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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 7 months ago

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Wingwoman (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.

Word Count: 5107

Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex

A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)

———————————

It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.

Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.

It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencer’s wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christ’s sake. And your best friend. And you’d thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that you’d known him.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derek’s niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevin’s birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache.

Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, you’d decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man you’d slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right?

You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. You’d never been one to abuse the badge before, but…

Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it.

Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. “What about her?” you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her.

“She’s clearly waiting for someone,” Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. “I also don’t understand why you’re so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.”

You snorted into your drink. “Hog you up with?” you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs.

“Yeah, is that not…” realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. “That’s not the phrase, is it?”

“Hook,” you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. “And I’m not dead set on it,” you argued. “I just didn’t want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.”

Your eyes flickered up to Spencer’s to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him.

“Yeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?” Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - you’d finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. “We’re looking for you.”

Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencer’s elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. “Any of them? The blonde is cute,” you pointed out.

“Not really into blondes,” Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. “But, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.” Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table.

You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what he’d been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he… totally sober?

You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three women’s faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencer’s mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencer’s hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do?

“What happened?” you asked as he returned to you.

“I blew it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that he’d gone over there and purposefully botched it.

“Right,” you flagged down the bartender to order another drink.

“You’re getting another one?” Spencer asked.

You whirled your face to meet his and didn’t see judgment, but rather, concern. “Why does it matter?” you asked, no, dared.

Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. “It doesn’t,” he grumbled.

“What about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?” you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. “The grabby one. She seemed really into you.”

Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested.”

“Are you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?” You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencer’s frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you.

You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that you’d dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid.

You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. “I’d better go home,” you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible.

You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. You’d forgotten your coat at the office and insisted you’d be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth.

Thirty seconds hadn’t even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. “What did I do?” he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused.

Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. “No,” you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?” Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader.

“Weird how?” You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didn’t flip every morning when you saw him.

“Like you’re… like you’re mad at me. Like you don’t want to be around me,” Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. “You always find an excuse to leave the room when it’s just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you don’t have to interact with just me. You’re out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?” he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s either you’re trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -”

He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you.

“Or,” you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question.

“Or?” Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly.

“Or,” you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath.

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. “Oh.”

Oh.

“How long?” he asked, turning his feet towards you.

Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasn’t any point, not when he knew now. “Since March,” you admitted. Your voice was squeaky.

“March?” Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to-”

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.”

You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second he’d asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. “Oh,” was all you managed to choke out.

Oh.

“Yeah, oh,” Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile you’d learned to love on him. He stepped towards you.

You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental?

“What do we… what do we do now?” You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command.

Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. “Well,” his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. “I’d like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,” he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile.

“I think that would be okay,” you whispered.

His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest.

He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencer’s smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. “Yeah?” He asked, the word carrying more meaning. You’re into this, right?

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. I’m really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again.

Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head.

Just like a dance, Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather.

He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise.

Spencer’s low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you.

His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle.

Oh, he liked you a lot.

“You okay, Spence?” You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it.

Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you.

You didn’t want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasn’t going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch.

He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. “Want me to call an Uber?” You asked.

Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. “You okay?” You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencer’s face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. “Careful,” you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. “Don’t want you having an-“

“Shut up,” Spencer cut you off, and you snickered.

——————————————————

You had never been in Spencer’s apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture.

There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books.

You had never seen so many books in someone’s possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer.

He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didn’t use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move.

You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers.

It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now?

You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too.

There wasn’t any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now.

And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencer’s living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises.

“So,” you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. “This is where you live.”

“Uh-huh,” Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.

“Lot of books,” you pointed out.

“Yep.”

You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. “What’s with the monosyllabic conversation?”

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “It’s just… really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,” he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face.

You grinned. “You can touch me,” your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it.

Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how he’d teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. “Maybe I will,” he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.

“You can’t really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-“

“Please stop talking,” Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about.

You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair.

Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since you’d known him.

Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. “Look at me,” he requested, his voice low.

Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reid’s hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star.

And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled.

“I want you.”

Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. “I want you, too,” you whispered.

“Are you still…?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You’d had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but you’d polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m fine,” you assured him.

Spencer inclined his head to the side. “You’re sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?”

You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. “Okay,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. “You’re fine, then?”

“I’m fine,” you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath.

Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencer’s lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone.

“What?” he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face.

You realized you had actually worried him. “Oh, no, no,” you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m just really frustrated, because… because your shirt,” you stammered, and Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smirk.

“My shirt,” he stated.

“That one, right here,” You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Hang on,” you murmured, working through another button, and one more. “I’m concentrating.”

“You’re sticking your tongue out,” Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m concentrating!” Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencer’s hands went to your hips.

“It’s adorable,” he told you. “You make the same face at work. When you’re in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,” Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again.

“You noticed that kind of stuff?” You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer just nodded. “All the time.”

I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.

You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it.

“Y/N?”

You met Spencer’s gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadn’t been in the company of your best friend. “You okay?” he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again.

You didn’t know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it.

Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool.

Spencer’s fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts.

Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself.

“Can I…?” Spencer’s hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencer’s brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat.

“You-”

“I’m not done,” Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. “You’re so beautiful. And you’re so kind, and smart, and funny. And I’d really like to show you how much I care about you,” he looked into your eyes as a sort of request.

“I’m not on birth control,” You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. “Do you have a c-”

Spencer’s soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. “We’re not going to need one,” he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood.

________________________________________

Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didn’t allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldn’t very well deny him what he wanted, right?

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencer’s body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. “That was…” his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. “Incredible.”

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencer’s lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight.

Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when he’d looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before you’d abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. “What’d you say to those women tonight?” You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him.

Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. “Why?”

“Because I’m curious,” you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. “You were obviously blowing it on purpose.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,” he said, his tone defensive.

You snickered. “Sure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?”

Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. “I just asked them how they were doing tonight,” he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying.

“You did not,” you pushed back. “Come on, Reid, spill it.”

“Ok, fine,” Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? “I told them… Jesus.” Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. “I told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,” he began.

You started to smile.

Spencer continued. “I told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldn’t stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.”

Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. “So I asked them,” Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. “I asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.”

“Did they say anything to that?” You asked as Spencer’s hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back.

Spencer’s voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, “The girl in the middle did. She said ‘that girl definitely has feelings for you, too’. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.”

“She did not say that,” you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips.

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N,” he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. “Would I lie to you about that?”

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earthtooz · 2 months ago

Note

earth i need to catch up on ur ratio fics (i read some of flower one and i ate that shit up omg) because now the thought of seething annoying veritas being all angry whenever you even look at someone else infests my mind like an annoying worm. i hope you know this is what those fics do to me

x : EQUILIBRIUM : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio navigates through the perplexities of pining after you.

warnings: fluff, 1.6k words, intelligentsia guild!gn!reader is kind of a social butterfly and talkative, ratio is so pathetic i love him T^T, alcohol, aventurine feature! my writing isn't the best for this one i apologise :,D

a/n: thank u for the ask mhie!! i wanted to say that you enabled me perfectly because ever since his release, i've only ever thought about this one scenario where he's staring at reader from afar and absolutely seething because he's not the one talking to them xD sorry for taking so long omfg and im sorry for turning this into a fic, i just saw my opportunity and lunged at it like an animal rawr

Jealousy and envy are not familiar concepts to Dr. Ratio.

He knows of them, understands the inner workings and philosophical aptitude of both, knowing that they lead man down irrational paths. Yet, for all his years, he has not felt the bitterness of jealousy and envy squeeze him, cannot fathom why one cannot control their feelings and maintain modesty.

Perhaps, the root of it was whatever Ratio wanted, he received. The only thing he has ever craved is knowledge, and it is available for him with the flick of a page, absorbing even the most complex of theories with ease. Conceptual, mathematical, scientific- not a single school of thought has hidden itself from his vast mind, proven by the many PhDs he has with his name.

Everything fickle that anyone could ever crave has long been his.

Envious over someone else’s wealth? Money comes and goes, and merely serves as a medium of exchange. As long as he has enough to live comfortably, then he is content. Having too much of one thing can often result in a bottomless pit of wanting more, and material good was perhaps the most evil of all.

Jealous over someone else’s beauty? Compliments and adoration are not an unfamiliar concept to him; one glance at what’s under that stone mask will have others fawning over him instantly. He claims the mask is to protect him from idiots, but perhaps it also serves to shield others from the walking sculpture that is the Veritas Ratio, sharp features and toned body, there is nothing undesirable about him.

In conclusion, jealousy and envy are not familiar concepts to Dr. Ratio. Until he met you.

A fellow member of the Intelligentsia Guild but in another department, you too are a favoured delegate of the IPC, frequently attending the same events and trips as him. Thus, it was only natural that you’d become acquainted and that he’d grow to respect you, hearing about your achievements and dedications as an academic. What was unnatural, however, was the palpitations of his heart, weakness in his knees, paired with an overwhelming excitement to see you.

He’s no fool. These sensations were all symptoms of romantic attraction, but you were a variable uncounted for in the distribution of his life, and he was not ready for an outlier so powerful that it completely ‘skewed’ him over.

Now, he laments in the corner of champagne parties meant for socialites. He is no lover of mundane interaction but as his contract with the IPC, he comes as a representative of the Intelligentsia Guild.

These formal events always drained the life out of him, needing him to discard his everyday, flowey, carefree attire for a constraining suit, conforming him into the regular majority.

He raises the glass of champagne to his lips and takes a small sip, the liquor serves as lubricant to the throat. The smooth finish of the drink is exactly what he needs; talking about the same subject again and again becomes exhausting, and even though it is in his role criteria, Ratio cannot wait to leave.

But he won’t, because he hasn’t seen you yet.

Glancing around the room for the upteemth time this evening, you still have not entered his line of sight, and he leans against the bar in disappointment.

“Oh, why the long face, Ratio?” A mischievous voice coos from beside him. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Spare me your sentiments, gambler,” Ratio spits back.

“As you wish. Not enjoying the party?”

“If you have something you wish to say then please, spare me the pleasantries.”

Aventurine laughs, all boisterous and extravagant, gold jewelry clicking against each other, as if coming alive to match his jovialness. He really is a personified headache. “You’re looking for someone, aren’t you?”

The scholar tenses, muscles tugging at the stiff fabric of his blazer, but that micro action was enough of an answer for Aventurine.

A gloved hand points up to the mezzanine of the grand hall. Ratio spots you, leaning against the railing whilst conversing with another man, one briefly talked to earlier. If he didn’t like him before, then he certainly didn’t now.

