALLY REARRANGED THEIR INSIDES?" lvl AND on the "WHAT DO YOU MEAN PARASITES IN THE BLOOD‽‽‽" lvl.)

So SI-OC? Rightfully? Wants Mr "All Women Are Belong To Me" NO WHERE near her. The fact that he's a demon? Irrelevant. The fact that he's an unrepentant MONSTER of a man? With a body horror dick? VERY relevant.

BEGONE XANXIA SATAN.

Leave her and her orifices the FUCK ALONE. You psychotic, sect murdering, realities destroying, selfish, narcissistic Fuckboi!

Not that she remembers much of the "cool motive, still murder" Phase of his life. Nor does she care, with how many people he fucks over. She wants to get far, FAR away from that mess. And more SPECIFICALLY? She wants to SURVIVE that mess. Which requires power.

She doesn't HAVE power.

But? She DOES have some Meta knowledge... and a shit ton of patience.

Cause after all, what is better then a protection talisman sewn onto a robe? Ten Thousand Protection Talismans sewn onto a robe, which is only ONE of a SET. And that? She can do.

To hell with pretty embroidery. Flowers and bamboo. Birds in flight. No, with Qi enhanced sight, and steady hands? The finest needle and the strongest, thinnest, thread? Script so tight and small it light grains of rice. Over and over and OVER. Each of her layers, holding thousands upon thousands of words. So small it's near impossible to read.

Which, of course, is to say nothing of the ribbons. Such long HAIR, after all! Only a FOOL wouldn't make USE of that space. Portioning out her head into hundreds of tiny braids, talisman written ribbons woven all the way down.

Every bit and piece of her clothing, a masterwork of steady repetition and patience. A fortress, built brick by brick. Not inconquerable. But strong enough, that even the heavens would strain.

Of course... only so long... as she's WEARING such armor.

Everyone must sleep eventually. Must bathe. You can not wear only one thing FOREVER. And that IS the difference between the strength you create and the strength you simply possess. One of them? Is always with you.

And like? Imagine it.

Big Sister. The penultimate Immovable Object facing off against Bingme's Unstoppable Force. Her DECADES of quite preparation unfurling like the waking of a slumbering GOD. All those traitors to the Sect. Women who BETRAYED their own. Betrayed their bothers and sisters, the CHILDREN they were supposed to guide and teach. For DICK. Having their attacks against her turned back against them.

Lethally.

As the remaining Peak Lords fight, a literal beacon of power. Of Safety. Sweeping through and grabbing survivors. Tossing them into a hidden realm she's literally wearing around her neck. Small but stable, her graduates work in progress. It's sparse in there. More bare earth and barely planted medical plants then anything. A few fruit trees.

But? It's beyond the reach of these invaders. And unless Luo Binghe kills her? Gets past her every defense and prys the anchor from her cold dead hands? Then they are safe. For now.

The sect may be lost. At least in terms of buildings, land. But it's PEOPLE? The important part? Not so long as she lives. The selfish dramas of demons and men are none of her concern. She has students, children, and the injured to protect.

And obviously, this makes her a target. She's shining like a God damn mini sun. It's not subtle. But the sect is burning, there's demons everywhere, she kinda expected that. At least she gets to kill a few of those traitorous "wives" on her way out.

(They betrayed their sisters. Their students. Their FRIENDS! This was their FUCKING HOME!! If they thought the Sect unforgivable? They should have LEFT. Not attacked as children fled for their lives. Cultivators are meant to kill monsters, not BECOME them.)

She takes them, her copies of as much of the libraries as she could manage on her own (it's not enough. Forgive her. She had to prioritize.) and heads for the border of the map. As fast as Cultivation can travel.

Did the Realms truely merge? Or did this portion collapse together? If they fly far enough, will they find the edge? And should it ALL have collapsed... he's not explored it yet. They have time to rebuild. Heal. Train and grow stronger..

All is not lost. Not yet.

Besides...

Who's to say that Fuckboi is the only Protagonist in this world? The only child of the Heavens? Maybe there are other gods. Maybe... maybe those gods are pissed. At the presumption. The arrogance. Maybe... just maybe, those gods will help. Who can say? It's never been done.

But is that not the duty of a righteous cultivator? To do what is right? To fight against monsters? What greater monster is there then this? The child not embraced by the village, will come to burn it down. But Luo Binghe? He has decided to burn the WORLD to ashes. And such madness must be stopped.

It doesn't matter how it began. They're gonna end it.

Together.

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright

#minji's writing #svsss #PIDM #pidw luo binghe #pidw SI-OC #SI-OC #xanxia #my ongoing ponderings #of how different women would react #to the hellscape that is #Proud Immortal Demon Way #also she is right and SHOULD say it #Binghe's third leg would be HELLA UNCOMFORTABLE to say the LEAST #Su Xiyan was just built different #the average woman can NOT handle what Heavenly Demons are packing #ffs people stop thinking with your-!#rants local asexual

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souliebird · 1 day ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 34]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k 🌶️🌶️

ao3 link

It is not often that you get a night to yourself.

Usually, once you get Minnie down, you dive into your laptop to clock into work, but tonight there is server maintenance, and you are free to do as you please. You wish you had checked your e-mail before Matt had given himself over to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but alas, you did not think that far ahead.

You don’t mind too much, however, as you use the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, relax, and binge trash entertainment. You allow yourself to be half tucked under a throw blanket that Matt’s cologne clings to and try to turn off your brain. You do not want to think or follow a plot and quickly wind up watching catty women start drama over things like seating charts and the differences between the color lilac and the color lavender. It is fun without being too serious and easily keeps your attention.

You decide you need a glass of wine after two episodes of your show. Even with the distraction, your eyes won’t stop darting to the corner of the screen to check the time and with each siren in the distance, you tense up. You know Matt’s plan is to be out late, combing the Kitchen in search of clues to lead him to people who butchered Enhanced children, but you can’t help but worry.

Daredevil is more than capable of taking care of himself - you have heard and read plenty of stories about his fighting prowess - but whoever is out there seemingly has no morals and that can lead to situations where enhanced senses and fists don’t cut it. You trust Matt to know his limits - only if that trust comes from knowing he would never do anything that would make his daughter cry.

Mouse’s happiness outweighs all of Matt’s faults - at least according to Foggy.

But you will still stay awake until he is safely in bed with you, and you can fall asleep to his steady heartbeat. It is the least you can do for him and under the multicolored glow of the billboard across the street, you lounge, caught up in a world that is so far from your own, trying to enjoy your brief time alone.

You don’t hear it when a pair of feet land firmly on the roof above you and you don’t hear it when the access door creaks open, but when a streak of moonlight shines across worn hardwood floors, you do notice.

You pause your show as you lurch up into sitting, heart racing. You know no one other than Matt would be coming down the stairs, but you weren’t expecting him for hours, and your panic is pointing out you are woefully unprepared for any type of fight. There’s not even a baseball bat laying around so you can pretend you can defend yourself.

Luckily for you, you would recognize the silhouette that comes through the door anywhere - Matt in his ‘Man in Black’ outfit - and your heart turns from panic to worry. You scramble up, shoving the blanket you had been bundled under to the side, and hurry to meet him at the foot of the stairwell.

As he enters into the area of the apartment with enough light for you to actually see in, your heart catches in your throat while simultaneously sending the pulse in your nethers into overdrive.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen clearly had a very different night from you. Dried and drying blood cakes his face - coming down from his nose and mouth with smudges on his jaw line. His Muay Thai ropes are grimy and disgusting, and you can just barely see how they are tinted red. His shirt is ripped in various places, and it clings to his torso like it has been drenched in sweat. It has ridden up quite a bit from all his movement, so a band of skin shows, teasing the firm muscles that lie beneath, and his pants hang low, giving a hint of that V you so admire.

Despite the state of him, he oozes confidence and danger. He’s standing straight, head held high, and shoulders pushed back to emphasize how broad he is. Every muscle is pulled taut - ready to jump into action at the slightest of provocation. His chest is rising and falling with each breath, and it makes you wonder if he ran back to the apartment or if he is having trouble breathing through his nose. Either way, it is animalistic, and you are reminded of documentaries showing a predator before it pounces on its prey.

In the dim light, your eyes zero in on Matt’s mouth and you watch with an intensity you know he can feel as he pulls his lips back into a slight sneer and runs his tongue over his teeth.

You decide then and there that you are going to do something Matt has been denying you the chance of for weeks.

You are going to suck his dick.

You have found Matt loves to tease you sexually. Little touches here and there and sly comments with double meanings are his game of choice. He likes to get you nice and worked up and to deliver on his promises with his mouth to the point you are pretty sure enjoys oral more than the act of penetration. While you very much are thrilled being on the receiving end, it doesn’t mean you don’t also want to indulge in giving. Having his cock on your tongue has been a fantasy for quite a while and it is high time you turned it into a reality.

After making sure he isn’t about to bleed out on the floor.

“You’re home early,” you breathe out as a greeting, gaze still firmly locked on his cut lips. You want to kiss and bite them, but not in their current state. As much as you want to jump him, you do not know whose, or what’s, blood is covering his face, and you do not want it getting in your mouth.

The man in front of you tips his chin up just slightly, head tilting in a way you know means he is examining you. By the way his sneer turns into a smirk, you know exactly what inputs he is receiving. You don't need super smell to know your panties are already soaked through.

“Didn’t expect the Irish to be setting up shop in the tunnels,” he replies, voice low and rumbly and going right to your core. You let the shiver run through you and try to not react as your nipples pebble under your shirt.

“They certainly don’t belong there.”

You force yourself to turn away from him then. You don’t want to fall into the trap of becoming flustered while Matt teases you - if he gets his hands or mouth on you, he will be insistent on pleasuring you and you won’t get what you truly desire.

He follows you like a shadow into the kitchen, barely letting you stay a literal step in front of him. You can feel the heat from his body against your back and the smell of his sweat and whatever he rolled in is wrapped around you like an all-consuming cloud. He practically boxes you in as you grab some paper towels and when you go to wet them, he looms over you.

When you do turn to face him, your breast just barely brush against his torso. You have a feeling he wants to crowd you into a corner and get you onto the counter so he can eat you out, but you won’t allow it. Your body is thrumming with need and want and that is overruling in any anxiety and doubt you may have.

You know he likes to tease. You know he likes to banter and push back and that helps to embolden you as you reach up and begin to wipe his face. You want to play his game right along with him.

“They aren’t the ones hurting the kids, are they?” You start, trying so hard to be nonchalant. You know you are both very aware how your bodies are responding to each other, but that is part of the teasing.

He allows you to clean away the blood, but he doesn’t lean into your touch - he remains tall and cocky, like he’s still on the streets. “No, they’ve got a warehouse with an access hatch. They were trying to store things. Probably weapons.”

You hum, taking in the information as you dap up gore that may or may not be his. He does not appear to be particularly injured, but you know he can hide that pretty easily - and stories and your own experiences tell you he will pretend he is perfectly okay, even when he isn’t. But, still, you probe because you want to be thorough in your care before you get your mouth on him.

“Do you need any stitches?”

He huffs in response, and you take that as a ‘no’, which makes things much easier. You aren’t sure how much your desire would fade if you had to focus on needles and thread.

As you begin to finish running the paper towel over his face, Matt moves impossibly closer to you - he presses forward, his knee starting to wedge between your legs, and it takes everything within you to not adjust so he can slide fully between them. He ducks his head to be closer to your face and tells you in that low, growly voice of his, “I might need a chest wrap, though. Why don’t you check to see if you agree?”

You understand the challenge he is giving you and you accept it. You toss the dirty paper towel into the sink, then drop your hands to hover in front of the hem of his shirt. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, in your ears, in your cunt, as you hook your thumbs under the fabric and push it up. You go at a snail’s pace, letting your touch ghost over defined abs and feeling them flex under you. You only look down to examine the damage once his torso is almost fully exposed.

He will most definitely need a chest wrap. Bruises are already blooming around his ribs, and you can see they go around to his back.

You make a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of your throat, “I think you might be right.”

Again, Matt moves. His hands skirt over your hips, teasing at the fabric there and you are fully aware you are probably right where he wants you. This is confirmed when he bumps his nose, which is still hidden under his mask, against your cheek and drags it up to your ear.

“Do you know what else I think?” he breathes, voice pitched low enough to make your entire being quake in want.

You know he is about to say something absolutely filthy, something that will make your knees give out - something that will have him winning this little game.

And you can’t allow that.

So, you tilt your head to the side and up, brushing your nose against his, and say in your own low voice, hoping you sound alluring, “I think you should go sit on the couch.”

Fabric crinkles as Matt’s brows raise in surprise and a tinge of Pride shoots through you at that. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting push back from you and his mouth curls up into amusement.

“Mmmm, and why should I do that?”

You resist the urge to wet your lips, not wanting to seem weak. Instead, you slowly start to guide his shirt back down, so he is covered again.

“Because I want you there.”

“You want me there?” He confirms as he pulls his head back enough you can see his full face. His hands, however, are defiant - they finally settle on your hips, and with the slightest of tugs, you are flush against him and can feel his hardness pressed against you. Your cunt clenches around nothing in desire and you mentally chastise it as Matt grins like the Cheshire cat. “I think you want me here.”

Your mind races for a solution. As long as your body is weeping for his touch, Matt is not going to back down about getting what he wants but you need him to let you be in control. With his senses and with his suaveness, he has the upper hand. You need to undermine that.

You need to use his advantages against him.

Plus, the one unique advantage that he has given to you.

You decide the only way to control the Devil is to tell him exactly why he is going to listen to you.

You bite your lip, trying to be a bit coy, then whisper out as confidently as you can, “I want you on the couch so that I can get on my knees and get my mouth on your cock. So, you are going to do that because I know you can smell and taste how wet the idea of sucking you off makes me, and you said that you are mine. You are mine and this is what I want, so that is what you will do. Understood?”

Matt doesn’t respond at first and you try to not panic about pushing the boundaries too far.

But then his lips part just slightly, and his nose flares and you can practically see all of his bravado crumbling. He tightens his grip on your shirt for just a moment before he lets you go and slowly, slowly steps back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally replies, his voice not as growly, not as deep.

“Good boy.”

You watch him back away from you until he pivots to be able to head towards the couch, relief flooding through you. You wait until he has actually sat down to grab the first aid kit from its hidden cupboard and make your way to the living room.

Matt has manspread so that you can comfortably kneel between his tree-trunk thighs, and as much as you want to take your place there, you do need to actually wrap his chest. His Muay Thai wraps are going to keep him from taking his shirt off, but you don’t mind that much. The idea of him staying in the Man in Black outfit is rather thrilling.

As you go to sit beside him and open the first aid kit, you direct him, “lift your shirt up.”

You expect a comment or resistance, based on his teasing earlier, but he is surprisingly quick to obey you. He sits up straight and tugs his shirt up as high as it will go, giving you plenty of room to work with.

Wrapping is one of the things you have practiced doing on some of Minnie’s toys, so you feel well versed in the task. The gauze is much better quality than what you have, but the motions are the same and Matt is stoic as you bind his ribs. With each rise and fall of his chest, your cunt drips with anticipation, and you wonder if his dick is twitching with the same. You consider taking your time with wrapping, but you don’t want to drag things out for yourself.

You want your reward for taming the Devil.