Handsome face turning into a small scowl, it’s almost as if you feel the intensity of a certain, golden stare, causing you to turn around and find the source, eyes eventually landing on the figures of a coworker or two. A brief smile graces your face before you turn around again, turning your back on the two onlookers.

Ratio loathes what he sees, and something within him yearns to be the only man you look at, causing an ugly, green sensation to brew within him; a concoction that can only be labelled as ‘jealousy’.

He just cannot figure out what other men have that he doesn’t; what is making him secondary in your heart? Why do you give these... idiots the time of day when you could be with him- talking to him?

It's all too perplexing, you make him perplexed.

“Well, go on, doctor,” Aventurine prompts. “Place your bets before it’s too late.”

The purple-haired sighs, pushing himself off the bar. His feet take him to you, up the velvet-carpeted stairs. His gaze never strays from you, ensuring you stay within his line of sight and eventually, he stops right behind you, acting as a looming shadow.

His gaze is cold, hoping to pierce through your conversation partner so he can finally cower away and make room for Ratio.

“Doctor!” You exclaim, surprised by his sudden appearance. “When did you get here?”

Taking a hint, the stranger finally begins to peel himself away. “It was lovely talking to you, Y/n. I hope this won’t be our last conversation.”

“Likewise, have a lovely evening,” you farewell him with a small smile as the other party turns and eventually disappears from sight.

Finally. Triumph and victory settles in Ratio’s chest when your attention is directed solely at him, but you look up at him with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

“I swore I saw you downstairs moments ago, how did you get up here so fast?”

“I simply walked a normal pace, is that so abnormal?”

“I suppose not,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Veritas allows himself a glance over of your outfit, admiring you. “Have you talked to anyone interesting?”

You are by far the most interesting part of the evening, he thinks.

“Hardly,” he murmurs.

“My guess is that you’d prefer to be grading student papers?” You muse, leaning in closer.

His heartbeat spikes. “Well, that is hard to say. Which would you prefer?”

“As much as I love my students, I need a break from the same thesis statements regurgitated in different formats. I’d rather be here.”

“Then that is my answer too.”

You give him a look that says ‘really?’, clearly not believing his aloof statement. Truthfully, he would rather be here because here is where you are, and he’d like a few moments with you before returning to the gloominess of his office. The hour hand is only at 11, what’s the rush?

Then, your eyes flicker to his neckline and they widen briefly, as if finding an issue with his tuxedo. “Hold still,” you command, hands coming up to rest on his sturdy chest.

You’re fixing his tie, he realises, feeling the fabric tighten ever so slightly as you adjust it. When you’re done, you flatten out the material with a satisfied smile, running your hands casually over his chest, and he hopes you cannot feel his heart jump. How do you touch him so easily, as if it means nothing?

“It was crooked,” you explain, “now you are looking as sharp as ever, Doc.”

“Thank you,” is the best thing he can sputter out.

“No problem, we need to have our genius looking proper at all times!”

Ratio is too stunned to speak, he fears that if he tried, whatever leaves his mouth will result in a various garbles and attempts at sentences.

Thankfully, you haven’t run out of words to say. “Oh, I have yet to get a drink! Will you accompany me? I could go for some refreshments right now.”

He nods and extends an arm for you to hold, and you happily accept it, holding onto his bicep as you ramble on about a conversation exchanged earlier in the night. If you were anyone else, he would not have cared in the slightest, but instead, he listens intently, taking slow and measured steps downstairs so you are comfortable.

In this bubble, the esteemed scholar is content. With you so close, it feels as if everything has clicked into place, like the scales of fate have finally balanced and equilibrium has been achieved. He could listen to you forever.

Unfortunately, all good things don’t last, because a face Ratio doesn’t recognise approaches you, hand resting on your shoulder. Judging from the manner of which they address and talk to you, you are close, and you don’t shrug them off. Next thing he knows, you’re ripped away from him, dragged into the sea of people.

You spare him a glance over your shoulder, as if apologising for the sudden disruption.

Still, he sighs, left behind with nothing but fervent symptoms of love clinging to his being, squeezing him for all he is.

#earthtooz: honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff

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orchidyoonkook · 2 months ago

Text

PG | KTH

Title: PG

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point.

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends.

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother.

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out.

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too.

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two.

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay.

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him.

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long.

Every time you could get it.

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team.

For four years.

And then the university swim team.

For another four.

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then.

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would.

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim.

Thank god for sunglasses.

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you.

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet?

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile.

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong.

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you.

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung.

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt.

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that.

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught.

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt.

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart.

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water.

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool.

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days.

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun.

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really.

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped.

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking.

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that.

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches.

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets.

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?”

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat.

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes.

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?”

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him.

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager.

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit.

And it works like a charm.

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that.

Definitely not.

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again.

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding.

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air.

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend.

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say.

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand.

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end.

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother.

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction.

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen.

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool.

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel.

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you.

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch.

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge.

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell.

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims.

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven.

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday.

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for.

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids.

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you.

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed.

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break.

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you.

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually.

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit.

So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer.

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks.

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close.

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you.

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there.

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed.

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends.

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays.

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating.

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother.

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall.

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent.

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained.

And yet.

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot.

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you.

But you push him away.

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t.

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend.

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’.

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more.

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment.

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air.

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages.

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself.

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did.

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left.

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist.

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think.

Because Fourteen isn't here.

And old habits die hard.

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt.

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising.

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner.

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him.

Safe.

You’re safe.

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body.

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous.

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years.

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung.

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan.

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety.

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions.

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight.

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood.

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor.

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment.

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by.

It’s private.

It’s safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?”

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now.

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth.

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth.

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed.

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back.

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it.

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him.

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black.

Oh you are so fucked.

“As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like.

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine.

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once.

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up.

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth.

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips.

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does.

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes.

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck.

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows, the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing.

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it.

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine.

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it.

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night.

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere.

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you.

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone.

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part.

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently.

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end.

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.”

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders.

It makes you smile wickedly.

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw.

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you.

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick.

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything.

Yet.

“Can you behave for that long?”

You smirk.

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe.

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well.

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby.

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need.

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs.

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae.

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky.

Mesmerizing.

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his.

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him.

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge.

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat.

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure.

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you.

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks.

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips.

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees.

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it.

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well.

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you.

Taehyung.

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung.

Wants you.

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving.

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned.

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side.

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming.

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess.

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis.

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes.

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body.

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again.

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time.

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed.

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again.

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it.

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out.

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth.

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time.

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents.

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact.

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.”

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine.

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks.

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.”

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled.

Blissful.

Then pushes back in, methodically.

Torturous.

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is.

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over.

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas.

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well.

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you.

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough.

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own.

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless.

It’s a great move but it’s exerting.

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone.

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around.

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass.

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance.

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you.

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care.

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane.

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be.

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you.

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion.

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and drown in once another’s embrace.

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another.

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect.

Before consequences kick in and regrets form.

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets.

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning.

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away.

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning.

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out.

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies.

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground.

“All of it. Any of it.”

There.

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him.

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened.

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts.

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself.

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion.

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg.

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place.

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move.

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right.

An idea strikes.

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door.

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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dootznbootz · 5 months ago

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They are literally my favorite brotp ever.

Odysseus and Menelaus

So saying he drew the mighty spear of wise-hearted Socus forth from his flesh and from his bossed shield, and when it was drawn out the blood gushed forth and distressed his spirit. But the great-souled Trojans, when they beheld the blood of Odysseus, [460] called one to another through the throng and made at him all together. But he gave ground, and shouted to his comrades; thrice shouted he then loud as a man's head can shout,1 and thrice did Menelaus, dear to Ares, hear his call, and forthwith he spake to Aias that was nigh at hand: [465] “Aias, sprung from Zeus, thou son of Telamon, captain of the host, in mine ears rang the cry of Odysseus, of the steadfast heart, like as though the Trojans had cut him off in the fierce conflict and were over-powering him alone as he is. Nay, come, let us make our way through the throng; to bear him aid is the better course. [470] I fear lest some evil befall him, alone mid the Trojans, valiant though he be, and great longing for him come upon the Danaans.” So saying he led the way, and Aias followed, a godlike man. Then found they Odysseus, dear to Zeus and round about the Trojans beset him, as tawny jackals in the mountains [475] about a horned stag that hath been wounded, that a man hath smitten with an arrow from the string; from him the stag hath escaped and fleeth swiftly so long as the blood flows warm and his knees are quick, but when at length the swift arrow overpowereth him, then ravening jackals rend him amid the mountains [480] in a shadowy grove; but lo, God bringeth against them a murderous lion, and the jackals scatter in flight, and he rendeth the prey: even so then did the Trojans, many and valiant, beset Odysseus round about, the wise and crafty-minded; but the warrior darting forth with his spear warded off the pitiless day of doom. [485] Then Aias drew near, bearing his shield that was like a city wall, and stood forth beside him, and the Trojans scattered in flight, one here, one there. And warlike Menelaus led Odysseus forth from the throng, holding him by the hand, till his squire drave up the horses and car. Hom.Il. 11.456-488

This is probably one of my favorite moments in Iliad for it shows the brutality of war and at the same time the power of comrades and forgetting one's differences.