You clean up your mess once finished and set the kit on the coffee table, so it is out of the way. Matt’s attention on you is nearly physical in how aware of it you are. It makes your insides bubble with delight.

You let yourself make a show of standing up and stepping to stand between his legs. Matt’s hands are planted on the couch, and you watch the way his fingers flex and curl as you lower yourself to your knees.

“This is what you want?” he confirms as you settle yourself. His voice is losing that harsh edge, and he sounds so much more like the Matt you are used to.

“Very much,” you purr. “It’s all I’ve thought about for days.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat in response, and you watch it as you place your hands on the inners of his thighs and slowly push them up towards his crotch. You then deviate, going around where you know he wants you to touch him and going instead for the buckle of his belt. As you do, you lean up and forward to kiss at the skin just under the gauze.

You give light, soft little pecks as you make your way down his stomach and Matt arches up into it, fully giving himself to you and stopping with his tough guy act. Pleased with this reaction, you nuzzle him before sinking your teeth into his flesh and starting to suck, determined to make a mark.

Under you, Matt hisses in pleasure. His hips buck up with want and all his former words about wanting to be scratched and bit flood your mind. He likes the bruises. He likes the pain.

So, who are you to deny him when he is being so good for you and you very much like the idea of him having reminders of why it’s a good idea to listen to you.

You treat his washboard abs like a canvas - you bite and suck and scratch, leaving all sorts of different traces of you on him. Matt paws at the cushions, unwilling to put his hands on you for some reason, as his breathing turns harsher and needier. He doesn’t moan, but your name starts to slip out like a prayer and that is the motivation you need to keep going.

You are not satisfied until you’ve touched all the bare skin on the front of his body.

Only then do you undo his belt and pop the button keeping you from your prize.

Hard doesn’t begin to describe Matt’s cock - it's swollen and red and leaking like a faucet. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he had already cum all over himself and wouldn’t that have been the ego boost of the century?

His musk is nearly intoxicating as you dip down to rub your nose and lips against his head, smearing precum all over yourself.

“Please,” Matt begs from above you, voice ragged and needy. It sends an electric thrill through you and you can’t help but want to tease him.

“Please, what?” You ask, throwing it back at him like he always does with you when you are a mess. “Use your words, baby.”

“Put your mouth on me. Please suck my cock,” he mumbles, rolling his head back and pushing his hips up like you have no clue where to find what he is asking for. “Please. Take what you want. I’m yours. Please.”

“Don’t worry, my good boy, I’ll take care of you,” you promise before wrapping your mouth around him.

The burst of saltiness has you moaning and very suddenly your goal shifts from taking care of Matt to taking care of yourself. You’ve thought so long and so much about this experience, and you want to enjoy it exactly how you have imagined it.

You haven’t given a blowjob in a very long time, so you take your time adjusting and exploring. Your tongue swirls around as you bob up and down, taking more and more in each time until it feels like too much. Then you back off and start again, continuing the process over and over until you no longer gag around him.

He is heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth and making your jaw work to take him. It's perfect and how you pictured it in your mind. You know, in another time when you weren't so determined with your task, you could get lost in him fucking your throat.

The thought makes you drool, and you pay no mind to the spit gathering in your mouth and dripping down to soak Matt’s pants.

You know he doesn’t mind being messy.

When you feel you have thoroughly mapped Matt’s cock by swallowing it do you switch tactics. He whimpers and writhes as you pull off of him only to start panting when you attach your lips to the underside of it. Years of reading dirty books and sex tips has you knowing the frenulum is sensitive and you imagine Matt’s is doubly so. You are proven correct when you start moving your tongue and the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard comes from deep in his chest.

You relish in how you are undoing Matt. You drag your lips and tongue up and down his length, sucking and flicking your tongue to get different responses. You want to know which one gets him moaning the most, so you are sure to take your time experimenting and learning. One hand wraps around his base to pump slowly, so no part of his cock is neglected, while the other reaches up to resume clawing at his skin.

Praise and need and begging come pouring down from above you and you want more. You want Matt to feel as good as you do when he lays you out under him. You swallow him again, taking as much as you possibly can in, and when you reach your limit, you stay there. Your hand above you finds the gauze you wrapped around his chest and you move it to where you know the worst of the bruising is hidden.

Then you press down.

His cock twitches hard in your throat, a single salty spurt coating your insides, and you know he is right on the edge with the way he moans your name.

You want more.

You need more.

Your cunt is pulsing and gushing at how much you want to make the Devil into a pretty mess, and you know just how to do it.

You pull back to give yourself room to maneuver, but you keep your mouth on him, worshiping the tip of his cock as the hand wrapped around his base drops to go between your thighs. It is easy to push your sleeping shorts and panties to the side, and you begin to coat your fingers in your own slick. You are so very wet, and your own touch leaves you quivering, but you know your time for physical pleasure will be soon enough.

You make sure your fingers are absolutely dripping before you remove them from between your legs and enact your plan.

With your mouth still on him, you reach up, your fingers pointed forward and Matt does not need to be told what you are wanting of him. He practically dives for them, slurping them up greedily - like he is parched, and they are his salivation. You push your fingers more into him, until the heel of your hand is flush with his chin, making him start to gag and drool around them.

As you do that, you swallow him down again and dig your other palm into his bruised ribs.

The result is instant, and you get no warning as Matt’s hips buck and stutter and he fills your throat with his seed.

You drink it as greedily as he drinks you down when he is between your legs. You very much understand the pleasure he gets from it - you’ve barely just finished, and you already want to lay him out again. Pulling away from him feels like a Herculean Trial - you yearn to stay there with his cock in your mouth until it gets hard again, but you know you should check on him to make sure he enjoyed himself.

You give one last tease as you drag your fingers from his mouth, though, letting them tug as his lips and smear spit and slick down his chin, timing it so his cock falls from your mouth at the same time.

You can only see the bottom half of his face, but he looks pretty blissed out. Matt’s lips are puffy and red, and he has this dopey, pleased smile on his face - something very contrasting from his all-black outfit. You are gentle as you tuck him back into his pants and even more so as you push yourself up so you can climb into his lap, straddling him.

His hands are on your hips immediately, looping around to tug you flush against his chest. You brace yourself on his shoulders and smile down at the masked man.

“Did you like that?” you ask, pitching your voice to be sweet and flirty.

His response is to lean in and begin to kiss your neck, nice and slow and leisurely. You tilt your head to give him better access and he makes his way up to your ear, purring out a ‘yes, ma’am’ as he does.

His breath against your skin has your core thrumming and reminding you that you need your own release, and you do not plan to deny yourself of that.

So, as Matt begins to nuzzle and nip at your neck, you pull his mask from his head, tossing it to the side before you tangle your fingers into his hair. You let yourself be rough as you yank his head back so his sightless eyes can stare up into yours, all while clawing your other hand into his shoulder. You then contrast that by giving him the sweetest peck on the lips.

“Good. Because you still need a shower, and I need your cock in my pussy for at least an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

This one goes out to @pastafossa . Matt always needs a good Domming session.

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @astridstark13 @hashcakes

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@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

#soulie writes #fanfiction #and then i met you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #smut

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throatgoat4u · 2 days ago

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jack off material

word count: 1k

summary: matt's trying to study but summer walker makes it a little difficult

warnings: smoking, sending nudes, masturbation (m)

a/n: guys i started this on february sixth and i was finally able to build up the courage to finish it today. this is like my first smut piece ig so like yeah it might be a little bad but like.... yeah.... also in the au, this takes place a little after the house party (that's by my hot sexy mama @snoopychris) and a little bit before he met ser. also guys bear with me on the photo cause like it's so bad ik. it's the best i could find that gave matt jerking it off.... so well ig enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

matt was sitting on his bed, smoking a blunt that hung loosely between his index and middle finger. piles of textbooks and papers surrounded him as he tried to study but like always, he gave up. the faint sound of music played in the background, doing little to ease his mood. today had been a rather shitty day for matt. he was supposed to meet up with some hot blonde chick that he had met at his house party, but his grandma had found out about the party, so she grounded him. so now, he was stuck in his room, frustrated, with a blunt that barely suppressed the aching in his body. to make matters worse, the girl had been sending him flirty videos and pictures all day—teasing him so that when they met up, he’d fuck her like an animal gone feral. matt exhaled a slow drag, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling as his phone vibrated again. another message. another picture. curiosity—or maybe desperation—had him unlocking his screen, and the second he did, his jaw clenched. she was lying on her stomach, all smooth skin and lace, her ass barely covered by the flimsy fabric of her panties. the text she sent was short, just a winking emoji and ‘wish you were here’, but it was enough to make his body heat up. with a shaky breath, his tumb hovering over the keyboard like he was contemplating whether to reply or not. before he could decide anything, the next song played—girls need love by summer walker. her voice was soft, sultry, dripping with the kind of slow burn that made his stomach tighten up. perfect fucking timing.

matt's head fell back, resting on his bed frame, his fingers twitching against his thigh—right next to the bulge forming in his pants. the blunt between his fingers was barely doing shit to calm him down. his gaze flicked back to the picture, tracing every detail. the arch of her back, the curve of her thighs—shit, he could almost feel how warm her skin would be under his hands. his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, mind hazy from the weed and the way she was fucking with him without even being there. a lazy sigh fell from his lips as his free hand slowly trailed up to the waistband of his sweats. he knew he shouldn’t, he knew he could just ignore it, roll over, and go to sleep. But the picture was burned into his brain—the way her back arched, the way her skin looked so smooth, the way summer walker’s voice filled the room like she was enticing him to give in——yeah, there was no way in hell he was sleeping this off. his eyes fluttered shut. fuck it. his hand slid down to his now very prominent bulge, and he pressed down lightly, just enough to make him let out a quiet breath. he was trying so hard to ignore it, to just chill out and let the blunt do its thing, but fuck—it wasn’t working. and then… “honestly, i’m tryna stay focused…” his jaw clenched. goddamn it. matt let his head fall back against the bed frame, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to will the heat away. but summer’s voice was soft, all breathy and shit, and it was making everything worse. he dragged his hand over his cock, still over his sweats, and bit his lip to keep quiet. it felt good. too good. his body was already giving in, and the song wasn’t making it any easier. “you must think i’ve got to be joking when i say…” fuck. his hand dipped under the waistband before he could think twice. his fingers brushed against the heat, and he hissed, his cock already hard as hell. “shit,” he mumbled, his breath catching in his throat as his fingers wrapped around himself. he started off slow, his strokes lazy, dragging his thumb over the tip to spread the precum that was already leaking out. his jaw clenched, a low groan slipping past his lips as he moved his hand up and down, the pace steady but not enough. but then… “i don’t need a reason, baby…” his stomach tightened. his grip got a little tighter, and his strokes picked up, matching the beat of the song like he was losing control of himself. “fuck,” he muttered again, his other hand gripping the sheets beside him, knuckles turning white. the way she was singing… it was like she was right there, whispering in his ear, teasing him. “i wanna give you it all, but can’t promise that i’ll stay…” his hand moved faster. he couldn’t stop, didn’t even want to. his hips lifted off the bed to meet his fist, his strokes growing sloppier as the heat built in his stomach. “all that you can have, boy…” his breathing got heavier, his chest rising and falling as his body begged for release. he was so fucking close. “fuck—fuck, oh my god…” and then it hit him. his body tensed up, his strokes faltering as he came hard, his release spilling over his hand and onto his stomach. his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slack as a shaky breath left his lips. “girls can’t never say they want it…” his chest was heaving, and for a second, all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. the song was still playing, summer’s voice echoing in the back of his mind, and matt just laid there, totally wrecked. “jesus fucking christ…” he whispered, running a hand down his face, a lazy, satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his lips. he glanced at his phone, the screen now dark but the lyrics still playing in his head. “next time… no music.” but yeah. he was lying.

taglist: @snoopychris. @mattsturnenthusiast. @isabellewhatt. @milo-the-dog. @faiyaz555. @sturns-mermaid. @chrissysturnzz. @bluestriips. @tsqnflog. @oreocheescake-12. @courta13. @chrattho1. @miguelspvssy. @muwapsturniolo. @alexturnersgooch. @surfer-sturn. @angeliolo. @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni. @mattscherries. @freshloveee. @sturniqlo. @abysful. @hesvoid34. @welovestromboli. @h3arts4harry. @leoslaboratory. @whore4mattsturniolo. @oopsiedaisydeer. @ribbonlovergirl

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itsraceweekbitches · 3 hours ago

Text

JUST HOW FAKE ARE WE?

summary: Your so-far-successful fake relationship with Max takes a different turn in Monaco. But how far will things go eventually? ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 3.2k ✤ tags: fem!reader, marriage talks, fake relationship, teenage crush, excited-puppy-in-love!Max

[march 2025 – australian grand prix]

The media is having a field day with your suddenly revealed relationship with Max, who seems to enjoy this show a little too much. I’m bored, it’s fun, and it’s absolutely no big deal, he said.

And he clearly means it, because he doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re walking down the paddock together for the first time on Saturday, and he always makes sure he has a hand on your body, or places a kiss on your cheek whenever there are cameras around.

The inevitable happens shortly before qualifying, when the first article about the two of you is published on a well-known gossip site. And then comes another. And another. Followed by social media posts and video edits by fans. The fans are obsessed with this turn of events.

Some immediately catch on, stating that there is no way this relationship is real, that it’s nothing more but a decoy. They’re right, of course, but lucky for you, there are many more fans who believe the lie. Some even uncovered a few photos from the boys’ karting days, ones where you and Max can be seen together talking, laughing, and even hugging.

Charles has been apologizing non-stop, telling you he feels guilty since the press got the conversation from his account, and he even believes he shouldn’t have joked about it at all.

Now Max is attending an emergency meeting to discuss how to handle the situation, while you’re hiding in his driver room, talking to Charles who has already returned from his own emergency meeting.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Charles tells you during your video call, although you can see the doubt in his green eyes.

With a groan, you lean back on the bed, but you can’t calm down, you can’t think clearly, not when your brain is in overdrive by the fact the whole room—and especially the pillow—smells like Max. You’re not used to being surrounded by this scent, and it feels like you’re invading his personal space.

And the decorations keep reminding you that you’re not at Ferrari anymore, that this is uncharted territory, something you know nothing about yet. Sure, you will have to get familiar with things here, but you are still feeling out of place.

“I know it’s not the end of the world,” you finally speak up, “but now we dragged Max into this, and—”

“Hey, no, no, no, he volunteered. We didn’t hold him at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, then give him a look that immediately silences him, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he forces himself not to go on. You’ve known Charles literally your whole life, you know each other like you weren’t just best friends, but siblings who are stuck together.

“I’m just worried he’ll get into trouble because of me. You should have seen the faces when I showed up in Red Bull territory this morning,” you note with a grimace.

The most shocking moment was running into Christian, who watched you with narrowed eyes, as if he was thinking about what ulterior motive you had. If he only knew the truth…

On the other side of the line, Charles lets out a heartfelt laugh. “You as a corporate spy… Nah, you would suck at that,” he points out, then takes a deep breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Here you go again, he’s apologizing once more, and probably not for the last time. You wish you could go over to him and give him a big hug, then play video games until you both fall asleep. Like in the good old days.

After shaking your head, you sit up and lean your back against the wall behind you. “Charles, it’s not your fault. And I could never be mad at you, you know that.”