For starters I love the fact that it shows how strong Odysseus is in battle. Modern media tend to picture him as a generally not as good warrior that has to get down to tricks to win the battle but that is far from it as in Rhapsody 11 he is seen wounded by a spear in the stomach and fighting off around 20 Trojans by himself and holding on pretty well against them. At the same time though shows the difference between Odysseus and other characters. Odysseus is not stupid. He knows his limits and he knows he won't hold out forever so the way he yells three times for ANYONE to hear him and send assistance shows the desperation of the situation

And Menelaus is the one to hear his cry and actually call for the most powerful warrior in their army to come to his assistance and he clearly states that if they lose Odysseus then things would be tough for them. He recognizes both his strength and his value in the war. He knows that people like Odysseus are irreplacable and the way he actually helps him off the battlefield by supporting him is literally one of my favorite moments! The way we also see that he later on is one of those who speaks with the most outmost warmth for Odysseus and names him as his dearest friend and comrade when he speaks of him to Telemachus (Even Aias who is not particularly fond of Odysseus and vice versa, forgets his personal grudge and rushes to his assistance)

I think that the friendship between Menelaus and Odysseus is not talked much (obscured maybe by the scenes between Odysseus and Diomedes and for good reason maybe) and I think it is a shame. And it is another reason why I loved art such as @thehelplessmortals depicting some tender moments between Menelaus and Odysseus. And also this is another reason why I made them interract in my fanfiction Guilt given that Menelaus is probably the one who appreciates more than many the capabilities Odysseus has; both his brain and mind and his battle abilities

#odysseus with polites and diomedes is nice but we need more odysseus with menelaus out there!#<-you're in luck lol xD They are my special pair of bros and I love their friendship so much. They are literally the bestest friends in min #They care about each other so much and I love them very much. They have sleepovers where they cry about missing their wives and kids #Despite having very different personalities. they are both family men and that's why they understand each other🥺#I gotta write more of my stuff of them being best fucking bros #(as if I don't have enough wips :')#Like Penelope and Helen are a big brotp but they're also cousins so they DO behave more like sisters to me lol #Being honest? I don't care too much about Diomedes or Polites. lol They're fine but Menelaus is just a special fella #(Also Menelaus praises Penelope while the other two don't👀 That's a crime imo.)#iliad #menelaus #odysseus and menelaus #odysseus #tagamemnon #greek mythology #odyssey

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h-c-u · 10 months ago

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Keep your eyes open

Summary: Mirror sex. Nothing else. Not even a crumb of plot.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x fem!reader (no y/n, just honorifics)

W/C: 4k

Rating: +18, age Gap, size difference, praise kink, oral hyper-fixation, marking, overstimulation, soft!dom/sub

A/N: I'm back, bitches! xD Bon Appétit <3

Masterlist | List of tags

Was the whole room vibrating, or was it just you...? Your mind needed a moment to focus and find yourself back in reality.

Your whole body felt dangerously hot, even though your skin was covered in the thin layer of sweat and you could feel your hair sticking to your face. Your breath was irregular, and heavy, as if you were drowning and someone just pulled you to the surface, and you were trying your best to get enough oxygen into your lungs. Your heart was beating so intensely that you could feel it even in your fingertips and toes... There was a metallic taste on your tongue, and you realised that you bit your lower lip so hard that you drew blood, but you were too overwhelmed to feel the pain.

When your breathing finally calmed down, a heavy sweet and salty scent hit your nostrils, invading your brain and reminding you of what just happened.

You were sitting in Toto's lap, although sitting was a very generous word for the state you were in. Your back was tightly pressed against his chest and for once in your life, his skin was colder than yours. That sensation helped your mind remember how to form coherent thoughts. He was using his knees to keep your legs open, letting them hang limp in the air, not able to reach the ground, so even if you could move - you wouldn't be able to escape. Toto's strong arm was holding your torso under your breasts, keeping you in the upright position as his other hand was gently caressing your thigh. Your head was resting on his shoulder, and it felt so heavy, even though you felt as if you were floating somewhere under the ceiling. His cheek was pressed to your temple and in his low, rumbling voice he was whispering things your mind wasn't able to comprehend.

Very slowly you moved your hands and placed them over his, trying to hold onto him even more, because you still felt like you could slip in between the cracks of reality. But the tone alone was able to soothe you in the way nothing else ever could. You could feel his chest vibrating behind you, while his hand moved from your thigh to your abdomen, covering almost all of it. His rough fingers were tracing unrecognisable shapes on your skin giving you goosebumps, but you loved that sensation. A huge smile sprawled across your face as you finally came back to your body.

You gently squeezed his big forearms, letting him know that you were coherent again, and when you did that - he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

- You want me to do that again...? - he asked in a hushed whisper, and the only thing you could do was nod your head slowly. - You're being so good for me, just let me take care of you... - he pressed another kiss to your head as his hand left your body for a short moment to grab the vibrating wand again, but you stopped him mid-move... Of that, you had enough. - Oh...? - he asked with a fake innocence in his voice. You could hear a sly smile that showed up on his face; you didn't even have to look at him. - You don't want more...? - he teased, even though he already knew exactly what you were asking for.

You let out a quiet mewl of protest, wriggling your hips just a little bit, grinding against his very erect cock, which was gently resting in between your folds, already soaked with your previous releases, but Toto hadn't had his yet... He always took care of you first, no matter what. He even joked sometimes that at his age he might not be able to keep up with you anymore, but that was bullshit because he was almost always able to outlast you; the control he had over his own body... It was something to be admired, especially in moments like this.

- And you think you're ready...? - he asked in a soft, teasing, almost condescending tone as he gently traced his fingers on the inside of your thighs, giving you goosebumps that spread all over your body. His hands rested on your hips for a moment, where his thumbs gently rubbed the skin before he pulled you back, allowing his shaft to slide up, teasing your clit along the way, which drew another twitch from your body. You couldn't help but part your lips, letting out a soft whine from between them, as his hand travelled up your body, teasing your nipples, until he reached your jaw, where his delicate touch tightened. He roughly grabbed you and forced you to look in the mirror in front of you.

You looked absolutely obscene...

Your eyes looked like they were made of glass, your lips were swollen and puffed from constant biting, and your skin glistened in the soft, dim light. Your neck and shoulders were covered in hickeys and bitemarks, already filling up with crimson. Before your gaze travelled lower, you looked up, to catch Toto's grin, but it was far from malicious; he resembled a proud cat, who presented the fruits of his bountiful hunt. He gently nudged your temple with his nose and playfully bit the top of your ear when he noticed you were looking at him, and you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. But it wasn't long before he guided your head forward again so you could go back to examining your body.

Your hair was a mess, sticking not only to your own flushed skin, but also to Toto's, and your nipples stood proudly erect from all the stimulation, and just by looking at them you could feel them tensing even more. You were spread open by his legs, your most vulnerable parts exposed and displayed... Well... They were just a minute ago, but right in the reflection they were hidden behind a long, thick cock, which tip reached your navel, and just the sight of it made you swallow.

When you saw it for the first time, you were convinced there was no chance he'd ever fit inside you, but somehow he made it fit.

As if out of its own volition, your hand travelled to his shaft, and as soon as your fingers traced the length, Toto hissed quietly in your ear, which made you retreat and look down, but that didn't help, because instead of a reflection, your gaze met the real thing and you instantly started salivating. The smooth texture of a dark pink tip was almost glistening in the soft light, and you could see how tensely the skin was stretched over the girth, giving the impression that it was almost too thick to be contained. Every vein was not only visible but practically emphasized... And when it suddenly twitched and touched your abdomen - there was a sticky spot of precum left on your skin.

- I asked you a question, Angel... - he said with a playful grin, and you instantly looked up to catch his beautiful chocolate eyes staring back at you from the mirror. You swallowed loudly and looked down again as if to make sure, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Or rather what you were about to get inside you.

But somehow words eluded you, so instead you just nodded slowly without breaking eye contact with Toto's reflection.

- Well, if you're sure... - he chuckled quietly... - But first I need you to promise me one thing. Do you think you can do that for me...? - he asked, the cunning smile still echoing in his voice. You nodded again, and he licked your exposed neck, soothing the nasty bite he already left there. When he looked at you again, his gaze darkened. - Keep your eyes open. - he said in a stern voice, and you couldn't help but swallow, because you knew what was about to come, and even though every cell in your body craved it, you were aware that it wasn’t going to be possible without a certain amount of pain. - Yeah...? - he asked after not receiving any confirmation from you.

- Yeah... - it was all you were able to say, your voice still strained and raspy from all the screaming.

- Good girl... - he growled and playfully bit your earlobe, at the same time pulling you even closer into him. You almost closed your eyes when his hands started moving down your body, but you stopped yourself at the last second and looked in the mirror again. Your gaze was pulled to Toto's hands under your thighs, where he gave you a gentle squeeze, letting you know to get ready and relax, before lifting you until his thick tip was pressed against your entrance, and suddenly you weren't so sure if you were ready. He looked almost comically big next to you.

But then he started slowly lowering you, and it was too late to back out. At first, there was only the pressure of his smooth head pushing against your opening, without being able to penetrate, until suddenly his cock slid forward on a slippery mess, shot up gliding between your folds and teasing your clit, which forced a loud squeal from between your lips. You could feel his chest moving behind you, as he tried to mask a chuckle. But he didn't say anything... Instead, he pressed a long kiss to your shoulder and lifted you again.

For a moment you thought that the scenario would repeat itself when that pressure at your entrance grew, but then your already relaxed body lost the battle and gave in, swallowing almost a third of his shaft in one go, driving all air from your lungs in a loud squeak. It took a good few seconds for your brain to process the stimuli, and for a moment you didn't even feel the burning pain of being stretched so much that clenching was impossible, but when it hit you, tears almost instantly started gathering in the corners of your eyes... It was all too much, and a single sob left your mouth.

- Oh, I know it hurts, Angel, I'm sorry... - Toto whispered straight into your ear and rubbed his cheek against your temple. - You're being so good for me, taking me so well... - he continued praising you; his hot breath whiffed over your skin causing almost painful goosebumps. You sniffled quietly and mumbled something your brain couldn't comprehend at the moment, your nervous system completely flooded with the sensations coming from inside of you. - Hmmm? What's that? - he made sure that you didn't use your safe word, but you only weakly repeated the quiet plea. - No, baby, we can't stop yet, I'm not even halfway there and your pussy is too pretty to be half empty... - your sobs grew a little bit louder, and the tears finally overflowed and started streaming down your cheeks. - Shhh, shhh, shhhhhh... It's OK if you cry, you're safe, I promise... I love you so much... - his praise made something in your chest bloom and a familiar warmth spilled from that area... You took one deep breath and nodded, letting him know you were ready to continue.

You let your head roll back and rest on his shoulder while his fingers dug into your flesh as he slowly lifted you again in the air. The thickness of his cock pressed against every single spot inside you on its way out, and you let out another sob, this time louder and you could almost feel him smiling, even though you couldn't see his face from this angle, your nose buried in his neck. Your lips latched onto his skin and you started sucking, trying to distract yourself at least a little from the burning pain coming from between your legs.

He didn't let his whole length leave your body to give you a short break, and as soon as the head was about to pop out of you, he started lowering you again almost mechanically, not speeding up or slowing down, allowing you to get used to the sensations. Before your lips left his skin, you gave him a playful bite over the hickey and rubbed your tears away on his neck and with your own shoulder, because bringing your hands to your face required the amounts of energy you didn't possess at the moment.