You want to go on, just to make sure he understands that there’s no reason to blame himself, but you’re interrupted all of a sudden.

“Honey, I’m home,” you hear Max’s familiar, cheerful voice from the door when he enters the room. “Oh, I didn’t know you were talking to someone,” he says when he comes to a halt in the middle of the room.

You flash a smile at him and shake your head. “It’s just Charles.”

“Just Charles?” the Monegasque asks with a roll of his eyes.

Before you know it, Max kneels on the edge of the bed, and leans down to press kisses all over your face, a move that brings a stupid giggle out of you. “She’ll call you back, now she’s all mine,” Max announces when he looks at the camera for a second.

It’s hard to miss the expression on your best friend’s face, the way his nose scrunches and he acts like he was about to throw up. “Disgusting,” he notes.

Next to you, Max doesn’t seem bothered by that, if anything, it just makes him more smug than he usually is in your company. “Screw you. I can shower my girlfriend with kisses anytime I want.”

“Since when?”

You let out a tired sigh as you push the man on your side away before he can give you another kiss on the cheek. “He’s been like that all day, he thinks he’s funny,” you tell Charles with a shake of your head.

“I’m hilarious,” Max corrects you as he lies down on the small space on your side. “And since we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s only natural to act like this, no?”

“Only in public.”

“If you touch her in an inappropriate way, I’ll push you off the track tomorrow,” Charles warns him.

Instead of being scared, Max only lets out a carefree laugh. “You’ll have to get close to me first.”

When you turn back to the phone, you can see that little shit kind of grin on your friend’s face. “Your car sucks this year,” he notes happily. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

You wave him goodbye, then end the call with a sigh.

“So does yours,” Max mutters under his breath, even though Charles isn’t there anymore.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly to calm yourself. Soon this will pass, soon you’ll be free again. Until then, you’re stuck here with the Dutchman, who happens to act like the perfect boyfriend.

When you look over at Max, you notice that he’s staring right back, as if he’s been watching you all this time. But what if he has truly been watching you? There’s something in those blue eyes you can’t quite place yet. It’s something you’ve never seen before, an emotion that’s completely unfamiliar, and maybe even a little unsettling.

Before you could say anything, though, he grins at you then rolls off the bed, heading to the mini fridge in the corner to get a Red Bull out for himself. He asks you if you'd like one, but your heart is already racing, an energy drink is the last thing you need.

Just two or three more races. The storm will end, and you can all go back to your everyday lives.

[may 2025 – monaco grand prix]

Over two months later you’re still pretending.

And now it’s time for the most important race of the season: the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles’s home race. The one you want to watch from the Ferrari garage along with his family you’re so close to.

But first, it’s time for dinner with Charles, his mom, and Alex, to which Pascale invited Max too. If Charles brings his girlfriend, you should bring your boyfriend too, she said. And who are you to say no to your second mother?

Later in the afternoon you’re trying on dresses in your family’s penthouse, happy that they are away with their friends until Saturday since Max decided to jump in and pick you up. He arrived early–like, two hours early—so now he’s the one rating your outfits.

“The color is nice, it suits you, but the shape is terrible,” he comments as he holds up the makeshift rating card, a smaller whiteboard he writes his points on.

Six points. Okay, this goes back to the walk-in closet, but you only leave after sticking out your tongue at him, because you love this dress so much that hearing it doesn’t look good on you physically hurts.

Three more outfits later he lets out a groan and jumps up after tossing the whiteboard to the other end of the couch. “I have an idea,” he begins as he follows you to the bedroom for whatever reason.

“I’m not gonna wear jeans with a Red Bull Racing shirt, forget it,” you point out without looking back at him.

“What? No, I’d rather you wear that when you’re with Ferrari this weekend.”

You spin on your heels to look at him, and sure enough, there’s that cheeky, boyish grin you were expecting. But how does he know about your plan to spend the weekend on Charles’s side of the paddock? You never mentioned that.

To your surprise, he knows perfectly well what’s going on inside your head. “What? You thought I wouldn’t know that this weekend is special? I discussed this with Charles a while ago, everything’s ready for you,” he tells you casually.

“Thank you. So, what do you have in mind, then?” you wonder as you walk closer to him.

Max lets out a thoughtful hum as his eyes sweep over your body, as if he was making this up on the spot. “Well, I would suggest jeans and a Simply lovely shirt, but no, I have a better idea. I have a surprise for you in my backpack, give me a sec.”

You watch him rush out of the room with a frown on your face, wondering what the hell is happening here. Max being nice and thoughtful is nothing new, but today it just feels different, like something has shifted in your fake relationship.

To be honest, you may have been thinking about him more than you probably should, even when he’s not around. You find yourself opening the messaging app you usually use, typing some words before changing your mind and deleting them. Or other times your finger hovers over the screen as you wonder if you should call him or not.

You’re kind of afraid of whatever that means. Is this more than just pretending?

At this point, you can’t help but wonder if it’s time to put an end to this. By now the press moved on, focusing on other drivers’ relationships instead of yours. It’s yesterday’s news, and everybody knows Charles and Alex are back together, and that they’re happier than ever. So what’s the point of this? Nothing.

Yet…

“Before you ask, I cheated and asked Charles to somehow get me what size you wear. Apparently Alex straight-up asked you, so,” he begins with a sheepish smile as he holds up a dress.

It’s a beautiful dark blue cocktail dress, which somehow didn’t have any wrinkles on it despite spending God knows how much time in that backpack. You don’t even know what to say, mostly because this gesture only proves what you’ve been suspecting about this certain shift you’ve noticed.

“You don’t like it.”

Your eyes move from the dress to your fake boyfriend, and you don’t hesitate to shake your head. “No, it’s beautiful. I just… Never mind. Thank you.”

Max lets out a sigh as he places the dress on the back of a chair. “Listen, I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

What are you supposed to say to this? That your brain is wandering to places you don’t want to explore?

“I’ll try on the dress, so could you wait outside?”

Nodding, Max gives you one last look, then leaves the room without a word. That’s the last time you speak until you meet the others, and even then, you keep an unusual distance. For him, it’s about being cautious. For you, it’s about making sure you make a fool out of yourself.

Charles, of course, notices the change in the atmosphere right away, and he even pulls you aside to start questioning you. But, even though he has known you since you were born, meaning he could probably give you some advice, you decide to lie and act like it’s nothing.

But it’s not nothing.

Your eyes keep finding Max throughout the evening, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. Does he have the same thoughts? Or is he desperately waiting to be free of you? It’s hard to tell.

Just as you planned, you spend the weekend with Charles, arriving at the paddock with his family, staying in Ferrari territory just to be safe. Safe from Max. Safe from your thoughts. Safe from the media.

But there’s an itch in the back of your brain, one you can’t scratch. And the itch even has a voice, repeating his name over, and over, and over again. It’s getting louder with each passing second, with each moment you see him on the screens on the wall, when your phone buzzes to notify you of a new message from him.

Alex gives you worried looks every now and then, but it takes her a while to open up and tell you what it’s about. And when she finally tells you what’s going on, you feel like the whole world has turned against you. First, everyone was freaking out because they thought you and Charles were getting married. Then it was you and Max. Now? Now the fans are mad because you chose your best friend over your boyfriend.

You close your eyes for a moment, but then you take a deep breath and leave the garage, trying to move in a way that doesn’t scream how terrible and pathetic you feel right now. Some fans are screaming bloody murder because Max is starting the race from P10 after a mechanical issue in Q3, which only happened because his lucky charm–you–wasn’t there with him on Saturday.

To be honest, you haven’t talked since the dinner. You’ve been avoiding him, ignoring him, and you hate yourself for not answering him.

“Wait,” you hear a familiar voice calling after you.

Fuck.

Max ran all the way here, ready to jump into the car based on the suit he already wears, but despite this, here he is, looking for you. There are people already turning in your direction, you can’t just leave him there, so you come to a halt and force a smile on your face.

“Hey, I–”

Before you could say anything, he gently but firmly puts a hand around your neck to pull you into a kiss. It’s rushed, passionate, and messy, yet it feels perfect. This is the first time the two of you kissed, until now you carefully avoided that situation, but God, what did you miss?

It’s only when he lets go for a moment that you notice the cameras around you, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact, it just draws a smug smirk on his face. “Well, if you want to jump ship, Red Bull’s always waiting for you. I love you,” he adds quietly.

This short-circuits your brain. This didn’t sound fake, you have a feeling he meant it. But if he meant it, then… Okay, you need to stop, you can’t overthink, you can’t let him put ideas in your head.

You want to say something, anything, really, but nothing comes to your mind.

He flashes a big smile at you before pressing a rushed kiss on your cheek. “Come over tonight. The cats miss you.” And with that, he waves goodbye and leaves.

What the hell just happened?

Luckily, you have enough brain capacity left to send him a quick good luck message.

“I was hoping you would jump in, but don’t worry, I’m glad you’re here now” Max says when he opens the door of his apartment.

Yeah, right. The invitation. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go there, not now. Not when you had these confusing feelings and thoughts. Did he mean it when he said those words? Did he catch feelings just like you did?

Because you did. You caught feelings in the past two months, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny. Just how long can you play pretend knowing damn well you want more from him?

Letting out a sigh, you go straight to his living room without saying a word–something that confuses him based on the questioning hum he lets out as you walk past him. Once he catches up, you gulp and prepare to speak up, breaking the awkward silence. This has never been the problem, not once. You could always chat and laugh, but now it feels different.

“Maybe it’s time to end this fake relationship,” you announce, even though the thought breaks your heart.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats stubbornly as he sits on the couch and picks up his youngest furry kid. “Aren’t we having fun? Why can’t this become something real? Come on, you enjoyed that kiss this afternoon, didn’t you?”

Oh, that confident smile of his is driving you crazy. You just want to slap him.

You want to slap that handsome face.

DAMN IT! FOCUS!

“Max, people have moved on, there’s no reason to keep going,” you try, although your voice lacks conviction.

And he knows. He always knows if there’s something you’re not telling him. This time he starts with a doubtful look, which is followed by a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. The thing is, Max always gets what he wants, and this time you have a feeling you’re what he wants.

Before you know it, he puts the cat to the side–who gives him a mean look in return–and reaches out to take your hands to pull you into his lap. Your brain melts when you feel his hands on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. Why does it feel so good? You don’t want to like it as much as you do.

Taking a deep breath, you try to pry his hands off yourself to break the spell, but his grip only tightens as he launches himself forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Another mind blowing kiss that knocks every coherent thought out of your brain.

The fact you like it is pathetic.

But still oh so good.

Maybe giving him a chance is what you should do now. Maybe he’s right, maybe you would be good together. So, without thinking more, you let yourself get lost in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. But he suddenly leans back to build a little distance.

“I have an idea,” he begins with a smile, his lips red and swollen. “I have napkins in the kitchen, let’s write a contract. Seems to work for you.”

“God, you’re so silly,” you tell him with a grin, then kiss him again.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #charles leclerc

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esamastation · 16 hours ago

Text

I've been writing some first sentences / prompts as idle writing exercise and here's the first 100. You're welcome to use any of them, if you get inspired.

Across the deep blue sky streaked a comet, with a purple tail trailing after it like skirts of a dress and several small companions chasing her.

Across the cell the older man farted loudly in his sleep - which was good, since for hours now John had been wondering if he'd gone and died.

Before the grand three story mansion the half a million dollar Porsche burned merrily.

Backstage, half deafened by the deep bass and the beat, Jane threw up all the whiskey she'd been drinking that night.

"Call me when you get there," was the last words John heard from his mother, before his hometown was engulfed by a blazing inferno.

Cloud seeding was probably a good idea, once, back when rain was still mostly water and frogs were only a ground level issue.

Dark academia was, in John's honest opinion, an oxymoron - but that didn't mean he didn't look damn good in a waist coat and ascot.

During the end of the world there were a lot of people who wasted their time looting and running - but in the end, it was the people covering under their beds who survived the longest.

Elephants are unappreciated as hallucinations, in Jane's most expert opinion - with elephants there was rarely any doubt about whether she was hallucinating or not.

Effervescent, John thought as he bled over his crumpled up crossword puzzle, a gaping hole in his chest, and sighed, who even uses a word like effervescent.

For all the times Jane had driven him mad with her stunts, John loved her crazy ass - he just wished she'd drawn a line before murder.

Fall descended upon the countryside like a knife - with a swift brisk breeze that brought with it a cutting frost and killed all their crops in a single night.

Grave is such an unpleasant place to wake up in.

Gulls raced the ship to the shore, despite being easily able to outpace her - whether they were like vultures circling a dying beast or doves bringing the message of hope and safety, John welcomed their company nonetheless.

High on the church tower, a little runaway devil was miming the acts of sodomy and making rude gestures at the gathering crowd of shocked and horrified parishioners.

Hot, acrid air blew in through the vents before John shut down the car's air-conditioning - not quickly enough to block out the stench of sulfur.

Inclined to be polite, Jane let the sexy bombshell into her office, even taking a moment to appreciate the figure she made even though she wasn't that kind of detective.

In the last moments of her life before the zombie virus scrambled her brains, Jane thought about John and concluded, there's a man whose brains she'd like to eat.

Just as the bell rang for midnight, the vampire lord took out a notepad and said, "Let's start with your parents, shall we?"

Jackal puppies are kind of cute, thought the mummy, even as they attempted to unravel his binding and probably feast on his desiccated flesh.

Kitchen is a bad place to fight ninjas, John thought, completely tuning out whatever Jane was ranting about; too many knives.

Kicking the door open without looking, John read through the front page again and so completely failed to notice the fact that there were people in his house.

Leading with, "We have only twenty hours to live," might've set an awkward mood for the rest of the meeting - but it was damn effective.

Lowering the rope feet by feet, Jane cursed her armour; it was pretty and impressive, sure, it got her all the ladies, but it also creaked with every move and the dragon was waking up.

Man's defining flaw is definitely hubris, John decided, but started the jetpack anyway.

Most of the city had already evacuated by the time Jane made it out of the basement, with torn ropes still hanging in her wrist and fury burning like an artificial sun in her chest.

Media tried to give the invaders new names, each more fantastical than the last, but the public had already made its mind - they called the aliens Kaiju right from the start.

"Now that civilisation has fallen, it's the survival of the fittest," declared her former highschool bully, before Jane racked the shotgun.

Night fell upon the office like some kind of hex, wearing on their already frayed nerves; the Deadline approached.

On her deathbed, Jane would announce a game, a treasure hunt to her great fortune - fortune which didn't even exist anymore.

Owned by the worst kinds of people, attracting the worst kind of user base, using the worst tech and implementing the worst kinds of terms and conditions… is it any kind of surprise that virtual reality went on to destroy a whole generation of people?

Parking the spaceship on top of the tallest skyscraper was probably an overkill - but it certainly got the message across.

Power cut off three days after the end - on the exact fucking moment John hooked his electric car to a charger, of course.

Quills aren't great tools for stabbing, maybe - but they hold poison very well.

"Qilin are supposed to mark the king, aren't they?!" he demands while again narrowly avoiding being stabbed by the unicorn deer from hell.

"Questions will be after the presentation," said John firmly to his captive audience, chained to their seats.

Rather than die in ignominy like the rest of her family, Jane made something of herself, digitising her mind at age of thirty and becoming a ship's AI by fifty.