You let out a quiet squeal when you felt a familiar pressure against your cervix, and the muscles in your thighs involuntarily clenched. You forced your head up to look in the mirror, but you still didn't have enough strength to keep it upright by yourself, so you rested your temple on Toto's cheek, and the view you saw in front of you almost took your breath away...

Both yours and Toto's skin glistened in the dim warm light, giving the impression that you were covered in a gold mist... Your legs hung loosely in his strong hands, your soft flesh giving into his grip, and every place where his fingers dipped into you looked like a secret oasis of desire, showing how much he didn't want to let you go. You didn't realise that before, but your breath synched with his, or his with yours, and you were moving in perfect harmony, both of your chests rising and falling at the same rhythm as if you were a single organism. And then your gaze travelled lower...

You could see your stomach bulging every time he slowly lowered you down, his massive cock invading your abdomen. You could tell exactly where the tip was and the steady movement almost hypnotized you; you couldn't help yourself and your hand traveled to your stomach, where you could feel him move under the skin. It wasn't the first time you were seeing it, but every time was equally fascinating... Seeing your skin stretching to accommodate something so big, and your opening straining around his girth; he was changing your body in front of your eyes, and you loved it more than you could put into words.

And then he lowered you even more and pain shot through your legs and spine; Toto rammed into your cervix, pushing it back into your body, and you couldn't stop a loud whine that left your lips. Your heart rolled back again, all the sensations too overwhelming to consciously process, so you just let yourself ride it through, trusting him completely.

Toto knew your body well by now, so he squeezed your thighs harder, pulling your attention away from the pain inside you, and he rubbed his cheek against your face, inhaling deeply and allowing your scent to invade his senses.

- You're taking me so well, Angel... So tight for me... - he continued praising you and pressing light kisses everywhere his lips could reach. And with his every word, every thrust, you started to feel the tension building up again, the familiar tightness overtaking your body as his cock constantly stimulated your G spot even with the slightest of moves. You grabbed his forearm with one hand and pressed on your stomach with the other - That's it, baby, that's it... Cum for me, pleeeease cum for me. It's ok, you can do it. - his tone was so soft, putting you at ease and you let yourself go yet again, a quiet moan escaping your lips as your legs involuntarily twitched in his hands, disrupting his steady rhythm, but not stopping completely.

Electricity run through your whole body as the tip of Toto's cock dragged against that spot inside you yet again, and you couldn't stop the loud cry that forced itself from your mouth. Your brain felt fuzzy, and as if it was behind a thick wall, not completely belonging to you. You couldn't lift your head, but your eyes locked with his in the mirror, while sob after quiet sob dropped from between your lips.

- Please... Toto... I can't anymore... - you whined, looking at him with a plea painted all over your face. He only smiled in reply and kissed the top of your head, but he didn't stop moving you up and down, almost like a doll. You wrapped your hands around your body and continued crying as he sped up, your whines matching his moves. But despite the pain and all the stimulation, you didn't close your eyes; after all - he told you not to. And he held your gaze; his eyes darkening with your every plea and you could only see determination in them. He held you even tighter as he continued fucking into you; his thrusts getting faster, more desperate, more erratic. - Toto... I can't... I can't cum anymore... - your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your whole body felt hot and cold at the same time as it hung loosely in his arms and rested against his chest. You barely had enough energy to stay still as he used your body.

- Don't worry, this will be the last one, I promise... I know you can do it, Angel... Here, I'll even go nice and slow to help you a little bit, just to be sure you can take it all, hmmm? - he whispered against your skin and you couldn't even reply coherently, as his movements became more drawn out, more deliberate. He was purposefully angling your body so as much pressure as possible was dragging against that sweet spot inside you at any given moment, and your cries started to mix with moans yet again. - That's it, you're doing amazing... You're such a good girl... Just a little bit longer... - his voice was getting husky and gravely, his breaths shallow and uneven; it couldn't be easy for him to manhandle you like that, but he showed no signs of stopping, continuing to move your body up and down his shaft, a cheeky smile curving his lips as he heard the change in your voice.

Against everything you thought you knew about your body, you started to feel another orgasm approaching; slowly, but unmistakably closing in. You couldn't look away from him, because you knew that if you did, you wouldn't be able to take it any longer and his beautiful dark chocolate eyes were the only thing grounding you in reality.

Your broken sobs became higher the closer you were to the peak, and Toto knew it well, that's why you almost screamed in protest when he suddenly stopped, dropping you completely onto his cock, sheathing it in full inside you.

- Toto... Toto, pleeeeease. Please, please, please, I am so close... - you whined and looked up at him, trying to look into his eyes up close, as if that could help.

- I thought you said you couldn't cum anymore... - he teased with a sly smile and a cold shiver ran through your spine. He wouldn't... He couldn't, right...?

- Nononononono... Please... I was wrong, please... - tears of desperation were streaming down your cheeks, but you couldn't care less.

- Oh, Angel... - his voice was soft and soothing; he could never resist your pleas. He playfully bit the side of your neck and immediately licked it at the same time moving you up again and a quiet squeal tore itself from between your lips. - Just a little bit longer... Can you do that for me...? Can you wait for me...? - he whispered quietly with his nose digging into your cheek, his words composed more from heavy breathing than actual sound.

Instead of replying you just nodded enthusiastically and pressed yourself into his chest even harder; not sure when your own body ended and his began. And then he picked up the speed again, and you just couldn't stop your eyes from rolling back into your head. You had to wrap your arms around yourself, so they wouldn't be flailing widely in the rhythm of Toto's moves. You could feel your breasts bouncing, straining against gravity, the slight sting of skin slapping against skin, the sound filling the room in tandem with other sounds. Moans, growls, whines, and whimpers mixed with each other in an unnamed symphony, accompanied by the loud squelching coming from your pussy.

Toto's fingers dug deeper into your flesh to get a tighter grip; your skin was covered in a layer of sweat and he didn't want to accidentally drop you. And if that meant that you'd be donning bruises in the shape of his fingers for the next few days... Oh well.

You were so fucking close... You could almost taste it with your mouth wide open, willing your body to hold on for just a little bit longer. You didn't even feel your fingernails drawing blood from where you were holding onto yourself.

And then something shifted in the air. Toto's growls became deeper and louder, and you could just tell that he closed his eyes and that his eyebrows gathered closer, focusing on the culmination of today's evening. He started thrusting up, although, in the position you were in, it wasn't easy. His face was pressed into your shoulder, his hot breath giving you goosebumps all over.

It wasn't long before you could feel his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you right before release, and as soon as he released the first spurt of cum right against your cervix, he dropped you onto his cock, wrapped his hand around your waist and with the other reached down ad started rubbing your clit with just enough pressure that you came instantly releasing an exhausted yet satisfied cry, allowing your body to act on its own.

Your legs curled up, your toes crossed each other and your stomach tensed, and if not for Toto's arm, you would have slid down from his lap onto the floor. And then he continued rubbing, as all air left your lungs and you became quiet. Or maybe you screamed...? You weren't quite sure, because the only thing you were able to hear was a loud, rapid heartbeat ringing in your ears, as you were spasming around Toto's giant cock inside you. He made you ride your orgasm to the fullest, relishing in the feeling of your soft walls squeezing around him, as your body twitched uncontrollably until it couldn't anymore.

You were left limply laying in Toto's hold, and after you were able to catch your breath you let out a quiet, raspy chuckle.

- I swear to gods, the things you do to me... - you said with disbelief, your mouth was so dry that when you closed it, your tongue almost stuck to the roof of your mouth. Toto joined you in the quiet laughter, his chest rumbling gently under your back

- Ich liebe dich... - he mumbled and pulled you up his lap, even closer to him than you already were, and hid his face in the nook of your neck, taking a deep breath. You lifted your hand and ran your fingers through his soft hair.

- I love you too... - you chuckled again, not exactly by choice... Your body still didn't belong fully to you and it tried to release all the accumulated tension in any way it could, and that also meant that you still randomly twitched from time to time, but that didn't stop you from noticing that Toto's giant hand found it's way to your abdomen, fingers tracing the bulge he was a cause of. - You're not planning on pulling out, are you... - it was more of a statement than a question and your tone was light, almost like a warm laughter.

- I wouldn't dream about it. - he replied and started sucking on the skin of your shoulder again, and you just knew that you were going to wake up with another load of his cum inside you.

Eventually, you were able to look up at your reflection again, and you didn't even try to hide a giant smile that curved your lips. There was no way you could hide all the bitemarks, hickeys and bruises in the coming days, but neither could he, so at least you were matching.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #Toto Wolff #Toto Wolff fanfiction #Toto Wolff smut #Toto Wolff x reader

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thewidowsledger · 2 months ago

Text

Look Out For That Rage

Pairings: Avenger Natasha Romanoff x Agent Female Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags | Warnings: +18, pregnant reader, pregnancy rage, emotional wreck r, sleepy r, jealousy, puking, weird food cravings, weird pregnancy cravings in general not just with food👀 r being obsessed in watching Natasha eat🥴 watching you eat…is so exciting ‘cause nobody else does- S.J.

Author's Note: This part can be boring, just highlights the weird pregnancy cravings that were actually referenced by my cousin's weird cravings and needs when she was pregnant. And I also watched and researched some pregnancy experiences on TikTok so if you find them weird, just scroll away. If I would have a weird food craving it will definitely be vanilla ice-cream and I will dip nuggies and fries to it, what's yours? xD

MINI SERIES: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

⧗

“Aunt Y/N wants Uncle Thor in her bedroom.” Morgan mumbled innocently and everyone's attention honed in on her.

Natasha immediately tensed, her eyes widening with disbelief and possessiveness.

“Why on earth does she want Uncle Thor in our bedroom?”

⧗

You abruptly woke up, feeling a wave of nausea wash over you. Your stomach churned uncomfortably, and the overwhelming sensation of being sick forced you to scramble out of bed and rush to the bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet in time, hunching over and vomiting repeatedly.

The absence of Natasha only heightened your emotions, and tears welled up in your eyes. You clutched the edge of the toilet, the solitude only adding to your already distressed state.

You looked back in the bedroom in desperation, searching for any sign of your girlfriend, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Natty?” you called out for her, weak and nauseous, your voice growing more desperate with each hoarse call. “Nat?”

“Lybov?” Wanda called on the door. She heard you call for Natasha with a hoarse voice, panic instantly shot through her and she flung open the door to the bathroom, only to find you hunched over the toilet retching and weeping.