Rest of the tenants were asleep when John broke out through the third floor window - and thanks to a whole lot of sleeping pills, so we're the attendants.

"Verily I say unto thee," slurred the handsome, completely shit-faced elf, "Thou truly art a harlot of the highest degree."

Venting her frustrations by throwing her smart phone across the street was a terrible idea - not only would Jane need a new phone now, but it hit a random passerby smack in the middle of the forehead and now she's going to be sued… again.

Without any damn sense at all, John falls in love on the same day he'd planned to kill his dad.

While busting up some dance moves on the battlefield isn't the best way to win a battle, sometimes it wins out an audience with a king; in unrelated news, Jane thinks she might be about to become the court jester.

"X marks the spot isn't driving directions, John - oh, shit never mind, I see it," Jane says into the phone, and gapes at the house - a true modern masterpiece if she ever saw one.

"X," the alien argues, sounding like a buzzer from a TV show, and lifts a laser gun to emphasise the point.

Yawning as he refilled his coffee cup, John didn't quite register the earthquake until he was two swallows in - moment later, the house begun falling apart

Yesterday everything was fine and Jane's world was normal, ordinary, blessedly boring even; today, she met John again.

Zero effort was spent in writing the actual article; the headline "Aliens Conquer the Moon" by itself was enough to sell the papers.

Zealous isn't how Jane would describe John, exactly; completely batshit crazy is much closer to the mark.

One thing could be said about the whole portal incident; it definitely turned a new leaf in Jane's life.

Two of the bandits had already broken into the back of the wagon - judging by the sound of it, they'd also found the gold.

Three times Jane had thrown John's clothes out of the window and into the street, and he was damn well going to make sure there wouldn't be a fourth time.

Four of Jane's students quit on a monday and another two would follow in the following week; by the end, she'd figured the problem might be her syllabus.

Five new starts lit up the night sky, which by itself was already an astronomically significant event - the fact that they were in a circle made it less significant and more ominous.

Six bullets in John's gun, each with its own target and a plan and chance to change destiny - and he missed each and every fucking time.

Seven is supposed to be the lucky number, but somehow all the worst things in Jane's life happen on the seventh - including this.

Eight coins in his pouch is a pitiful showing for a season's hard labour, except for one thing: they're each and every one of them magic.

Nine years old, John thought grimly looking over the crime scene, the blood, the body, and the unrepentant culprit - nine years old and already with blood on her hands.

"Ten outta ten," Jane breathes, her body limp and her vision full of stars, and sighs happily, "Would fly again."

Already Jane's hands were shaking, and she'd barely begun; cutting up frozen bodies was never going to be her favourite part of the job.

Before the fire John used to love swimming, but now the scent of chlorine makes him want to cry.

Calling her boss at one in the afternoon to tell him she'd be late, Jane mused whether she should consider moving to an area with fewer reported spatial anomalies.

Deciding he'd had enough of zombie dogs in his lawn, John invested in automated machine guns - big mistake.

Enemy drone sightings had gotten fewer and fewer in the last two days, as the fires had died down and the base laid in ashes - the plan, it seems, worked.

Figuring out she'd done enough for one day, Jane set aside her saw and hammer and went looking for a dog to play with - it shouldn't be difficult, the estate has about two hundred of them.

Going with his gut feeling, John got a baseball bat and a trash can lid before investigating the noises coming from his basement - whether it was racoons or demons from the underworld, they wouldn't catch him unawares.

Hiding under her bed was a comfort thing Jane refused to feel ashamed for, not after it had saved her life twice.

Including the weird kid in the game seemed to be a great idea - up to the point where John started throwing up frogs and Jane started floating during musical chairs.

Joking had been Jane's defence mechanism since she'd been young, and it usually worked, but going "Ey, how you doing?" at a serial killer was probably not the smartest plan.

Keys rattling like a bunch of chains and his heart pounding in his chest, John peered into the darkened office and lifted his flashlight.

Lifting the well cover, Jane leaned back, fully expecting it to smell awful the way still water not disturbed in decades should - and the fact that it didn't was alarming.

Mowing the lawn on the eve of the asteroid impact might not be the most productive use of his last hours on earth, but John didn't care - even now it brought him peace.

New hires always get the worst jobs, Jane reminded herself while picking everyone's trash around the office - at least she was still being paid.

Oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner got pretty boring after two months, but thank god John had even that much prepared.

Pleased with her progress so far, Jane lifted her hand and wiped John's arm - she isn't sure why he wanted the tattoo of a bunch of random letters all over his arm, but it was coming along nicely.

Quelling his rebellious stomach the best he could, John reached for the baby wipes - changing diapers is a basic fucking task for a dad, and he's going to do it, he's not going to throw up and he's going to do it.

Rationally speaking, what she was seeing couldn't be what she was seeing - because portals to other worlds weren't real - but in her heart…

Singing as he worked, "Going down to the river," John lifted another log over his shoulder - ignoring with long practice the way his coworkers gaped at him.

Trying for several different things was how Jane had gotten where she is now - ballroom dance, coding, waitressing and working at a zoo might look like they had little to do with each other, but each was a useful skill for an assassin.

Under his house there's a basement and under the basement there's dirt, and under that, well, John isn't sure, but whatever it is makes a lot of very concerning noises.

"Vacancies 0," informed the sign of a clearly long abandoned roadside motel - of course they pulled over to check it out.,

Without John at the helm, the ship wouldn't budge, the AI simply refused to respond - which is unfortunate because someone had thrown John out of the airlock about half an hour ago.

Xylitol gum and old cigarettes - there was something very nostalgic about that scent, Jane thought, as she watched the old woman push her shopping cart over the crack in the pavement and right into the ditch.

"You know you're going to have to clean that up, right?" John asked as they watched the blood dye all primary colours of the carpet in hues of red.

"Zoom!" went the kid on her tricycle as she drove right over John's foot that morning, somehow breaking two toes in the process.

The store keeper glared at John and John glared right back - between them the dragon egg rocked gently side to side.

For as long as Jane had known him, she's never seen John read - which isn't really something you notice about a person, not until they have to do the thing… and they clearly can't.

Finding people was rarely the hardest part of starting a new adventuring party, since there were always some newcomers hanging around the tavern - bringing them all back alive though…

Deciding that he needed some professional help with his problem, John went to consult the wizard, who then pointed him to a witch… who pointed him to a sorcerer… who summoned a demon… who pointed at him and laughed.

Even before everything changed, Jane had had a bad feeling about things, like, the sky shouldn't be that colour and she didn't used to get that many static shocks and the TV didn't use to be that… purple.

John and Jane tossed a coin over who got the first go at the treasure - and of course the coin landed on its side.

Digging for gold used to be an honourable profession for loners and lunatics - now it's all about grave robbing and tomb raiding.

There was a noise coming from outside like the world was ending, but Jane was almost done with the damn report and not about to let herself be distracted.

The doctor looked at him sadly, the way they do when there's nothing to do and no time left, and said, "I'm sorry, there's no easy way to put this; sir, you're inflicted with stage two lycanthropy."

When she was a kid, Jane pretended she was capturing fairies and sticking them into her doll house as prisoners - when she turns twenty one, this comes back to bite her in the ass.

Finding out that he got an inheritance from some relative he didn't even know about was one thing, but finding out that he'd inherited what was clearly a haunted mansion?

Before John met Jane, his world was dull and colourless, boring from start of the week to the end - now he can just taste technicolour his world has become… which is probably not a good thing.

There's a monster in Jane's closet, tied up with Christmas lights, hanging from a coat hanger, re-thinking all the choices in his life..

Seven days after his wife left him, John reconnected with his mother and took up the family grimoire again.

For the second time in twenty four hours Jane was sitting down to talk with a dead person - which was, even in her line of work, a bit unusual.

The fact that John went from being a secret agent to a nanny might've amused his brothers - but none of them knew the absolute abominations he was taking care of, and yes, Jane, the sidearm is necessary for his work, thank you very much!

Modify them as you see fit, etc etc. If any strike as especially good/horrendous, please let me know!

#writing prompts #original writing #writing exercises #question mark #idk how to tag this

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palmolli · 16 hours ago

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Kinda wish that dlc where you play as sksw Zelda actually got made. Imagine it had the memory recovery system of Breath of the Wild. That would be so freaking sick, but Nintendo doesn't have the balls. The implications of what happened during the war between Hylia and Demise is honestly horrific. In the opening cutscene with the cave paintings, it showed a LOT of people just being straight up BURNED. Hylia definitely saw a lot of that. So... in theory, Zelda was ALSO subjected to that, AGAIN. SKSW ZELDA HAS WAR PTSD. IM TELLING Y'ALL. And to relive all of that at the ripe ol age of seventeenish... is not good for the psyche. Nobody talks about her trauma enough, and it makes me big sad. ALSO. If I'm remembering correctly, Zelda's way of speaking sorta changed? Like... uhhmmmdjdj...

You can't convince me something didn't fundamentally change in her brain. Is this a stretch??? WHY IS SHE TALKING LIKE THATT??? gosh, the agnst potential here is CRAZY. Like. Be Link. Save the world or whatever, and now your girlfriend is suddenly spitting out philosophy and talking like a poet out of nowhere. That'd be kinda disorienting. Even more disorienting is having the memories of a past life along with your own. Like, uh... what if she asked Link about something she thinks happened, and he's just like... "Huh?" And she'd just be like, "Oh, that happened when I was Hylia, nvm."

ALSO IMPA!??!?!? like she DEFINITELY had a close relationship with her as Hylia maybe, I headcanon she saw Impa as a daughter, and then the roles got swapped when she became Zelda. Or... oh God PLEASE DONT MAKE THIS A PEARL AND ROSE QUARTS SITUATION PLEAAAHAHEEESEEEE 🙏🙏

Anyways. During that journey, she definitely grew attached to Impa, especially because she already knew her in a past life, which is kind of a special connection my dudes. And then BOOM she disappears. Bye bye warrior woman you will be missed dearly.

Cough. Okay to sum this up:

Live life normally as just a girl in school. Yippie, everything is awesome. Everything is cool when you're part of a team. Oh, sick, your crush won the race thing despite not studying a day in his life, and you've built up the courage to FINALLY ask him out-

Uh oh! TORNADO! and now you're in an entirely different land basically surrounded by monsters, defenseless, apparently despite the fact you've been attending a knight school for twelve or so years, you freaking nepo baby (affectionate). Grandma lady saves you. Then uh cool mysterious lady starts guiding you, and apparently you've known her in a past life-

War flashbacks. Some ash baby lookin ahh dude slaughtered a bunch of people bc he wanted some golden doritos, also, you used to be a goddess, the same one you worshipped and prayed to all the time. What the flip. What's Link gonna think about this? WHAT? YOUVE BEEN BASICALLY USING HIM? WHAT? PARDON? NO?! WHAT THE FLIPPITY JIPPITY. You tell him after he does some stuff belehsiebr then get sealed away and have to see him claw at you at bawl his eyes out. Not traumatizing at all. Then when you finally get reunited, a RuPaul's Drag Race reject pops in and kidnaps you and steals your soul to revive Temper Tatrum Ash Baby. Link beats both of them up. Also that dude who bullied him and had a crush on you is cool now. How sick! But OH SHART. IMPA ISNT COMING WITH YOU BACK TO THE PRESENT? oh haha she was just the old lady this whole time she's right there-

And she exploded.

Just great!

Not traumatizing at all.

idk, I just feel like she's such an interesting character who gets kinda mischaracterized all the time without taking into account that she suffered too. STOP VILLAINIZING MY BABY, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE SHE'S NOT EVIL.

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forthelostones · 23 hours ago

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𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #9

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. listen,,, i am actively doing a masters i apologize!!! i've recently stopped using grammarly for a more real writing experience. so if things are wonky, just know thats why! no more ai help. this isnt my BEST but.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. cry to me by loleatta holloway♫

I was completely dazed, hoping that I won’t crash into a brick wall anytime soon. The images from last night were on a constant reply behind my eyes. I’m sure she has no idea or at least I hope that she doesn’t but when I got up to go to the bathroom, I saw her. She was standing in my shower letting brushing her hands against her body, tracing the lines of her hips with what I presume was my soap. The door was slightly ajar although the steam hid her, which I was thankful for, a perverse part of my brain wish it wasn’t. But her outline was more than enough. The feeling wasn’t anger towards her but frustration all again within me being a creep and internal moral conflict.

As I tossed in bed, I listened to her feed pad around the hardwood and finally settle in the living room. After rolling back and forth multiple times I found a comfortable position and let my mind drift away void of any lingering thoughts. Images of her continuously flashed in my mind, it was inappropriate, unprofessional, a conflict of interest. My shoulders dropped instantly as we pulled into her driveway, she left me alone and I pressed my head against the seat.

Once I ended my call with Henrietta and confirmed today’s appointment, she reappeared dressed in black jeans, baby blue cotton button up rolled to the elbow, hair out of her face and ears decorated with gold jewelry and minimal makeup. A soft tote bag thrown over her shoulder slipped off ever so slightly as she opened the door — I itched to get out and do it for her, it didn’t feel right to see her open it on her own. Up close she looked honey-drenched from a soft golden shimmer highlighted on the peaks of her face. I swallowed roughly.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, hoping the breaking the silence will help me feel normal.

“Not at all,” She says plainly.

“Were you nervous your first time Ms. Anderson?” She stares out the window.

I chuckle. “Depends.”

“My mindset is there is nothing I can’t do. I can have it all, you know.”

“I remember my first project after Grandad died, I took over his small crew of chauvinistic dicks. They all acted like I gave him the cancer, that was the hardest part, getting the job done even though I was surrounded by people who couldn’t care less if I died too. A lot of time I was at sites overnight, fixing mistakes they made on purpose, juggling multiple contracts, grieving,” I grip the wheel tighter remembering the level of mental turmoil I was put through. Funeral arrangements, emotionally manipulative girlfriend, underpaid… “I don’t think I had time to be nervous, I had to be strong immediately. Let them call me horrible names and make those jokes to prove a point,”

A small Henrietta came into view waving a small, saggy arm quickly. She was so cute.

“That’s Mrs. Harris, she’s quite the character.” I add.

Without time to complete our conversation we both step out with haste.

“Welcome ladies, now I don’t remember this fine young lady before.”

“Hi Ms. Harris, I’m Ms. Anderson’s new assistant, nice meeting you.” She smiles brightly and genuinely.

“Perfect, you can meet my daughter Nora then, she’s making iced tea.”

My face contorts with confusion as we take our shoes off at the door to walk into the kitchen. Lemon lady, Nora, looks up and our faces share similar confusion. I scratch at a sliver of my exposed arm.

“Abigail,” She manages to grunt.

“Oh—What? You two know each other?” Her mother questions.

“‘Ma were actually neighbors,”

Mrs. Harris gasps theatrically and slams her hand over her chest and praises silently to herself.

“We are.” I confirm.

Nora’s tanned skin was deep and rusty, causing her light brown eyes to pop even more. I saw her beauty in its fullness as she pranced from around the island in a hot pink wrap dress.

“So, what the hell!” Henrietta laughs, wrapping a causal arm around my new assistant.

“In passing we speak but not fully, I definitely don’t know you, hi.”

I had never payed attention to how raspy her voice was - sultry. Her long lashes fluttered as two parts of my new world began to collide instantly and explode right in my face. Nora’s full 'fro was painted with a stroke of grey around the edges of her hairline feathering outwards. Her femininity was palpable, she floated on her lavender painted toes around the kitchen, finally making it to me. I had to look downwards slightly to meet her gaze.

“Hi,” She twinkles softly.

“Well, hello there. I started to find it suspicious that I didn’t receive a crate of lemons recently.”

She laughs behind a soft manicured hand that then brushes slightly against my bicep. “I’m starting limes now.”

For some reason I blushed.

We sat in the tastily aquatic themed living room where I sat with all three ladies to have further discussion, even now I didn’t want to, I wanted to hear Nora’s voice again. A small tingle danced on my body from all the pleasantries Nora and I had ran into from simply speaking. No awkward waves or glances and I felt … a bit nervous. Her femininity was fragrant and I pictured those short nails piercing into my skin as I flatten her curls into a pillowcase.

Iced tea sat center on to coffee table that I sipped while avoiding any glances in Nora’s direction, undressing her with my eyes in front of her mother would be absolutely inappropriate — which made it harder. As I slipped on my specs to read some notes I made after meeting with Henrietta I felt two flaming gazes traveling in my direction. One of them mutual and one of them not, a fantasy living in my dreamscape.

“‘Ma I won’t be moving back in anytime soon, but if you worked on the guest bedroom, maybe I could stay over more often?” Nora groaned.

Henrietta melted into her seat sadly at the final conclusion.

“Fine. Abby, would that be something you have time to do?” She asked.

“Let me check our calendar and call you.”

“Or call Nora!”

I giggled a bit and looked to my newest edition force a soft grin at the non-business related topic at hand. The sheer enthusiasm from her mother told me everything that I needed to know, Nora had been single for far too long, living a bit sedentary like me. Luckily for me, I didn’t have any parents anymore to nag me about it.

Nora slipped on tan criss-cross sandals to walk us outside to the door, where we headed for the truck, but not just before she gripped my bicep. I turn with hot curiosity to the woman who now stands slightly above me the peak of the morning glistening on her face.

“Sorry, she can be a bit dramatic.” She apologies.

“It’s perfectly fine, it’s good you still have her,” I add.

“Listen Abby, this blind date was unusual but I feel like we can take a drink and learn more about each other. Or I could cook you breakfast this weekend, whatever you want.” She smiled.

I nodded casually but was internally on the brink of combustion, her initiative surprised me and I was upset I couldn’t approach her first, but I was pleased.

“Absolutely, your mom took the liberty of texting me your contact so no worries I’ll be in touch.” I mimic her soft smile.

“Perfect. Hope to hear from you soon.”

“Whatever we decide to do I’d love to see you in some lavender.” I wriggle my fingers.

She nods her head and my knees could’ve buckled then and there but instead I step back and turn to face the truck.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

I jog slightly to the truck and unlock the door for my poor assistant who had to see the most unprofessional display of interaction with a client on her first day. I cut the AC on quickly and lean back in the driver’s seat to look over at her. But I couldn’t read her, was she upset or confused? I couldn’t tell.

“How about we get you home, I’m headed—“

“Could you take me to Ellie’s? She’s just off the second exit on the highway.” She request then buckles her seatbelt.

“Of course.”

—

Last night I promised myself to sort through the regular onboarding paperwork so I could pay my new addition for her time as soon as possible. I sat in an empty house under the hum of central air under me as I sort out the forms, some that I needed her to sign. Realistically, I could send the PDF to her email or invite her over so I can see her again. I look over to my empty wine glass and the sticky red residue settled at the bottom of the cup. My stomach tightened for the third time, but I can’t ignore it, I needed to get dinner in order.

8:53 p.m.: Need you to fill out some forms for me.

Instead of sitting and watching grey bubbles appear and disappear, I started on sorting my grocery order I placed when I came back. After my third glass of wine I decided to make a lemon garlic pasta after reading one recipe and certain that it was simple enough for me to do tonight.

I found a beer in hand and my phone in another with a caldron of a pot boiling over to the stove top. Chopped lemons lifted the scent in the house from rich to light and sweet as it grew dry on the counter. A bell-sound came from my phone and I jumped at the opportunity to read it but was highly unaware of my own mess.

“Fuck,” I holler, my screen now covered in lemon juice.

I drop my phone down on the counter amongst the ingredients and pick my angel hair pasta up, the package slips out of my hand and the threads of hard yellow sticks hit the floor. I watch them spread and roll to wherever they pleased.

My door bell hummed at the front of the house and I slightly jogged to catch it, I wasn’t expecting her to pop up now, especially in a moment like this, shit.

“Hey, I wasn’t—“

“Oh.” Nora smiled timidly.

“Nora, wow, hi.”

“Seems like you were expecting someone. I can dip out…” She offers.

“Um,” I wipe my fingers against the dish towel thrown over my shoulder. “Not at all come in.”

I slip to the side and welcome her in. Her choice of loungewear was black linen pants and an oversized Howard University sweatshirt. She left her UGG slippers near the front door and crossed her arms as she admired the room.

“Cooking or attempting to, um, in the kitchen if you wanna join me. Want a drink?”

The water in the pot dulled, most of it gone into the atmosphere or on the stove itself.

“Oh gosh, Abigail,” Nora rushed to gather the stray pasta. “I’ve never seen anyone struggle like this to cook noodles.”

If anyone else would’ve said that, I would have been highly offended but her non judgmental tone soothed me. She held them out like a bouquet before handing them to me to toss in the trash. Without thought she turned the heat off and refilled the pot carefully in the sink and carried it back.

“I have pasta in my pantry, it’s capellini if that’s okay?”

“Perfect.” I smile, clueless of what that is.

As soon as she closed the door I jolted off to the bathroom to freshen up. Stepping in front of the mirror was a live horror show. My braid was veering off to the side with flying hairs sticking up around my crown. Quickly, I untangled my hair, brushed it out and threw on more deodorant.

Nora was natural in the kitchen with her tea towel tucked in her waistband and using knives that have about as much action as me in the last five years. She brought over a much more adult bottle of a 2012-something and taught me how to identify the notes. I stood over her shoulder, watching her wrist make a swift motion out of a steel pan she brought from her home. The fragrant lemon sauce was coming together well with diced shallots and what I believe was fresh thyme, from her home garden.

She taught me how to properly swirl and plate the right portion and then store it for the days to come. We gathered at my dining table, slightly tipsy, but overjoyed at the fresh grated parmigiana’s compliment to the wine. Her lips were coated in the smooth sauce and her tongue grazed against them to clear off the residue. “I don’t remember my last home cooked meal.” I admit, chewing behind my hand.

“That’s a shame,” she sighed.

“Well, nope I just lied. My assistant’s parents invited me over for dinner, so I guess that counts. I think I was referring to more so inside of my own home.”

“Do most of your clients prepare food for you?” She chuckled uncomfortable.

“Uh, not meals but drinks, snacks, of course. They’re getting a bathroom demo and it’s a little bit exciting and I’ll be spending a bunch of time there — to be fair, I wasn’t the priority receiver of their kindness, they threw a party and invited me.”

"Great because mom can't cook." She smirked.

She twirled the last bits of the noodles around her fork and sat back to glance over to me, her hand slightly grazing her belly. My alcohol intake was far too high in the last couple of days and it was making me more and more malleable. I chewed on the corner of my lip as Nora’s eyes poured into mine seductively.

“I am overjoyed Nora, thank you.” I mumbled, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

“Me too, I’m glad I stopped by.”

I scooted my chair out to collect our dishes as her hand reached out to stop me.

“Abigail, why don’t you get that after you walk me to my door?”

All the blood rushed out of me as her dark voice beckoned me to obey.

“Well, yes ma’am.”

Nora shuffled in front of me and led me to her property, covered in healthy plants and garden decor. I guess I never really looked at the items in her yard but she had a landscaping talent.

“This is me.” She smiled before turning towards me and crossing her arms as she does.

“I’m happy to have shared a nice meal with you. Thanks for saving my dinner.”

Nora casually tucked a stray hair floating on the side of my temple and pulled it back behind my ear. “Abigail, I just followed the recipe.”

I leaned down to place a long, intentional kiss onto her right cheek, her hands came to my shoulders briefly and back to her sides as I stepped away.

“I’ll wait to see you fully in.” I gestured to her door.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

You were waiting outside for over thirty minutes, banging your fist against Ms. Anderson’s door. One of her truck’s was in the driveway and nothing seemed out of order outside, so you were confused as to why she wasn’t coming to the door.

All your calls went straight to voicemail meaning it was dead or she turned it off entirely. You do a combination of doorbell ringing and phone calling until the door flies open. Abby stood in an unusually silky black robe with a metal baseball bat. Her usually perfectly primped hair was matted and sticking to her skin. She sighed in audible relief that it was just me.

“I heard banging,” She winced and covered her eyes with her palm.

“I’ve been calling and banging for almost an hour.” You move past her.

Wine glasses and dirty plates came in to view and a sinking feeling dropped in your belly. She had her neighbor over, she got to have dinner with Abby, touch her, kiss her, and by the looks of it fuck her too.

#lesbian #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x you #abby smut #abby the last of us #tlou abby #wlw ns/fw #abby anderson #wlw and nblw only

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resident-idiot-simp · 1 day ago

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Another vampire idea

Logan knew there was something off about Wade. He couldn't pinpoint it exactly but it was something. He smelled like death and Logan would assume it was cancer but...it didn't quite smell like that either.

Logan had had answer when he went back with him to his universe. The idiot as soon as he walked into the appointment went to the fridge and pulled out blood bags. Logan just watched on in utter shock.

"Uh.." Logan trailed off. Wade just turned back to him and smiled. Logan's brain finally caught onto the fangs... holy shit

Althea was cursing him out as Wade continued on his task if warming up the blood.

"YOU OLD BASTARD WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!" Al yelled

Wade just rolled his eyes, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You're probably right but what the FUCK?!" Al continued.

Logan just watched the two go back and forth in shock. Wade eventually had to stop bitching as he went to drink the blood. Logan was just starting dumbly as the man he had spent days with seemed to relax.

Logan hadn't even noticed Wade had been tense before... Al seemed to realize he was occupied and turned to glare in his general direction.

"Who are you?"

Logan intruded himself and explained the situation all while he watched Wade in disbelief. How the fuck had he not noticed?!

After Wade finishes he lets out a sigh of relief, "Fuck I don't realize how much I needed that.... wish I could have more."

Al turns on him, "You know full and well you can have more."

Wade just rolls his eyes, "No Al I can't because then I won't have more for later and I'd need that. I can only get so much blood."

Logan feels like his world is tilting on its axis again.

"I didn't realize you were.." Logan trails off still completely lost

Wade raises a brow at him, "A vampire? How?? I may not remember everything but there's no way I didn't make it at least a few comments about it." Wade shot back.

Logan could think of a few things in retrospect but in his defense he had been detoxing. Wade seems to realize that too and just huffs in ammusmet, "Well congrats on figuring it out finally. I've been one for .....a long time."

Logan furrows his brow at that, "How long?" He asks dubiously.

Wade just smiles fangs on full display, "longer than you've been alive."

Logan feels like he was dropped into ice water. There was no way... It wasn't possible....

Wade picks up on his line of thinking and continues on, "Got turned at Valley Forge." (Idea via @orcadork4ever )

Logan trys uselessly to say something. He fails and Wade snorts, "Your old peanut but I'm older."

#deadclaws #deadclaw #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadpool x wolverine #deadpool #wade wilson #wade x logan #logan howlett #wolverine #poolverine #blind al #resi's shorts #vampire #vampirism

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rekino2114 · 1 day ago

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Fluff 6 with makoto haru and Kawakami (p5) and male reader too pls

Makoto, Haru and Kawakami giving you a lap pillow

Prompts list

Makoto niijima

"Hey y/n, are you paying attention?"

Your girlfriend's voice brought you back to reality, which greeted you with her beautiful red eyes staring at you in disappointment

"Did you fall asleep again?"

".........maybe"

Makoto sighed and fully turned her chair to look at you

"I thought you invited me to a study date to study not sleep"

"That was the plan"

"But?"

"But I just can't focus"

"Why?"

"I dunno, I guess it's the stress of exams coming up, I pulled way too many all nighters"

"....so you can't focus on studying....because you studied too much?"

"Pretty much and phantom thieves business definitely doesn't help either"

"So that's why you've been falling asleep in class"

"You noticed?"

"It's pretty hard not to when we sit next to each other"

"Thanks for not telling the teacher"

"You seriously think I'd tell on you?"

"No but still thanks"

"It's nothing"

".......so do we keep studying?"

"Even if we did I think you'd just fall back asleep"

"Oh sorry"

"It's not your fault, and I think I can fix that"

"Huh? How?"

"Well as the student council president it's my duty to ensure all students try to study at their best and you can't do that with a sleep schedule like that"

"....oh"

"And as your girlfriend I have to make sure you're healthy and taken care of so......."

Makoto blushed abut quickly regained her composure

"You can......s-sleep on me"

".....what?"

"...r-rest on my lap, I've heard it's a really comfortable and intimate thing that couples do......a-are you ok with that?"

You blushed too but smiled at her

"I'd love to if you're OK with it"

"I'm more than ok, I need you to have a good rest and I think this is a solution for that...s-so come here......p-please"

She turned even redder as she lightly patted her thighs

"You don't need to tell me twice"

You quickly got up and laid your head on her lap causing makoto to blush even more

"A-are you comfortable?"

"The most comfortable I've ever been"

"That's great i-i'm glad"

You smiled and closed your eyes as makoto looked at you with a slight smile

"By the way I had an idea, you're going to take a nap now right?"

"Yeah, if it's all right"

"Definitely, I just wanted to propose something. They say that the brain absorbs more information before it's about to fall asleep, so how about I read what you need to study so you can memorize it easier"

"That's genius makoto, you always have the best ideas"

"Thank you, I appreciate the compliment, now just relax and listen until you sleep alright?"

You nodded, and makoto grabbed the book and started reading to you while stroking your hair with her other hand, her soft voice and hands making you relax even more

"Thanks.....this feels really good"

"It's nothing, I just wish to help you sleep better........i-if you want I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to doing more study sessions like this if you don't mind"

"......You're the best girlfriend I could have asked for"

"...and you're the best boyfriend, now just continue listening ok?"

Haru okumura

You sighed, stretched and grabbed your weapon after defeating the last shadow, then turned to noir to see that she had just finished axing the last one too

"That was every shadow right?"

"Yep, I checked, we should probably regroup with joker and the others now"

You nodded as she smiled brightly and held your hand, you two made your way through some floors and found your leader talking with panther standing outside the Morgana car

"Oh you're finally back"

"Yeah sorry, there were more shadows than expected"

"It's fine, we weren't waiting for long"

You got in the car ready to leave mementos you and noir together in the back while joker and panther were on the front.

As soon as you entered you stretched again and yawned, attracting haru's attention

"Is everything alright darling?"

"Hm? Yeah,yeah don't worry, I'm just a bit tired you know how mementos gets on days like this"

"I see, but are you sure you're alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look really tired, n-not in a bad way of course, you still look as handsome as always, it's just......."