Kneeling beside you, she gathered your hair away from your face and held it in a ponytail, gently rubbing soothing circles to soothe your upset stomach.

After what felt like an eternity, the last wave of nausea finally subsided, and you collapsed against Wanda, your body weak and shaky. She held you close, her arms wrapping around you protectively as she murmured soothing words into your ear.

“It's alright, I’m here.”

Wanda gently took a tissue from the nearby countertop and carefully wiped your mouth, gently removing any remaining vomit. The overwhelming smell of your own vomit caused your stomach to churn once more. She looked down at you as you looked up at her. For a brief moment, you suddenly broke down, a sob escaping your lips, raw and uncontrollable. Your tears spilled from your eyes, and you huddled against your best friend, your body shaking with the force of your crying. Your sobbing grew more intense, Wanda's panic rose, her heart aching at the sight of your distress. She held you tighter, her arms wrapping around you protectively as she tried to soothe your anguish.

“Shh, shh, it's alright,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I've got you, lyubov. I've got you.”

Wanda eased you back onto the bed, her gentle touch guiding you carefully. Just as you leaned against the pillows, the door creaked open, and Natasha appeared, a tray in her hands. She carried a plate of freshly cooked pancakes, topped with a generous dollop of strawberry jam, the aroma of sweetness filling the room. It was your favorite that she always made but right now you fought hard not to want to eat it.

“I want to sleep.”

Natasha, despite the tension in the air, gently insisted, “Detka, you need to eat.”

Wanda remained standing awkwardly in the room, caught in the middle of the tense exchange between you and Natasha. Her eyes darted between the two of you, unsure of what to do or say to ease the mounting tension. But one thing for sure is that she likes how you’re being stubborn and hard with your girlfriend, as you should, she said in her mind.

Natasha picked up the plate of pancakes, but you only huffed in response trying to fight the sweet aroma wafting through the air as she held it out towards you.

“No!” you tucked yourself back in the bed covering your whole body so you wouldn't get the smell of the freshly cooked pancakes.

“Give it to me.” Natasha's grip on the plate of pancakes tightened at Wanda's words. She despised the idea of you listening to Wanda instead of her, she’s your girlfriend for god’s sake. But knowing that this is the only way to ensure you'll eat, she reluctantly handed over the plate to Wanda, her expression betraying her frustration and jealousy.

“I think Y/N would appreciate it if you go out that door right now,” she tried to soften the blow with a gentle smile, but Natasha knew that the witch was really trying to get into her. It took all her self-control to suppress her initial reaction of anger. Instead, she simply nodded tight lipped, biting back any biting retorts that threatened to spill from her lips.

Natasha looked at the comforter you're hiding from, “Detka, please eat. I’ll be right back.” You only huffed, rolling your eyes beneath the thick blanket.

As soon as your girlfriend was out of the door. Wanda sat on your bed, she made sure that she's not sitting on your leg. “Lyubov, I know you're hungry.”

“No, I’m sleepy. I don't want to eat.” You groggily respond, trying your best to keep yourself awake.

“I know you're sleepy, I know you're tired, but that's all the more reason to eat something. You need to keep your strength up, especially now that you're pregnant. Think of the baby. The baby needs you to eat and be healthy.”

“Lyubov?” Wanda called again, as she waited for a response. But when she heard nothing, she carefully peeked over the blankets. There she saw you, fast asleep, your face relaxed and peaceful in slumber. She let out a sigh and carefully, she tucked the comforter around you, making sure to leave your head free from its cozy confines.

Wanda gently set the plate back down on the tray beside your bed and covered it. She looked at you for a moment, her heart filled with affection as she watched you sleep. Without a sound, she then quietly left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

“Did she eat?” Natasha inquired as soon as she saw Wanda, she was actually waiting for her but Wanda remained silent, her expression betraying nothing. Natasha took that as a sign and a smug look at her face, confirming her suspicion that you also didn't listen even to your best friend. Wanda saw the look on Natasha's face and immediately felt the need to defend herself.

“She fell asleep immediately,” Wanda finally spoke up, annoyed by Natasha's reaction.

A heavy silence fell over the two of them after Wanda's words. Natasha fidgeted nervously, her eyes darting around the room while Wanda was preparing herself some orange juice. The weight of the silence became unbearable and finally, Natasha broke it.

“Wanda, I know I messed up with Y/N and I know you're upset about it. I want to fix things and make it up to her, but I can't do that if you're constantly standing in my way.”

Natasha continued, her voice growing more earnest and frustrated. “Please, Wanda. I apologize for hurting your friend, let me fix my mistake. I care about your best friend deeply, and I don't want to lose her love because I was a stupid. I know I screwed up, but I promise I'll do better. Just give me a chance.”

Wanda's gaze softened just a bit as she saw the sincerity in Natasha's eyes, but she still wasn't fully convinced. As your friend or best friend, she needed to look out for you and make sure you weren't hurt again.

“Do you remember what I said to you through comms?” the witch asked.

“I do,” Natasha replied, “you'd kill me if anything happened to Y/N and the baby.”

Wanda hummed, “Good, you remember. I want you to keep that in mind,” she firmly reiterated before exiting the kitchen leaving your girlfriend alone.

⧗

After an hour of peaceful sleep, you finally stirred, slowly opening your eyes. This time, there was no lingering dizziness or nausea, but a nagging hunger pang made itself known in your stomach. You sat up in bed, groggily rubbing your eyes, your thoughts immediately turning to the need to satisfy your appetite.

You remembered the pancakes your girlfriend made for you. There, you noticed the tray that Natasha had brought earlier, adorned with the pancakes still waiting for you.

Hungry and eager, you picked up the plate of pancakes and began devouring the.. The taste of sweetness and warmth filled your mouth with each bite, each mouthful satisfying the ache in your stomach. You could feel the texture of the pancakes, the sticky sweetness of the fresh strawberry with the syrup mingling with the fluffy softness as you hurriedly finished each bite. Within a matter of minutes, you had nearly cleaned the whole plate, no crumbs and syrup marks remaining.

Natasha slowly eased open the door, peeking her head into the room. You glanced up at her briefly, your expression flat as you remained in bed. Your bad mood was evident, and you made no attempt to acknowledge her presence. She entered the room quietly, sensing your mood but still approaching you anyway.

Natasha tried to engage you in conversation, her voice gentle and careful.

“Hey, detka. Did you have a good sleep?”

You don't know why you are being like this, but you cannot actually stand the presence of your girlfriend. Is it because of the other night? Maybe. Is it because earlier that she was nowhere to be found when she literally said that she'll be here for you? Maybe.

Your cold attitude was evident as you placed the plate back on the tray with a loud thud, the sound so forceful and sharp that one might worry it had been broken.

Natasha flinched at the noise, her eyes widening slightly as she watched you set the plate down. Your irritation was palpable, and even the harsh sound you made didn't seem to bring you any satisfaction.

“You finished the pancake, I see,” she winced. You met her gaze with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, your expression unamused and aloof.

“Can you not talk?” you demanded.

Natasha tried to soothe you, but she was quickly cut off by your next outburst.

“Det—”

“Can you not breathe?” you continued, your voice getting louder to Natasha's liking. Your girlfriend was taken aback by your demand but held her breath instinctively.

“Can you just…just leave?!” you finally shouted as you flail your hands, your demand and mood only worsening.

And with that your girlfriend hurriedly made her way out of the room. Natasha gasped for air, her breaths coming out shaky and fast. The redhead was terrified to do anything that might only fan the flames of your mood.

“Hey Auntie Nat.”

“Fuck!” Natasha hissed in surprise as she heard a small voice call her name. She looked down to see Morgan standing in front of her, startled by the unexpected presence of the child. Her heart was still racing from your mood swings and the sight of Morgan only made her gasp for air once more.

Natasha took a deep breath to calm herself, and a slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she looked down at her goddaughter. “Hey, kid whatchu here for?”

Morgan's small voice piped up, “I wan’ see Aunt Y/N.”

Natasha quickly shifted gears, determined not to let the kid witness your moodiness. So the redhead found herself awkwardly explaining to Morgan that you are not in a good mood right now, trying to skirt around the truth in a way that the kid would understand. But Morgan, being a curious and innocent kid, kept firing off questions.

“Aunt Y/N is resting now.” Natasha started.

“Is she sick?” the kid asked, her voice full of innocent confusion. “I really wan’ see her.” she pouts.

“No, no, she's not sick,” Natasha replied immediately, “Well, she was.”

“She was sick?” Morgan repeated Natasha's words, still puzzled and now worried for you.

Natasha bit her lip, mentally sighing at the kid's persistence. She’s trying to remain patient despite the barrage of questions.

“Okay…” Natasha sighed kneeling in front of the kid, “You see, your Aunt Y/N is sick, but she's getting better,” Natasha said, she pushed some hair on the kid’s face using her slender fingers, “but she's very sensitive right now, and seeing people might stress her out. So it's best if we don't disturb her…for now.”

Natasha paused, Morgan always wanted to go to the compound’s gym but her father didn't want her to see the team training and sparring there. The redhead was quick to ask the little Morgan, “What about we go to the gym?”

The kid thought about it for a brief moment, her enthusiasm momentarily diminished as she thought of you. She had brought lots of hair ties, ribbons and hair brushes to play with you, and she’s really excited to see you. So when the kid hesitantly nodded Natasha smiled at her, and she reached out to pinch her cheek affectionately before she took Morgan's hand in hers, her small fingers intertwining the redhead’s.

As the two were making their way to the gym, they happened to bump into Maria.

“Nat!” Maria called. “How are you? How's Y/N and the little bean?”

“We’re all okay, how's your shoulder?” Natasha asked her partner, inquiring about her injury that she had during the last mission.

The two fell into a deep conversation, neither of them noticed Morgan carefully slipping away from Natasha’s grasp. She quietly tiptoed down the hallway, her small feet barely making a sound as she moved towards your room.

You were lying on your bed, your mind in a storm of mixed emotions, when you heard the distinct sound of the door handle turning. At first, you only saw the door opening with no one at the entrance. But then, your gaze shifted downward and your eyes landed on the small figure of Morgan, standing at the doorway.

Immediately, a warm smile spread across your face as you saw Morgan standing at the door. You sat up in bed, your expression softening.

“Hi little girl,” you said in a gentle voice as if you didn't sound like a dragon shouting at your girlfriend earlier. You patted the spot on the bed next to you. “What are you doing here?”