The beauty thief narrowed her eyes, and sweat dropped at the fact that she could still see your eyebags even with your mask covering the part around your eyes

"You look really not alright"

"O-oh it's just.........j-just don't worry about me"

"Dear, I'm your girlfriend it's my job to worry about you"

"......i-i'm just really really tired"

"Oh, there's an easy solution for that. Once we go outside, I'll make you some chamomile and we can cuddle"

"That does sound amazing"

"Hm, but I can’t have you falling asleep on your way there, how about you have a quick power nap in here? I'm sure there's enough time to rest until we get back in the real world"

"Sure but Morgana doesn't seem too comfortable"

Haru giggled at you and you already felt a bit better hearing her adorable laugh

"Oh no silly, I meant over here"

She pointed at her lap

"R-really?"

"What's the issue, it's not like this is the first time we've done this"

"Y-yeah but in public....."

You mentioned while pointing to your friends in the front seats

"I'm sure they won't mind, and they definitely wouldn't even think about doing any noises to wake you up right?"

Joker and panther just did a thumbs up

"Alright then, it's decided, I'm sure you remember how comfy and fluffy this pillow is. Just come over here my love"

You still blushed but sighed and laid on her lap

"That's great baby, just relax now, alright? I'll play with your hair and sing something,that should help you"

You nodded and closed your eyes as haru started playing with your hair and singing a lullaby. Her actions and just entire presence were so relaxing that you fell asleep almost immediately

"You're so adorable like this"

Haru kissed your forehead and whispered sweet dreams in your ears before turning to look at her friends

"Joker may I request that you send someone else other than me and y/n to mementos for a while, I would like to take care of him more"

The phantom thieves leader just nodded causing noir to smile

"Oh my God! You are so adorable together I need to take a picture"

"I-i suppose it's alright"

Haru posed for Ann's picture before returning to stroking your hair and singing

Sadayo kawakami

The moment you heard it you immediately recognized the sound of the keys jangling and the lock opening, a sound that could only mean one thing: your wife had returned home.

You immediately turned around from your computer and went up to the door where you saw kawakami standing

"Hello honey"

"Hi sadayo, welcome home"

"Thanks"

You helped her take her jacket off and hang it up

"How was work?"

"You know always the same, annoying kids who don't listen"

"Hehe, I can definitely relate"

"Speaking of, how was yours?"

"Pretty much the same, I'm just glad they let me leave early, I'm sorry that we couldn't do lunch break together by the way"

"It's alright, we can just eat dinner together now"

"Yeah......about that"

You sheepishly avoided kawakami's gaze but she quickly noticed and inquired

"What's wrong y/n?"

"Sorry I didn't prepare dinner, I was just grading some tests and lost track of time"

"Oh is that it? That's fine we'll just order something"

"Yeah, I'm still sorry though, I'll wash the dishes to make up for it"

"Hey you don't think I married you just because you can make housework right? We both know I can do that too"

"I know but you're always so tired when you get back from work and-"

"Y/n we work the same job I know how hard it is you deserve to be taken care of to and you have me for that"

You smiled at her and she did the same while holding your hands and leading you to the couch

"It's obvious you've been overworking yourself so you need to sleep more"

"It's easy when you put it like that"

"I know but I think I know how to at least make it more comfortable"

"Huh?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this but just lay your head on my thighs"

".......h-huh?"

"Just do it before I change my mind"

"O-ok"

You did as she told you and found yourself laying on her incredibly thick and comfy thighs

"Wow this......this is great"

"Is it?"

"Yeah like the best pillows I've ever laid on"

"I'm glad my experience was at least useful"

"Experience?"

"Some clients asked for stuff like this, they just wanted someone to comfort and listen to them, they were actually some of the nicest ones"

"I can definitely see why they'd like this..... I get this for free though right?"

"Obviously, you're the reason why I don't have to work that job anyway"

".......and I can have this in the future too?"

"Yeah whenever you feel stressed"

".....thanks"

"You're welcome, if I can give great lap pillows then why shouldn't I give them my husband"

"...I love you so much"

"I love you too just fall asleep now, I'll wake you up when the food gets here"

You nodded, closed your eyes and fell asleep on your wife's lap who sighed again before smiling and starting to give you an amazing scalp massage

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slxy1ng · 16 hours ago

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i think i get why people [formerly me too] overcomplicate the actual meaning of LETTING GO and GIVING UP your desire.

let's take it from the perspective of someone who doesn't know the law; when the person desires something, they keep repeating the thought of wanting it and hence remain dissatisfied or depressed when they don't have it in the 3d.

now looking at this from the perspective of someone who knows the law and affirms wanting something and right after desiring the particular thing, they fulfill their wish of having it in the 4d. this is called being in the state of WISH FULFILLED; where one is aware of having had their wish already fulfilled after desiring it in the present moment-

I want a laptop = I affirm and persist that I already have it = I don't go back to my usual self who doesn't have the laptop because the moment I desired it, I already had it = hence, my want is already satisfied and I don't go back to the old mindset of not having it.

the concept of 'giving up' that all bloggers talk about is not 'giving up on wanting something and letting go of the fact that you actually want it' or something like that. after desiring your wish or whatever that you want, all you do is fulfill it in your 4d and LIVE IN THE END, this is what they mean.

living in the end-

I've already got the laptop the moment I desired it and then I let go of the thought of 'wanting' it anymore because I already have it! why would I still want something after knowing that I already have it? why would you still insist on eating when you've already reached the 'point of satiety' from where you can no longer consume??

i know this whole post might seem repetitive but THAT IS ALL you have to drill in your brain!

you decide you want something = you fulfill the desire in your 4d and go on with your life = your state of fulfillment must be so strong that you forget your desire because guess what? it's not a desire anymore, you ALREADY HAVE IT! THE CREATION IS DONE!!

what you ALREADY have isn't a desire anymore, it's a fact. I HAVE that laptop because I desired it and now it's no longer a desire.

but what about the 3d- honey. you scroll posts all day on tumblr, rack youtube videos, search posts on pinterest for motivation but do you implement what you're watching/reading/studying? do you GET the main idea of it really?

all of them and when I say THE LITERAL concept of the LOA revolves around one main fact = the 3d is the reflection of your 4d.

so if you imagine that luxury car to be yours and FEEL IT, KNOW IT, LIVE WITH IT, that it is yours, then no one can stop you from having it. i'm not telling you to convince yourself to believe that it is yours if you imagine it, I'm telling you to KNOW that it is yours when you imagine it and if you keep on looking for proof then you're lacking, no you're not a dumbfuck who keeps contradicting the law without trying, you're a human with a human brain doing it's human thing but also, it has the power to change how you perceive the world/reality around you, so why can't you do that, ofc you can, you've been doing it and you'll keep doing it, unconsciously or consciously.

i read something like this while scrolling:

searching for changes in the 3d is like being pregnant and wondering where the baby is.

also these beautiful words by Neville himself:

“If I could yield myself to my dream and it would not become flesh, it would be complete tyranny over this wonderful concept of life. But you cannot fail if you yield. If you hold back within yourself, wondering “What will I play as my last card if this doesn’t work?” then you have not yielded, you have not nailed yourself to it. It is a complete yielding. It is the great cry “My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me?” If you know that you’re God doing it, you can yield. But there must be complete abandonment as though it were true and then you make it a reality. The cost is that form of mental abandonment that Blake calls “madness.” But man is afraid; he dare not so abandon himself to a dream, and so never “dies.” So Blake was right when he said: “There is nothing like death: the best thing in life is death.”

- Neville, Art of Dying 1959.

#reality shifting #law of assumption #loa tumblr #loablr #loassumption #shifting motivation #3d&4d #manifesation #this is my very first post on loa so don't come for me these are just my personal views on this

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jeremiahhawkinsfanfics · 3 days ago

Text

JAYCE MAKE VIKTOR’S COFFEE EVERY DAY ❤️☕️☀️

Read the whole fic on AO3

Feel free to like, share, or leave a comment (I always reply!)

It’s been only a month since they started their official Hextech research collaboration, with the full support of Piltover Council. It was a thrilling new start, first steps on the exciting path to realize their dreams; a unique chance to build tomorrows better than yesterdays.

For the occasion, the Academy granted them a wide new workspace, functional, but impersonal. The place was perfect as it was in Viktor’s eyes. Growing up in Zaun, you learn to use what you have, and build no further expectations than sparse amenities. Jayce’s opinion appeared to be different, and Viktor has been quite amused by the efforts his piltie partner has gone through to make it more comfortable.

“We are going to spend more time here than in our home”, Jayce used to defend when Viktor mocked his latest fads.

The first thing he brought to the lab was a brand-new coffee machine. When Viktor saw Jayce installing it on their second day, he had to laugh.

“Do we really need that?” He asked, cocking a mocking eyebrow at the shiny bright equipment, much nicer than anything he ever owned.

“Of course, we do!” Jayce exclaimed as if Viktor was questioning the use of pens to write.

And gods knew he was right.

Even though Viktor was never fond of coffee bitter taste – he preferred to indulge his sweet tooth – being a night owl meant he was holding on caffeine for dear life to keep his brain at pace. Jayce was the morning person in their team. He was the type to wake up before the first beams of the sun, jump out of bed, and rush to the lab as soon as he could, excited to discover something new. He was buzzing with energy through the whole day, only caving into the need for caffeine after sunset, and ending completely unresponsive after the twelfth strike of the clock.

“I wish I was told I’d be working with a sunflower”, Viktor often teased gently, watching his partner’s head drooping just past 11:00pm.

Viktor himself couldn’t be more different. His brain thrived at night, keeping him awake as long as the moon could be seen in the sky, only shutting down out of exhaustion a few short hours before sunrise. His sleep was overpowering, heavy as lead, knocking him out on the instant his body collapsed on his mattress. He could only crack an eye open in late morning. Lost in a foggy haze, he was always struggling to crawl out of bed and to hobble his way to the lab, hooked to his crutch as he would to a lifeline. Even ideas as simple as getting breakfast were too much to ask. Aside from dropping himself on his chair like a sack of grain, Jayce couldn’t count on much of anything from Viktor before noon, not to mention any sort of response to external stimuli. On lucky mornings, Viktor sometimes uttered “hi” to which Jayce felt an irresistible need to poke fun at Viktor.

“I wish I was told I’d be working with a bat”, Jayce sometimes joked back, looking at his partners’ heavy eyelids on their first hours of work.

Despite his fair teasing, Jayce took it as a challenge. One of these crippling mornings, as Viktor pushed the heavy door of their lab, he was surprised by the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee, a warm cup shoved in his hands, and a cheerful “Good morning, Viktor!” thrown at him with a bright smile. Viktor stayed stunned, completely silent, staring at Jayce as he would at a four-legged chicken.

“… Mornin’ Jayce… Thanks…” he managed to mumble, before letting himself fall at his workstation.

At first, he thought about telling Jayce that this kind of attention was unnecessary, that he was perfectly capable of making his own coffee, thank you very much. But something stopped him from protesting. Maybe it was his usual morning exhaustion? The soothing warmth of the ceramic on his fingers and palms? Or that indescribable, alien twitch in his chest, that drew a small and tired smile on his lips? Inexplicably, the coffee Jayce made for him seemed to taste better, dissipating the heavy morning fog in his brain more efficiently. For the countless cups he used to forsake at every corner of his desk, spending half the day drinking only a cold ersatz of a brew, Jayce’s coffee was still smoking when he took his last sip.

Little did he suspect that this would be the welcome he’d receive every single day from now on. Every morning, as he pushed the lab door, he could breathe the cozy smell of fresh coffee in the air, and immediately knew Jayce was there, waiting for him, even before seeing his face. Then he felt the familiar warmth of the cup in his hands, the welcoming voice of his partner in his ears, and his heart got a little lighter. Getting out of bed was becoming surprisingly easier. A sleepy smile was even lighting his face as he walked toward the lab, looking forward to the day starting in such a pleasant way.

This morning however, there was no smell of coffee, no warm cup, and no welcome. He entered the lab in a cold silence. His eyes instinctively looked around, but Jayce was nowhere to be found.

“Am I really there first?” he silently wondered.

Since the start of their collaboration, he only managed to beat his enthusiastic partner twice at “who will be the earliest at work”. The first time happened on one of his sleepless nights; his leg was hurting too much, and he resolved to return to the lab, hoping to distract himself from the pain. The second time was a few days ago, when they got so caught in their research that they both slept in there, bent on their desks, heads in their arms. Oh, how his back made him regret this decision! He still hadn’t fully recovered, his unforgiving muscles dreadfully stiff, his shoulders and neck tense, stinging at every move.

Viktor stepped into the lab. The beat of his crutch on the floor was echoing endlessly on the stone-grey walls. The place felt confusingly unfamiliar. He almost wondered if he hadn’t got through the wrong door.

He dragged himself to the coffee machine, and muffled a swear when he noticed it was out of water. Refilling the tank, he went to gather his cup. He emptied the leftover cold substance of last night, and pressed the button to fill it, unbothered that it was still dirty. The smell wasn’t quite the same.

“You’re being ridiculous, Viktor”, he scowled himself internally. “Coffee is coffee. And you don’t need anyone to make it for you.”

Still, he was wondering what was is partner’s secret trick – there must be one, there was no way two coffees made of the same water, same grain, and same machine could smell and taste so different. Neither was it that one would lighten up his mood so much, while the other made him even grumpier than usual. That was scientifically impossible.

As he was about to reach his chair and kick off with today’s equations, his eyes dropped on Jayce’s abandoned cup in a corner of his desk. The sad little mug sat there, dangerously close to the void, forsaken, stained and empty, in the middle of a mess of scribbled papers. It somehow looked like its owner on the night Viktor interrupted him in his destroyed apartment. It simply didn’t feel right. With a sigh, he reached for it, shivering at the cold ceramic under his fingers.

Carefully, he brought it to their lab sink. The sound of water seemed deafening in the silence of the room. There was odd satisfaction to wash the dried residues away, the white paint emerging anew. He moved back to the machine and pressed the button. The smell of this coffee smelled frustratingly better than the one he just poured for himself. Viktor lifted his brow. How was that even possible?

“Maybe some minor chemical reaction with the soap residual molecules and the coffee?”.

The warmth of Jayce’s cup in his hands spread a smile on his lips. With a little laugh, he realized it was the very first time he was making someone else’s drink. How surprising it was, feeling so good about taking care of someone else with such simple gestures, while handling his own basic needs was never more than a burdensome chore. He contemplated the emotion in his chest for a moment, radiating through this body like the caress of the summer sun. He wondered if this was how it felt for Jayce, when he brewed his coffee every morning.

Carefully, he set up the smoking cup on Jayce’s desk, and then reached his own chair. Before moving back to his equations, he couldn’t resist a last quick glance at his partner workstation, ready for him to arrive. This felt, somehow, right and comfortable… almost domestic. As if it was all in the great order of how things should be.