Morgan, who's very excited to see you eagerly trotted into the room, her small feet pattering against the floor. She climbed up onto the bed and sat next to you. The kid looked up at you, her small frame barely taking up any space on the bed. “I wanted to see you,” she said, her voice filled with eagerness.

Morgan's simple but heartfelt confession touched your heart, melting away some of the storm emotions you're feeling a while ago. You smiled at her, your eyes softening as you looked down at the sweet little kid sitting beside you.

“Aww, that's really sweet of you. I'm glad you came to see me. Whatchu got there, Morgan?” You reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately.

Morgan's eyes lit up as she showed you the set of cute ties, a variety of ribbons, glittered hairpins and mini scrunchies and hair brushes she had brought with her.

“I brought it so we can play salon,” she said, her tone filled with innocent eagerness.

“Want me to tie your hair?” You asked and the kid’s small head nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

With a gentle smile, you patted your lap, she quickly moved to settle onto your lap comfortably. You began to sift through the hair ties and brushes that she had laid out before you, asking her which one to use first and the ones she likes.

You started to tie Morgan's hair, she couldn't help but giggle with excitement. Every now and then, she would let out a small gasp or a squeal as you pulled a lock of hair into place. She occasionally turned her head to look up at you with a big smile on her face, expressing her joy at the play time you were having together.

After completing the hairstyle, you reached over to your bedside table and pulled out a small compact mirror. You handed the mirror to the little girl sitting on your lap, a smile on your lips.

“Look at that!” You beamed, “You look so beautiful, little miss Potts!”

Morgan took the mirror and looked at her reflection, her eyes widening with delight. She admired the hairstyle you had just done for her, her hand touching the butterfly clips curiously.

“Thanks aunt Y/N!”

“You're welcome,” you squeak, poking Morgan’s cheek that made her giggle, “Can you call uncle Thor for me? Love?”

The kid eagerly nodded and immediately sprinted towards the door.

“Careful love!” You yelled out to her.

⧗

“So? What's up with Y/N?”

“She doesn't want me to breathe,” Natasha sighed plopping herself to the sofa and that made the team burst into laughter.

Natasha's face scrunched up slightly as she spoke, “I didn't know that being angry when your partner is breathing was included in the package deal of pregnancy.”

Clint held his hands up, trying to contain his laughter, “Ah, pregnancy rage. It's a thing alright.”

“Laura, you know,” he started, laughing between his words, “One minute, she would be laughing uncontrollably at my joke, and the next, she would be yelling at me for forgetting to put the toilet seat down. I swear, I slept on the couch more during those nine months than I ever did!”

Thor clapped a hand on Natasha's shoulder, his voice filled with booming Asguardian laugh. “That’s not pregnancy rage, it's the joys of pregnancy!”

Maria smiled warmly at her partner, “Just be patient with her,” she suggested gently.

“I won't get tired, I don't have the reason to,” she asserted. A slight smile tugged at her lips as she continued, “In fact, I find it cute and scary. I can handle it.”

“Oh wait until she makes you sleep on the floor or couch, I’m here when you have back pains already.”

As the conversation continued, the group's attention was abruptly interrupted and it was none other than Morgan, who came charging into the room with a big smile on her face.

“Uncle Thor, Uncle Thor!”

Thor chuckled as Morgan practically threw herself at him, his strong arms effortlessly catching the little girl.

“Morgan, you ditched Auntie Nat, where did you go?” she asked, pouting at the girl. Then, noticing the girl's hair, she added, “And your hair looks so beautiful!”

“Auntie Y/N did my hair!” the little girl announced proudly, her face lit up with a bright smile.

Clint suddenly spoke up, a puzzled look on his face. “Wait, Nat,” he began. “I thought Y/N is in a bad mood and doesn't wanna see people. How come she did Morgan's hair?”

“Oh no, I think Y/N only doesn't wanna see Nat…” she whispered, her teeth grazing her lower lip as she looked at her partner.

“Aunt Y/N want Uncle Thor in her bedroom.” Morgan mumbled innocently and everyone's attention honed in on her.

Natasha immediately tensed, her eyes widening with disbelief and possessiveness.

“Why on earth does she want Uncle Thor in our bedroom?” She leaned forward, her voice sharp as she repeated the question, emphasizing the word “our.”

The little girl shrugged innocently. She then promptly hopped off Thor's lap, her small hand gripping his fingers with surprising strength. Her voice carried a tone of innocent excitement as she tugged gently on his hand.

“C'mon, Uncle Thor,” she urged, her small figure already setting off in the direction of your shared bedroom.

Thor's eyes shifted nervously to Natasha, seeking her approval before proceeding. After all, she was your girlfriend, and he wasn't sure why you had specifically requested his presence in your room, and your girlfriend has no idea too which is making her crazy.

Natasha released an exasperated sigh, she crossed her arms before Clint spoke up, breaking the palpable tension in the room with his words.

“Guys, you really think Y/N would do something immoral?” Clint asked in disbelief. After a brief pause he told Thor to go.

Thor nodded slowly, his expression contemplative as his eyes darted towards Natasha who was looking at the ceiling, her frustration evident in the way she chewed on her lower lip and crossing her arms together tightly. Before anyone could say anything else, Morgan impatiently tugged on Thor's hand, her young energy fueling her impatience.

As the little girl pushed open the door to your room, Thor followed closely behind her. The door closed quietly behind them as Morgan led Thor further inside, her small hand still wrapped around his calloused fingers.

“What's up, Asguardian?” you greeted, your arms crossed, cocking your brows at him playfully.

“I’m good and delighted to be here, how about you? How are you feeling Y/N?” Thor replied with his usual charm.

His voice seemed to have a profound effect on you, causing your cheeks to flush lightly, and you responded softly, “I'm doing good, Thor. Well, thank you for accepting my invite.”

Morgan quickly ran towards your bed and in a moment, she plopped down in your lap, a giggle escaping her. The little girl snuggled against you, her small frame feeling warm and soft against your own.

You gestured gently and patted the edge of the bed, silently inviting Thor to take a seat.

“Y/N…” he called out your name very carefully, “I don't think Natasha will like—” but you cut him off mid-sentence. Without giving him a chance to finish, you retorted, “She's not here, is she?”

The Asguardian froze in place, he knew better than to deny you. He has heard your girlfriend rant about your mood swings and he has no intention of provoking or triggering your pregnancy rage which he calls joys of pregnancy and he’s now taking it back.

“I think you can sit on the floor while I sit at the edge of the bed,” you smiled innocently pointing at the floor between your legs.

Thor slowly settled himself between your legs, the metal components of his armor clinking against each other. His broad back was facing you and his heart was beating fast calling all the gods he knew, to his surprise you began to run your fingers through his hair, gently fixing the locks and neatening his usually unruly mane. Then, you requested Morgan to hand you the biggest brush with glitter and ribbon resins on it.

And that to set Thor at ease. He breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that you were just simply intending to do his hair.

As you continued to brush through Thor's hair, you found yourself admiring its beauty and thickness. The golden locks felt soft and smooth under your touch, and you couldn't help but marvel at the healthy and radiant appearance of his hair.

“I hope my baby will have your hair.” You whispered and Thor just nervously chuckled. “Can you ask the goddesses you know if they can make my baby's hair like this?” you peeked at his side.

Thor took a deep breath, choosing his words with extreme caution, “I know some of the goddesses of my realm,” he repeated, his voice laced with nervousness. He knew he was treading on thin ice, both literally and figuratively, as he tried to find the right words to explain.

“But I cannot guarantee that they can grant such a boon,” he continued, his voice softer. “You understand, right? These things are…not completely within my control.”

“Blah, blah, blah…”

Thor's heart thumped loudly in his chest, he cannot believe that a human is making him feel dangerously scared and nervous!

“You could have said no, Thor,” You handed him a mirror, “Okay your hair is all done and pretty.” Thor held the mirror, taking a moment to regard his freshly braided locks with a lot of pink ribbons and sparkly pins in there, he then saw you at the mirror behind him with a small grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

“The payment is my baby having your hair, if that really is not possible I guess I’ll just have to settle with another redhead,” you said as the Asguardian stood. Right now you only have two choices, making Thor ask for a goddess that can grant your wish or just accept the fact that your baby will have the same hair as your girlfriend, your hair is not even on the choices.

As Thor stepped towards the door, a thought crossed your mind and you called out to him, “Oh, and Thor,” to which he turned back to face you. You added cheerfully, “Tell Jane I said hi!”

Thor nodded with a smile on his face and waved at you before disappearing in your room. You now turned your focus on Morgan behind you who’s too focused on placing the hair ties on the bed, “So, who's our next client?”

Natasha has been staring at Thor, Yelena and Wanda who’s in a kitchen laughing and admiring each other’s hair. You also called Yelena and Wanda for you to have their hair done with glittery ribbons and hairpins.

“I want my hair done like that too!” Natasha whined as she was unable to contain her jealousy, she actually doesn't know if she wants her hair done like that or she was more interested in getting your attention than the actual hairstyle itself.

Clint couldn't help but chuckle as he looked at Natasha's pouty expression. He reached over and gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Maybe you can ask Morgan if they accept walk-ins.”

⧗

It had been three weeks since the initial pregnancy was revealed, and now you found yourself in the fifteenth week of your pregnancy. Over time, your baby bump has grown more prominent, a visible evidence of the life growing inside you. The symptoms such as morning sickness and cravings had lessened slightly, but a new set of discomforts had taken their place. Your body felt heavier, your feet were swollen, and there were times when you felt exhausted and sluggish.

As for Natasha, Clint had been true to his warnings, and you had banished Natasha to the couch. Your irritation and mood swings were becoming more and more intense as your pregnancy progressed, and you found it increasingly difficult to tolerate even the smallest actions from your girlfriend. Although Natasha was being nothing but loving and supportive, your pregnancy hormones had rendered you quite irritable, causing you to snap at her often…and grew distant to her.

There are also specifically weird things that grew into you like you being not able to go a day without touching Thor’s silky golden locks, which made your girlfriend extremely jealous whenever you ask for Thor and whenever she had to watch you get to play with his hair.

And the food cravings had taken a strange and unexpected turn. There was this one time, you had a hankering for a mango, but it couldn't just be any mango; it had to be from India and you want Natasha to get it, not anyone. Tony, always eager to appease you, even if it meant borrowing one of his jets he arranged for Natasha to go to India to get you those specific mangos you wanted. And the moment Natasha returned, you just placed the mangos in the refrigerator and simply stared at them. Every time you opened the fridge, you made sure the mangos were there, almost as if they were a security blanket.