Read more on AO3! 😊

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62473027/chapters/159882763#workskin

#jayce talis #viktor #viktor arcane #jayvik #jayce x viktor #act 1 jayce #act 1 viktor #arcane #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #Coffee #jayce is making great Coffee #Viktor is great at drinking Coffee

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supernotnatural2005 · 7 hours ago

Text

ahahaha, well that's just the thing, the smut is the compensation!! 😂

Stop it! How dare you! With the pretty descriptions of the sky and the ambience. I’m just joking, of course it was lovely 😍

You know I gotta sweeten the pot with the sky details, who doesn't love a dreamy sky!? 😂

I just love all the little details in their traditions that they have, even down to Dean being made to set the table. What about Sam? Huh, Ellen? Speaking of, she’s something else. I think I’ve said this before, but I haven’t read that many fics set in the earlier seasons - what can I say, an older Dean and the bunker, just works lol - so I don’t get to see Ellen all that often, but I love how you’ve nailed her! And then the little bit about her mixer gift. I love that even though they’re not blood related, they’re close - beautiful ❤️

Aww thank you Beth, I'm glad you picked up on it! ☺️ I had to make Sam the 'get away with everything' sibling, because I feel like that was always the case, and it just transitioned well here lol. And I absolutely loved Ellen's character, and Jo's, I wish they had more screen time or didn't go out like they did 😭.. Thank you, thank you, thank you 🙏❤️

There’s history there. Gosh it’s so damn sweet that they sit next to each other every year. And their special spot in the salvage yard. Don’t get me started on the record and the necklace, though I’m surprised and marvel at how they both kept that secret so long.

They can be adorable when they need to be right? 🥹 And that's most likely due to the serial sex brain they have atm 😂

😂😂😂 I guess she can cook when she’s been around longer. Ahhh - I’m trying to be nice, but this is another “what’s her name with the dog”

😂 No I get you, tbh I'm not a fan of Mary post season 12, I tend to base her more off what we saw in 'What is and should never be' episode. You know, when she acts like a mother 🥲

Gosh darn it! Lisa though? Are you kidding me?? Ahhhhh - I can’t wait, but I really hope that there’s no date or anything romantic between her and Dean. Fingers crossed the Impala sex is heading them in the right direction finally, though I do still recommend a dip in the pool - very different to shower sex lol

I know, I had to throw a lil drama into the mix 🫣, I won't spoil anything but, it packs a punch 🥊 I can't wait to share the rest of this story.

Thank you so much for reading Mate and your lovely words! I appreciate them so much ❤️

The Arrangement - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Christmas has arrived and the annual holiday chaos ensues. Although with an exchanging of gifts comes a surprising shift. (I'm a poet and I didn't know it 👀🤣)

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings/tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY) fluff, swearing, mentions of death non-cannon.

AN: Okay this one is a rollercoaster of emotions so I apologise in advance! 🥲

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

Christmas had arrived, and the chaos was already in full swing.

The night before, you’d made another one of those pecan upside-down cakes—only after getting the green light from the self-proclaimed dessert connoisseur. Dean.

With it, you’d packed up all of yours and Dean’s presents, hauling them over to your family home while he went to pick up his folks, Sam and Jess. His dad’s truck was still at the shop, waiting on a new part, which meant Dean was stuck playing chauffeur.

That left you arriving first. A mistake.

The moment you stepped over the threshold, you walked straight into a war zone.

Ellen was already in full commander mode, barking orders in the kitchen while Jo stood at the counter, aggressively stirring something with the enthusiasm of a hostage. The second Jo spotted you, her eyes lit up with desperation, and she silently mouthed, help me.

You had half a mind to backpedal right out of there.

The house smelled incredible—roasting turkey, buttered rolls, a vary of herbs and spices—but the warm, festive aroma was nearly overpowered by the thick tension of Ellen’s military-grade organisation.

You barely had time to drop your gifts under the tree—a large Douglas fir standing proudly in the corner, dressed in colourful lights, tinsel, and a mix of store-bought and handmade ornaments, including the lumpy crafts you and Jo had made as kids—before Ellen’s sharp voice rang out.

“Where the hell have you been? Jo’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”

Jo let out an offended squawk. “I am standing right here.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Ellen shot her a look, hands on her hips.

You bit back a laugh. Even your father—tough, grizzled old Bobby—was keeping his head down at the kitchen table, nursing his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him safe. He caught your eye and gave you a look that clearly said, don’t make any sudden moves, kid.

“Bobby, taste this,” Ellen demanded, shoving a wooden spoon dangerously close to his face.

Bobby sighed, grumbling something under his breath, but ultimately took the spoon. He chewed, swallowed, and muttered, “Needs salt.”

“Damn right it does.” Ellen shot Jo another look—clearly, she’d been involved in its preparation—and was already moving to fix it.

Jo seized the opportunity to edge closer to you. “I swear to God, if she makes me redo one more thing, I’m ‘accidentally’ dumping the whole salt shaker in.” You snickered, a little too loudly.

“You two better not be conspiring,” Ellen called over her shoulder, because of course, she had a sixth sense for mischief.

It was a half-hour later before Bobby was greeting the Winchesters and Jess at the door, the men exchanging firm pats on the back as everyone piled into the house, shaking off the winter chill.

Mary was the first to pull you and Jo into warm hugs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before heading straight for the kitchen, already offering her help. John and Sam followed, both of them pulling you into equally drowning hugs.

Jess gave her own cheerful greeting, before linking her arm with Jo’s as they disappeared into the bustling heart of the house, like she’d always belonged.

Meanwhile, the men took exactly three seconds to gravitate toward the living room. Bobby cracked open a beer, passing one to John, who took it with a grateful smirk. Sam and Dean flopped onto the couch, their eyes drifting toward the TV where a football game was already playing.

Dean stretched out with a satisfied sigh, sinking comfortably into the cushions, looking as if he had just pulled off the greatest heist in history—sneaking in without being assigned a single task.

That cocky grin of his was still in place when he caught your eye across the room. You lifted a brow, giving him a look that clearly said, Really?

Dean just winked at you, smug as ever, thinking he’d truly gotten away with something.

Big mistake.

“Dean,” Ellen’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the warm hum of conversation like a blade. “Be useful and set the damn table, would ya?”

Dean froze mid-smirk, the slow realisation creeping over his face like a deer caught in headlights. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“What? You thought you could just sit there looking pretty?” she snarked, one hand on her hip, an unimpressed brow arched.

Dean gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“Everything you need’s in the garage,” she added, already moving on to the next task. “Might be a little buried under Bobby’s clutter, but I think you’ll manage.”

She shot him a mockingly sweet smile before turning back to her work.

Dean groaned dramatically as he stood, glancing longingly toward the couch where John, Bobby, and Sam were already settling in, beers in hand. His gaze flickered back to you just in time to catch the way you were absolutely beaming at his suffering.

His eyes narrowed. Betrayal.

You just shrugged, biting back a grin. You should’ve known better.

With another exaggerated sigh, Dean trudged toward the garage, muttering something under his breath as he did.

Bobby, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with quiet amusement, caught your eye and shook his head with a chuckle.

“I don’t know why he thinks he’s gonna get away with it every year,” Bobby mused, taking a sip of his beer.

“Because every year, he tries,” you replied, laughter bubbling in your chest. “And every year, Ellen shuts that shit down.”

Bobby let out a warm chuckle, shaking his head again as the familiar hustle and bustle filled the house—the football game playing in the background, the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, Jo and Jess giggling as they tackled another one of Ellen’s relentless tasks, and the muffled curses coming from the garage as Dean rummaged through the mess.

It was chaotic. It was loud. But It was home.

By the time dinner was ready, the madness of the day melted into something warm and familiar as everyone gathered around the table. The scent of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and Ellen’s signature stuffing filled the air, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

You took your usual seat beside Dean, the space between you non-existent as his leg brushed against yours under the table. Subtle, but deliberate. A quiet little reminder that he was there—always there. The warmth of it spread through you, making your chest feel a little lighter, a little fuller.

As plates were filled, glasses raised, and the room settled, John cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. He did this every year, it was a tradition of sorts.

“Before we dig in,” he started, looking around the table, “I just wanna say how damn grateful I am to be sitting here with all of you. And I couldn’t be prouder of the people in it.” His eyes flickered toward Jess, who flushed under the attention, a shy but happy smile on her face as Sam squeezed her hand.

“We’re lucky to have you, Jess. And Ellen—” he turned toward the woman who had undoubtedly done most of the work, “I don’t know how you do it, but this spread looks incredible. So, from all of us—thank you.”

Ellen scoffed but the corners of her mouth twitched, a hint of pride in her expression.

“Alright, alright,” she waved him off. “Enough talkin’. Eat before it gets cold.”

And with that, everyone dug in, passing plates, stealing bites before things even made it around the table, the warm chatter of conversation bubbling up again.

Sam talked about applying for law school in the new year, a small spark of excitement in his voice despite his usual modesty. Jess shared how she’d be going for her master’s in nursing, and the pride in Sam’s eyes was impossible to miss.

John and Bobby fell into easy conversation about the shop, both gruffly pleased with how business had been steady, even picking up in the last few months.

Meanwhile, Jo chimed in with stories from the police academy, her excitement shining through as she recounted her latest training exercises. “They had us do a pursuit drill last week,” she said, eyes alight. “I swear, some of these guys wouldn’t catch a cold in winter.”

Ellen snorted, shaking her head with a smirk. “Good. Let ’em sweat a little.” Though her tone was gruff, the glint of pride in her eyes was unmistakable. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with showin’ ‘em up if they’re too damn slow. Maybe they’ll actually learn a thing or two from you.”

Grinning, you raised your beer in agreement. “Heck yeah!” Jo laughed, clinking the neck of her bottle against yours.

And with that, more laughter rang through the air. A warmth settled deep in your chest; the kind that only came from being surrounded by people who felt like home.

These were your people—your family. And yet, as you took it all in, a quiet pang tugged at your heart, an unshakable thread of guilt winding itself around the joy in your chest.

You hated to let your mind wander there, but it was impossible not to. Your mom should be here. It was silly—fleeting, even—but in moments like these, it only made you realise just how much you missed her.

Before the ache could settle too deep, a familiar weight pressed against your thigh—a warm, calloused hand, grounding and steady. You looked over to find Dean already watching you, his green eyes soft, knowing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. He just knew.

And for that, you were so incredibly grateful.

So, without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently. His fingers curled around yours, solid and sure, and just like that, the hollow ache in your chest eased, even if only for a little while.

Once your stomachs were full, buttons popped open on jeans to accommodate the swell of well-fed bellies, even more so after Mary’s delectable apple pie and your added addition of the pecan upside down cake, which received high praises all around as well as the demands to make it again.

Everyone gathered in the living room, drinks in hand, ready to fully unwind as the last part of the evening commenced—the opening of gifts.

Laughter and playful banter filled the air as presents were exchanged. Mary smiled warmly as she unwrapped a beautifully scented perfume set, followed by a delicate silver necklace from Sam, who had clearly put thought into his gift. John, ever the traditionalist, gifted her a pair of elegant earrings that had her gasping and gripping his arm in surprise.

Jo, with her usual sharp eye, had gotten Bobby a brand-new cap to replace his old, withered one—the fabric of which had seen better days. Bobby grunted something about his old cap being just fine, but the way he ran his fingers over the brim of the new one gave away his appreciation.

For Ellen, you had gone all out, knowing how frustrated she’d been when her trusty old mixer finally gave out. The moment she unwrapped the sleek new one, her eyes lit up, and she threw you a look that was equal parts gratitude and mock disapproval.

"Now, why'd you go and do that, kid?" she huffed, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Then came Dean’s gift to Sam.

Sam tore through the wrapping, only to pause, his face deadpan as he held up a can of shaving foam and a razor. The room erupted into laughter - Mary shaking her head in a mix of disapproval and amusement, Jo outright cackling along with Jess and John’s booming laugh.

"What?" Dean said, feigning innocence. "You’re a grown man now, Sammy. Figured it was about time you learned how to shave."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the fond smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He couldn’t even be mad—especially after the stunt he pulled last year, gifting Dean some weird off-brand gas station soda and a pack of vegan condoms. Their ongoing prank war of who could give the worst gift was practically tradition at this point.

Finally, the last gift of the night remained. Dean’s.

You hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling a little nervous as you reached for the wrapped package tucked under the tree. This wasn’t just some random gift—it was personal. Deeply so.

Dean took the square-shaped gift from your hands, his brows furrowing slightly at your sudden shift in demeanour. "What’s this?" he asked, assessing it’s unique shape.

"Just open it, Winchester," you teased, though there was a quiet anticipation in your voice.

Dean ripped the paper away, his movements slowing as he uncovered the unmistakable cover of Led Zeppelin II. But not just any copy. The original pressing—the very one he had lost in the house fire all those years ago.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared, fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover. The room, which had been filled with chatter seconds ago, fell silent as everyone watched the two of you with knowing smiles.

When he finally looked up at you, there was something raw in his eyes. Something unspoken, but so deeply understood between the two of you.

"How—?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, trying to play it off lightly. "Charlie helped me track it down. Took forever, but…it was worth it."

Dean swallowed hard, his jaw working as he blinked down at the album, running a hand over his mouth like he wasn’t sure what to say. You could tell it had touched him, and you took it as a good sign you’d done something right.

"This is…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn, Singer. This is-” He breathed out, like he couldn’t quite comprehend the words. He then pulled you into a hug. From your spot on the floor, it made it a little awkward, but you melted into his embrace.

When you pulled away, there was a look in his eye, you couldn’t quite place, but it made your heart flutter and cheeks warm. But the moment was fleeting, and just as quickly, your attention was on John as he asked to take a look at the record.

"Man," he said with a distant grin, "this brings back some memories." His voice faded into his own nostalgia.

But Dean's focus remained on you. His chest tightened with a sharp pulse as he watched you talk, your hands moving animatedly as you explained where you’d found the record and divulged your own fond memories of it. The world around him seemed to blur, all the noise fading into the background as his eyes stayed locked on you.

You really were something else.

His fingers twitched in his pocket, where his real gift for you sat. The important one. He’d already gotten you some of your favourite perfume and a new work bag, but this one... this one was special, and one he felt was best to give you without an audience.

It was nearing midnight when everyone began bidding their goodnights and retreating to their rooms for the annual stay over. John and Mary took the spare room, while you’d offered Sam and Jess yours, leaving you to bunk with Jo and Dean to claim the couch.

Before turning in for the night, you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. The winter chill bit at the skin beneath the thin material of your tights as you wandered further into the yard, your boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground. Eventually, you perched yourself on the familiar hood of one of the old, hollowed-out shells, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself and tucking your legs up on the bumper.

Despite the cold, the sight before you brought an undeniable sense of peace. The sky stretched wide, an endless inky canvas scattered with stars, each one burning brilliantly against the dark. Growing up far from the city’s glow, nights like these had always felt like a gift—an uninterrupted glimpse at something vast and timeless.

You’d spent countless evenings like this as a kid, staring up, dreaming about all the places you’d go, all the things you’d do. And sometimes, you liked to believe your mom was up there too, watching over you with that same twinkle.

The soft crunch of gravel behind you pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey.”

You turned toward the deep, familiar voice, finding Dean making his way over. He was bundled in his leather jacket, but what caught your eye was the thick, dark blue scarf wrapped snugly around his neck—the one Mary had given him for Christmas. It was endearingly uncharacteristic, and the sight made you smile.

He hopped up onto the hood beside you, the old metal groaning under the added weight. Only then did you realise just how cold you were, his warmth seeping into you from his proximity. Without thinking, you shifted slightly closer.

“Knew I’d find you out here,” he murmured, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to say more—this spot held years of memories. The two of you had spent so many nights just like this, staring up at the sky until Bobby hollered for you to come inside.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. But after a moment, Dean cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

“I, uh… I got somethin’ for you.”