Sam, who just came back from a mission, was unaware of your mango situation and he accidentally ate one. When you checked the fridge and noticed that one mango was missing, you lost your temper and stormed through the compound, determined to find the culprit who had dared to touch your sacred mangos. Thanks to Natasha for saving Sam from your raging wrath, she immediately replaced it and told you that it just fell god knows where in the fridge but you immediately bought it though.

Today, your pregnancy cravings had struck again, like always and this time, you found yourself craving Wanda's famous paprikash. The thought of the rich, spicy dish made your stomach growl. Wanda, upon hearing of your desire, was absolutely delighted. She was thrilled to cook her speciality for you.

Your eyes lit up as Wanda approached, she carried a steaming plate of paprikash, the rich red sauce clinging to the edges and the golden, tender vegetables visible within. You could almost taste the dish already, your mouth watering in anticipation. Wanda reached the table, placing the plate in front of you with a radiant smile on her face.

You smiled up at your bestfriend, thanking her for the meal before taking a spoonful of the dish. The spicy, fragrant flavors exploded on your taste buds, the warmth of the food coating your tongue. After a moment of pure satisfaction, you placed the spoon back down, once again just staring at the food. Wanda, who had resumed her cleaning at the kitchen counter noticed you not touching your food, furrowing her brow in confusion at your lack of enthusiasm for the food. She knew how much you had been craving it, so why weren't you eating more?

“Lyubov? Is there something wrong?” Wanda asked, worried that you didn't like her cooking. But she always cooks her paprikash the same way so nothing could go wrong.

You quickly reassured her, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “No, Wanda, it's perfect, but I think it's not that spicy for me.”

Wanda chuckled at your comment. “Y/N, I actually reduced the spice because I know you're quite sensitive to spicy foods,” she explained.

“Well it's not that spicy to me.” You said flatly which made Wanda freeze in place, your attitude shifting from being ecstatic about the food and being cold about it.

Your actions seemed almost frenzied as you suddenly stood up, rummaging through the cabinets to find a hot sauce. With a splash, you poured almost half an amount of hot sauce onto the plate of paprikash, the vibrant red sauce mixing with the redder colors of the dish.

Wanda watched all of this in stunned silence, her mind racing to make sense of your behavior. Weird pregnancy cravings, she thought to herself.

You took a spoonful of the food again, now satisfied at the level of spiciness of the food.

“I’m full,” You announced as you pushed the plate away.

“Y/N, you've only had two spoons.” Wanda scolded, placing her hands at her waist. She glanced at the barely touched food on the plate, confusion etched on her face. How could you possibly be full after eating such a small amount, especially when you had just drenched it with hot sauce? It seemed like your pregnancy cravings were reaching new heights.

Food cravings, check. Weird food cravings, check.

“Where’s Natnat?” you asked as you tap the table impatiently, when you were about to stand you saw your girlfriend entering the kitchen.

“Hey, I was looking for you. I’m gonna go to the grocery do you want some—”

“Eat,” you cut her off not minding a word coming out of her mouth.

Natasha didn't hesitate and approached you immediately. She enveloped you in a tight hug, planting a tender kiss on the side of your forehead like she always does whenever she sees you. You clung to her for a brief moment before abruptly pulling away, creating a physical and emotional distance. It's no new to Natasha actually, since the incident you grew distant to her but she couldn't pinpoint if it was due to the hormones associated with your pregnancy or if you haven't forgiven her yet.

You haven't been affectionate to her and you haven't been actually intimate to each other and it's been so hard for Natasha…literally.

Natasha took a seat across from you at the table, you pushed the bowl of paprikash to her, “Here, eat.”

“Oh, okay.”

When Natasha took a bite she immediately felt the burning sensation on her tongue. Her eyes water as she tries to suppress the urge to cough. She didn't want to let on that the food was too spicy, not wanting to dampen your efforts in making her eat.

Wanda, however, simply tightened her lips, saying nothing as she watched Natasha try to maintain her composure.

You watched Natasha struggling with the food, completely oblivious to the fact that it was too spicy for her. You asked, “Good?”

Natasha, just responded with a tight smile, her eyes watering from the spiciness. “Y-yeah, it is,” she forced herself to say, hoping to avoid further questions. She looked back to Wanda who just gave her an awkward smile.

“Wanda cooked it. But I contributed by adding some generous amount of hot sauce.” You said plainly as you watch her like a hawk watching its prey eat.

“Thanks, Wanda,” your girlfriend managed to say between coughs, “Generous amount of hot sauce, huh,” she added, as she wiped her forehead that began to gleam with sweat as she took another bite.

Yelena entered the kitchen and saw Wanda watching you and your girlfriend, “So what are we watching?” the blonde asked.

“Let's just say that Y/N craved my paprikash, had two bites and she made her girlfriend eat it and now she's having some fun watching her girlfriend finish the food.”

“Did you notice that she has been watching Natasha eat for like a week now?” Yelena whispered to the redhead.

“Yeah, we bring in her favorite foods or Natasha gets them herself, only for her to end up consuming almost all of it while Y/N watches her, because if she won't, it's the end for your sister.”

The blonde's voice dropped to a murmur, when an intriguing theory just came up in her mind, “Is it like a... kink thing or something? Y'know watching your partner eat brings you pleasure...” she then stopped when she saw Wanda staring at her in disbelief.

“Seriously, Yelena?” she snapped as she crossed her arms, “I doubt it's that. Y/N is pregnant, hormones and cravings do weird things.”

Yelena, never one to back down, pointed another idea she had in mind, “And horny things.” Wanda could only let out an exasperated sigh.

“Why in the hell Natasha is all red?” Yelena whispered as she looked at her sister who looked like a tomato, she then let out a gasp as she spotted a familiar hot sauce bottle at the table.

“Is that my hot sauce?!”

#scheduled post #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader

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kaleldobrev · 1 year ago

Text

Old Man

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary: Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: Age Gap, Cursing (13x), Sexual Innuendos, Dean talking bad about himself, Frat guys giving Y/N the disrespect she doesn’t deserve Authors Note: Me and Jensen have a 17-year age gap – what’s your age gap? | This came out A LOT longer than I expected | I don’t know how to write frat guys xD | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You and Dean pulled up in front of a gas station; needing to stop for gas and maybe a few snacks before the two of you continued your almost four-hour long journey back to the Bunker. You and Dean had just spent the weekend in Lawrence, due to the very rare occurrence that there were no cases. You had told Dean that even though you’d been living at the Bunker with him and Sam for the past couple of years, you had never once been to Lawrence even though you could have easily made a day trip out of it. With that being said, Dean was more than happy to take you and show you around, reminiscing about some of the things that he remembered doing all those years ago back when he was four; back before everything. But that’s not all the trip was, you had done some other things too; like visiting the Biodiversity Institute and Natural History Museum – which was considered to be one of the best museums in the entire state of Kansas, along with Grinter Farms – who prided themselves on their sunflower photo-ops. You enjoyed both places immensely, and were happy that Dean did too, even if he wasn’t initially keen on going to either place at first.

“I’m gonna grab us some snacks while you do the pump.” You said, grabbing your wallet from the glove compartment. Once you closed it and before you exited the car, you looked over at Dean, who was currently giving you the most serious look on his face. “What?”

“You already know what I’m going to say Sweetheart.” His tone sounding just as serious as his facial expression had looked.

“Pie.” You said in unison.

“Cherry or apple?” You asked, the two of you getting out of the car at the same time.

“Like you have to ask.” Dean stated, opening up the fuel cap.

“Just making sure Dean. I mean, I don’t want to come out with apple when you really wanted cherry.” Your comment earned a slight chuckle from him.

“I’ll be getting some cherry pie later, don’t you worry.” He winked.

“I don’t think that applies to me anymore.” You smirked.

“We can always pretend.” He started fueling Baby just then.

“Now that’s a roleplay idea I can get behind.” You winked at him before making your way into the store.

As soon as you walked into the store to grab some snacks for the two of you – one of which needed to be pie; a car pulled up the next pump over with a group of about four men who all appeared to be from the University of Kansas solely based on their Jayhawks apparel. “I don’t know dude. I’m pretty sure that chick was into me.” One of the men said, causing the one that he was talking to, to roll his eyes.

“No dude. She was into me. She was giving me the old fuck me eyes. Did you not see that? Or were you too busy looking at her ass?” He laughed. It was the other guy’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Can you blame me? You could bounce a quarter off that thing.” The young man replied.

“Hell yeah you could!” The other one agreed, giving each other a high five.

There was a part of Dean that found their conversation funny because he had remembered when he was like that; but it hadn’t been for some time. Yes, there were times when he was still like that, but it was solely reserved for one woman: and that woman was you.

“Check out that piece of ass in the store there.” Another one of the men who hadn’t talked before was talking now. His comment caused Dean to turn in their direction and then back into the store. There was no other person that they could be talking about but you, as you were the only person in there besides the clerk behind the counter; and Dean was pretty sure they weren’t talking about the balding clerk.

“Bet she’s a good fuck.” One of the men said. Oh you have no idea. Dean thought to himself.

“I’ll bet you thirty bucks that I can convince her to have sex with me.” The first guy said, the one that had noticed you in the first place.

“Dude, there’s no fucking way she’d have sex with you.” The next guy said. “Look at her! She’s way out of your league. Plus, even if you could pull her, where are the two of you gonna do it uh? The dirty gas station bathroom?”

“Sure why not? I bet she wouldn’t mind it at all.” He winked. His comment caused Dean to chuckle a little to himself, knowing how wrong that guy was. You and Dean have had sex in a variety of different places, but never a gas station bathroom. “Dean, as much as I love you, I’m not fucking in a gas station bathroom. That’s honestly my only limitation.” You once told him. “So, Waffle House bathroom is okay then?” He joked back, causing you to give him a playful smack on the arm from his remark.

“Dude, she’s not gonna give you the time of day. She needs a real man. And that ain’t you.” The man started walking around to the other side of the pump and started making his way toward the store. You ain’t a real man dude. Dean thought to himself. None of them were what he would call a man, only boys pretending to be.

“Watch and learn boys!” The guy said using his most charismatic voice. Dean wasn’t worried at all; he knew that you would never give the guy the time of day. You two had been together for the last couple of years, and the group of quote on quote men weren’t remotely your type in the slightest. Dean had seen pictures of your previous exes or have worked cases with them before. All your previous exes besides about one were all hunters; not varsity jock looking guys, and that’s what those guys were.