You turned to him, brows knitting in curiosity as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, terribly wrapped package—newspaper and duct tape, classic Dean.

Tilting your head, you took it from him, turning it over in your hands. “How come you’re giving this to me now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice before a slow, teasing smirk curled your lips. “Is it something dirty?”

Dean let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that.” But then his amusement faded, replaced by a nervous energy as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… personal. Didn’t think you’d wanna open it in front of everyone.”

That made your stomach flip, and you glanced down at the package, peeling away the layers carefully. Beneath the mess of tape and newspaper was a small, unbranded white box—the kind that usually held jewellery. The weight of Dean’s gaze made you nervous, his tension almost palpable.

And then you opened it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Nestled inside, resting on a cushion of velvet, was your mother’s locket.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. You had lost it years ago, back when you and Dean were just kids, playing in this very yard. It had devastated you, left you inconsolable for weeks until you had no choice but to let it go.

But here it was.

Dean shifted beside you; his voice softer now. “Found it a few months ago when I was helpin’ Dad and Bobby move one of the old cars. It was in rough shape, so I had it cleaned up, got a new chain put on.” His voice dipped even lower. “Figured you might wanna have it back.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as your trembling fingers lifted the locket. Slowly, you opened it, revealing the tiny, worn photograph inside—your mother’s smiling face beside your own youthful one.

“Dean…” It was barely a whisper, your voice stolen by the sheer weight of the moment.

Dean swallowed hard, his own eyes a little glassy. “Can’t believe it was still out here after all this time,” he said, trying for nonchalance, but you could hear the emotion laced beneath his words.

You clenched the locket in your fist before turning to him, overwhelmed. And then, without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, holding him tight as a sob broke free from your throat.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He wrapped you up just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you as sobs wracked your body.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice rough but gentle. “I gotcha.”

And you believed him. Because he always had.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, held together by the strength of his arms, but eventually, the storm inside you began to settle. When you finally pulled away, you let out a shaky, humourless laugh, swiping at your tear-streaked face. “God, I’m a mess.”

Dean’s lips curled into something small but fond, his eyes flicking between yours. “Yeah, well… you wear it well.”

You huffed out a breath of laughter, glancing down at the locket in your palm, the delicate chain glinting in the moonlight. It felt heavier than it should, like it carried not just memories but something deeper—something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time. And Dean… he had given it back to you.

That same warmth spread through your chest, tightening around your ribs. You swallowed thickly and looked back up at him, trying to find the words that could match what you felt.

“Really had to outdo me on the sentimental gifts, huh?” you teased, because teasing was easy. It was safer than the emotions threatening to crack you wide open.

Dean let out a deep, full laugh, one that sent a flutter through your stomach. “You know me, Singer. Can’t have you winning all the time.” He nudged your shoulder playfully, and for a second, it felt like it always had—like the easy, unspoken thing that had existed between you for years.

But tonight, it felt like something more.

You studied him in the quiet, the way the moonlight softened the sharp edges of his face, the way his green eyes held something warm, something unguarded.

You held the locket out to him. “Help me put it on?”

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded. You turned your back to him, lifting your hair off your neck, and the moment stretched between you.

His fingers brushed against your skin as he fumbled with the clasp, his touch light but lingering. You bit your lip, trying not to react, but then you felt the warmth of his breath ghost over your shoulder, and a shiver ran through you.

When you turned back, your breath caught. He hadn’t moved away. He was still close—so close you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his gaze flickered down to where the locket rested just above your collarbone before rising to meet yours.

His fingers reached out, barely grazing the metal before his touch lingered. “Beautiful,” he murmured. His eyes still on you.

The space between you felt smaller, charged with something neither of you dared to name. Your pulse quickened, but this time, it wasn’t from the familiar rush of lust and desire. This wasn’t about chasing a high.

This was about you and him.

And for once, neither of you seemed in a hurry.

Slowly, you leaned in. Your foreheads touched first, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand came up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, his touch tender and warming you from the outside in.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you meant it.

Dean swallowed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but instead, his other hand came up, cupping your cheek. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow and reverent, and then finally, he closed the distance.

His lips met yours, soft at first, tentative, as if savouring the moment. You sighed into him, your fingers sliding up and around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as you let the world slip away.

Beneath you, the rusted hood of the old scrap car was cool against you, a stark contrast to the warmth of him, the steady burn of his touch. And then that familiar heat flickered to life, but this time, it didn’t crash over you in a reckless wave. It didn’t burn wild and consuming like it always had. Instead, it soldered—slow, steady, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be stoked.

Then you licked into his mouth, and Dean groaned—low and deep, the sound vibrating through you. His fingers curled at your waist, gripping tighter, and suddenly, the space between you wasn’t enough.

You shifted, pressing closer, deepening the kiss, and he met you without hesitation. His hands moved—one sliding up the curve of your back, the other bracing against the hood beside you, keeping you steady as the car groaned softly under your combined weight.

Your fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to draw another sound from him—this time rougher, needier. It sent a thrill through you, and before you could stop yourself, you shifted again, knees brushing against his thighs as you tried to get closer.

Dean’s breath hitched, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding down to grip your hips beneath your coat, fingers pressing into nylon covering your thigh and warm skin beneath.

The old car beneath you creaked with the movement, but neither of you cared. Not when his mouth left yours to skim along your jaw, not when his breath was hot against your skin before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear.

You gasped, tilting your head to give him more, and he took it—his lips dragging down the column of your throat, lingering, teasing, tasting.

This wasn’t just lust.

It wasn’t rushed or reckless, fuelled by adrenaline like it had been so many other times.

This was something else entirely. Something heavier. Something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had let yourselves admit.

And maybe that should’ve terrified you.

But then Dean’s hands flexed at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his mouth found yours again, capturing you in a kiss that left no space for second thoughts.

"God, I want you," you mumbled against his lips, your words tumbling out between kisses, desperate and unfiltered.

Dean groaned, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breaths coming hard and uneven. His eyes flickered around the scrapyard—the rusted metal beneath you, the cold night air nipping at your skin. This wasn’t ideal. He wanted you warm, comfortable, spread out beneath him with nothing between you.

And then an idea hit him.

“C’mon.” He stood, pulling you with him, and you followed eagerly, heart hammering as he led you toward the Impala. The familiar sound of his keys jingling had you biting back a grin. Of course. The house was full, and neither of you had an empty room to escape to. This was the best option.

And honestly? It felt right.

Dean opened the back door, and you glanced at him with a knowing smile. He smirked back, before capturing your lips in another kiss, slower this time.

You pulled away to shove at his leather jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Taking the hint, he shrugged it the rest of the way off and then unwrapped the scarf around his neck, while you shimmied out of your own coat. You set them aside carefully in the backseat, then slid inside, Dean following right after, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the latch clicked; he was on you again.

His hands framed your face as he kissed you with newfound hunger, the metal walls of the car closing you in, making everything feel headier, safe. His fingers trailed down your sides, gripping at the thick fabric of your sweater dress, bunching it in his fists like he wanted to rip it off you.

You arched into him, hands roaming over his chest, pushing his flannel off his shoulders. He helped you, shrugging it off in a swift motion before his hands were back on you, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers brushed against your thighs, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

Dean pulled back just enough to meet your gaze; his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands fisted the fabric at your waist, and with one slow, deliberate movement, he peeled your dress up and over your head, tossing it aside.

His breath hitched as he took you in. It was a sight that blew him away, every. Single. Time. No matter how many times you did this dance. The glowing light from the moon above softly illuminated your skin. His fingers traced up your sides, thumbs grazing the swell of your breasts before he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

You let out a soft sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as his mouth travelled lower. He reached behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, slipping the straps down your arms. The moment they were free, he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples before his mouth replaced them.

Heat pooled low in your stomach as he kissed and sucked at the newly exposed skin, his tongue circling, teasing, until you were arching against him, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he rasped, his breath warm against your skin. "Every damn time… you get more perfect."

Your stomach flipped at his words, and then he was kissing lower, dragging his lips down the centre of your stomach, pressing reverent kisses along the way.

He nudged you back until you were lying against the seat, your legs falling open naturally. You quickly kicked off your boots before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your tights, dragging them down slow, teasing, before slipping off your underwear along with them.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, spread out beneath him, chest rising and falling in anticipation.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head in awe, still not quite believing he could have you like this. Then he kissed his way up the inside of your thigh, his breath hot and teasing against sensitive skin, sending a fresh wave of need coursing through you.

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer, settling himself between your legs. And then his mouth was on you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He groaned at the taste, gripping your thighs tighter as he did it again, this time flicking his tongue against your clit just to hear the way your breath hitched.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending pleasure sparking up your spine.

"Fuck," you breathed, your head falling back against the leather seat as he worked you over with devastating precision—slow, unhurried, savouring every little reaction.

Dean licked into you, his tongue circling your clit before sucking softly, drawing a sharp cry from you. He kept going, never rushing, never letting up, letting the pleasure build in slow, teasing waves.

Your thighs trembled as heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Dean could feel it—feel the way you tensed beneath him, feel the way your grip on his hair tightened.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice low and rough, the vibrations making you whimper. He flicked his tongue just right, pressing two fingers inside you at the same time, curling them, stroking that perfect spot—

And then you were gone.

A strangled moan tore from your throat as pleasure crashed over you, waves rolling through you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Dean didn’t stop, didn’t pull away—he worked you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you had to give, drawing out every last tremor until you were nothing but a boneless, panting mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled back, pressing one last lingering kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you with a wicked smirk, his lips glistening.

“Every time,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction, “you taste even sweeter.”

You bit your lip, amusement flickering in your eyes despite the heat still coursing through your veins. But you weren’t done—not even close. Curling a single finger in a slow, teasing come hither motion, you smirked.

“Get over here, Winchester.”

His smirk widened, something dark and hungry flashing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he crawled up your body, moving with that same effortless confidence that always made your stomach flip. His gaze never left yours, heated and intent, the weight of it alone making you shiver in anticipation.

The moment he was close enough, you reached up, hand curling around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that was all heat and desperation, tongues tangling, breaths mingling, the taste of yourself still lingering on his lips. He groaned into your mouth, his hands framing your face, fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you deeper, like he never wanted to come up for air.

Sparks reignited instantly, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding down the hard planes of his body until they reached his belt. You made quick work of it, unbuckling it with practiced ease, fingers moving to the button of his jeans, undoing them in a swift motion.

Dean groaned, resting his forehead against yours as you worked him free, helping him slide the denim down his hips. He kicked them off the rest of the way, the fabric landing somewhere on the floor of the car, long forgotten.

Your breath hitched as your eyes dropped to him—all of him. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, touched him like this, it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs. He was a masterpiece, all firm muscle and golden skin, every inch of him devastatingly beautiful.

Dean swallowed hard as you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. His breath stuttered, a low groan slipping from his lips as his head dropped forward.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough with want.

You watched him, your stomach twisting in pleasure at the way his jaw clenched, his brows furrowing as your fingers teased along his length, exploring every ridge, every sensitive spot you knew would drive him crazy. Pride swelled in your chest as his hips twitched slightly, completely at your mercy.

His hands flexed beside your head, fingers digging into the leather as he fought to keep control. His eyes flickered open, locking onto yours, blown dark with lust.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you whispered, voice dripping with need, but there was more to it than that. It wasn’t just lust. It was longing. A raw, desperate ache to be close—to feel him in a way that went beyond just bodies colliding.

Dean swallowed hard, his breath coming rough and uneven as his hands trailed up your sides, tracing the curves of your body once more with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

He didn’t need to say anything. You knew he understood. You saw it in the way his expression softened, in the way he dipped his head, pressing his lips to your temple before shifting to settle between your thighs.

He exhaled shakily as he rocked his hips forward, dragging the thick length of his cock through the slick seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness. The slow glide sent a shudder through you both, your breath hitching, his jaw going tight as he let himself savour it—this anticipation, this moment.

A moan tumbled from your lips when he did it again, the head of his cock catching against your clit just enough to make your hips jerk, your fingers tightening around his biceps. Dean groaned, the deep, gravelly sound vibrating against your throat as he dropped a kiss there, his movements deliberate, teasing.

Then, finally, finally, he pushed in.

Agonisingly slow, he stretched you open, inch by inch, filling you completely, letting you feel all of him. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat at the overwhelming sensation of him sinking deep, deeper—until there was no space left between you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you, and still, you wanted more.

A soft whimper left your lips, your body arching to press closer, needing to feel every part of him. Dean cursed under his breath, dropping his forehead to yours as he bottomed out, his chest heaving, his body trembling from the effort of holding back.

“Holy… Fuck,” he stuttered, voice strained, like the words were being dragged straight from his soul. He kissed you then, slow and deep, as he began to move, his thrusts measured, drawn out—like he wanted this to last, like he was memorising every gasp, every shiver, every way your body reacted to him.

Your hands roamed over him, greedy and restless, mapping the broad expanse of his back, tracing the curve of his spine, the dip of his waist. Every inch of him was hot and solid beneath your touch, his muscles flexing with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

It was different this time. It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic. It was more. The way he moved, the way he held you—it was deeper, heavier, laced with something neither of you dared to name but both felt down to your bones.

“Dean,” you breathed, your voice breaking around his name as pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, building with every stroke.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped, his lips dragging along your jaw, his hands gripping your hips just a little tighter. “I got you.”

And he did. He always did.

Your bodies moved together in perfect sync, every slow, precise thrust pulling you higher, closer to that edge, until the pleasure became unbearable. You were drowning in it, in him, your fingers tangling in his hair, your nails scraping down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as the pleasure crested and crashed over you.

Dean groaned your name, his rhythm faltering as your walls clenched tight around him, dragging him down with you, pulling him under until he was right there with you, his release hitting with just as much intensity.

His arms trembled as he held himself over you, his breath warm against your skin, his body still pressed tightly to yours as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through you both. Neither of you moved for a long moment, tangled together, limbs heavy, hearts hammering in unison.

And then, he kissed you—soft, lingering. As if he wanted to seal this moment between you, to hold onto it for as long as possible.

Because this time, it was different.

Dean knew it deep in his bones.

He’d finally come to the earth shattering conclusion of his admittance.

He was hopelessly, undeniably, and completely in love with you.

AN: I mean this was expected right!? But finally! Dean can admit it. Wether he has the guts to say it, is another story... more to come next week 👀

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Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @fangirlingfromdownunder @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

Next Time...

Four drinks in, and you were feeling the perfect buzz—light, warm, and just uninhibited enough to let loose. You’d spent the night bouncing between your friends, sipping your drink, and genuinely enjoying yourself. Even Dean, who had been hovering around you all evening, had somehow managed to pull you onto the dance floor for a little friendly—or maybe not-so-friendly—dancing. His hands had settled on your hips, his breath warm near your ear as you moved together in a way that felt entirely too natural. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you had finally let yourself stop overthinking for once, but you’d melted into him. Your body responded to every little shift of his, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe he felt it too. But the moment passed, and now here you were, walking toward the bar with Dean at your side, your skin still tingling from where his hands had rested. Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humour, as you were walking, someone bumped into him, severing your connection with his hand on your waist. “Lisa?”

#the arrangement series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader smut #spn #spn fanfic #spnfamily #jensen ackles #lovely mutuals

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