“Hey kid, I wouldn’t if I were you.” Dean finally chimed in. At first, he wasn’t even going to say anything. He had almost wanted to see the boy come back out the store with the look of utter embarrassment on his face when you had rejected him; which he knew was going to happen. But the jealous side of him won in that moment. He knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself – you were one of the best hunters he’d ever seen or worked with. He’d seen you get hit on plenty of times either when you two went to the bar together or while working a case; but those men never seemed like threats to him. But this time, this time felt different for him.

“I’m sorry?” The guy questioned.

“I said, I wouldn’t if I were you.” Dean said, his voice a bit more stern than usual.

“What’s it to you?” The guy asked, giving a slight snort.

“She’s going to reject you buddy. Trust me.” Dean finished filling the car up and put the pump back in its place. “Just trying to save you the embarrassment in front of your buddies here.”

“Oh yeah? Why do you say that?” The guy turned to look at you. You were currently standing at the counter laughing, probably at something the clerk had just said with two apple pie containers in your hands. Although Dean couldn’t hear your laugh, the sound of it echoed in his brain. God, he loved the sound of your laugh.

“That piece of ass” Dean began to say, hating using the words that they had used to describe you, “is my girlfriend.” Dean smirked. He had hoped that his usual tactic would work like it had done in the past. In the past, whenever Dean was with a woman; regardless if she was his girlfriend or not, the minute he said the word girlfriend to another guy that was hitting on his girlfriend, date, etc. the guy would usually back off, not wanting to get into any trouble. But his usual tactic didn’t work, it had simply just made the guy laugh.

“Your girlfriend?” The man laughed again. “Yeah, okay Old Man.”

“Old, Old Man?” Dean was caught off guard. No one had ever really called him an old man before; the only one who ever did it was Claire, but she was the exception, because she was basically family to him.

“Yeah. What are you? Like 50?” The guy behind him chimed in.

Dean turned around. “50? You think I’m 50? I’m 42 dude.” Yet more laughter from the men.

“Close enough.” The man that was close to the store said. At that moment Dean had saw you wave goodbye to the clerk and started to head out toward the door. The man looked at you, and then eyed his buddies, making his way toward Dean. “Listen, tell her that if she wants someone that can keep it up without the use of meds and doesn’t go to bed before 6, to give me a call.” The guy said, giving Dean’s shoulder a slight pat before going into the car with his other three buddies.

Dean started to take out his gun just as the guy in the driver’s seat started the engine. Before he could fully take out his gun you were standing next to him, two boxes of pie in your hands and a slight look of worry on your face. “Can I shoot them?” He asked you.

“Not in public.” You responded, handing him one of the boxes. “What did they say to you?” You were curious, and you had every right to be. Even though you were accustomed to Dean pulling out his gun, you were confused as to why he had wanted to pull it out in that moment, especially since you were pretty sure that the men in the car weren’t any kind of monsters.

“Nothing.” Dean was quick to respond, but his response sounded angry, almost hurt.

“It didn’t look like nothing. Especially since you asked if you could shoot them.” Dean handed you back the box of pie that you had just given him, causing you to give him an even more worried look.

“Can we just leave?” His voice was panicked now, maybe with a small hint of embarrassment.

“Yeah.” Was all you said as the two of you got into Baby.

There was a strong silence between the two of you, and it wasn’t the comfortable kind like you were used to. That was one of the things that you had loved most about Dean; that you and him didn’t constantly need to fill the silence with talking. It was something that you enjoyed because your past boyfriends always needed to have some kind of conversation going because they hated the silence. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Always.” You turned your attention to Dean.

“Am I…Am I old?” He asked. His eyes flicked in your direction and then back onto the road.

“Old?” You asked, not sure if you had heard him right. Him asking if he was old was something that had caught you off guard.

“Yeah. Am I old?” He repeated again.

“Did those guys back there say you were old Dean?” This conversation topic was something that Dean would have never brought up, not unless someone had specifically said something to him. The last time he had this conversation with you was because Claire had jokingly called him an Old Man.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Dean stated. You were positive that’s what it was.

“No. You’re not old Dean. I don’t even know why you would think that.” You knew why he would think that; you were pretty sure that the men back at the gas station had said something to him about it. But you didn’t know why they would have said something to him.

“Those guys back at the gas station called me…Old Man.” His voice sounded slightly defeated, like he was embarrassed even though he had no reason to be. “I caught those assholes looking at you, making comments.” He turned to face you for a slight moment before looking back at the road, his knuckles started to turn white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “They were trying to make a bet about who would be able to pick you up. When I confronted them about it, telling them that you were my girlfriend, that’s when they laughed and called me an old man.”

“Dean –” You began to say, but he cut you off before you could finish.

“Sweetheart, I know you could have handled that yourself. You have a black belt in three different martial arts and you don’t take any kind of shit from anyone. Hell, a part of me had wanted to see you embarrass the guy because I know for a fact that he isn’t your type but…he was your age.” He was your age.

“Well, you’re not old. It’s not like you’re 90 Dean. You’re 42. That’s still young.” You stated, putting your hand on his thigh, a small gesture that you knew he loved. You had hoped that your comment would make him feel slightly better.

“I’m not young Sweetheart, you are. I got like 15 years on you.” His response made your face drop.

“That’s never been a problem for you before. I mean, it’s not like I’m 17 Dean, I’m three years shy of 30.” When you first met Dean, it was roughly five years ago when you were 22 and he was 37. Initially when you had first met him, you had figured that the two of you would be nothing more than just friends due to the semi-massive age difference that there was between the two of you, despite the fact that you did find him attractive. For the first couple of years that you knew him, you didn’t try to pursue anything; and neither did he, although the two of you had similar feelings. Dean had figured that you wouldn’t want to be with someone his age, and you thought that he didn’t want to be with someone your age. It wasn’t until Cas said something and both of you almost dying on a hunt that caused you two to realize that maybe you should give it a shot – and you’ve been together ever since.

“Exactly. You’re three years shy of 30. I’m far, far past that. You know what I was doing at 30? Trying to stop the Apocalypse. When I was 30, you were still in high school. You weren’t even on my radar back then.”

“Would have been pretty good jailbait though.” You joked.

“Not funny.” He responded.

“I’m not laughing.” You said back.

“Can I ask you another question?” His knuckles were still white against the steering wheel.

“Of course.” What else could you possibly say?

“Why me? Why out of all the guys you could possibly be with, that are your own age, that you actively choose to be with me? I mean, I know I drink too much, I have way, way too many screws loose, I’ve been to Hell, Purgatory, been possessed more times than I can count, I have major trust issues, PTSD.” He looked over at you again. “The list goes on and on. I’m all kinds of fucked up Sweetheart.” Your heart sank at Dean’s comments. You hated more than anything when he talked bad about himself, because there was no reason for him to do that.

“Pull over.” Was all you said.

Dean looked at you with a confused expression. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I said pull over.” Your voice was stern now, but it made Dean pull over on the side of the road.

“Dean, the fact that you even have to ask me why I’m with you shows me that you don’t actually realize or understand the reasons why I love you. You’re right, I could be with someone my own age. But you know what? I don’t want to. I’ve dated people my age, and they honestly suck. Hunters or not, men my age or even a year or two older have no fucking clue what they want in life. The only thing they’re positive about is wanting to fuck anything that has a pulse and gaslight women.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “My parents used to tell me, ‘not all men,’ and I knew that. You may have a slight case of alcoholism –”

“A slight case?” Dean interrupted, raising an eyebrow. He thought you saying that he only had a slight case of alcoholism was a tad too generous.

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t interrupt me.” Dean put up his hands in defeat. “As I was saying. You may have a slight case of alcoholism, are insanely prone to nightmares, get angry more often than you probably should, enjoy murder every now and then, have been to Hell and Purgatory and back, but wanna know something? I’ll take all of that, gladly! Because you are honestly the best man I could ever ask for. Yes, you have some flaws, but who doesn’t? I mean look at me for example.” You went into your jacket and pulled out your hunting knife. “I’m someone who brings a hunting knife wherever they go like it’s a security blanket. No normal person does that Dean.”

“As you should. You need to be prepared at a moments notice.” He agreed.

“Exactly! No sane person would agree with me.” You said, putting back your hunting knife.

“Y/N, are you saying that part of the reason you’re with me is because I’m not sane?” He raised an eyebrow. He’s been called crazy or insane more times than he could count, so this wasn’t particularly newsworthy for him.

“I was thinking more…cautious.” You shrugged. “I mean…No, cautious isn’t the right word. You are cautious but…” You were really trying to come up with the right word to tell Dean, and you could feel it on the tip of your tongue. “What I’m trying to say is, any other guy would be freaked the fuck out if they saw me walking around with a hunting knife in my jacket. You? You couldn’t give two fucks. And you wanna know something else? I’ve worked with a lot of hunters over the years before I met up with you and Sam, who just looked at me and laughed because of my age, thinking that I don’t know the difference between rock salt and holy water.” You took one of his hands in yours intertwining your fingers. “You, not including Sam of course, accepted me as someone that actually knows a thing or two about hunting despite my age. You treated me like your equal. Hunter or not.”

You treated me like your equal. Your words rang in Dean’s mind. “Of course I treat you like my equal Sweetheart. What man wouldn’t? ‘Sides those other hunters and the Jayhawks spirit squad back there.” He chuckled, and you let out a small laugh too.

“Exactly. You’re a feminist icon.” You smiled.

“A feminist icon uh? Who knew?” Dean finally smiled.

“In all seriousness, I could give a rat’s ass about your age. You treat me right and my parents love you. What else could I possibly ask for?” You gave his hand a slight squeeze as you shot him another smile, but a softer one this time.

“Still amazed that your parents love me.” He said, starting to lean in closer to you.

“You treat their daughter right. That’s all they care about.” You confessed. When you had first told your parents about Dean, one of the first things they asked is if he was treating you right, they never asked about his age. And when they had met him, they still never commented on that fact, even when he wasn’t in the room.

He caressed your face. “I really am lucky to have you.” He smiled and leaned in fully to kiss you. “I love you so much.”

You smiled. “I love you more.”

He let out a slight chuckle. “Show off.”

“Always.” You responded, leaning in to kiss him again.

#dean Winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #spn #supernatural #reader insert #female reader

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