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almostempty · 9 days ago

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he knows (lucien x f!reader)

(lucien x f!reader) | wc: 3.2k | other fics | pic from here

UH HEY! I’m just gonna drop this here and scurry away to finish the other lucien one shot that i also started today, ….and then i’ll return to finishing divorced dad rock joel, and responding to all of the lovely people on here–but, like, i really just need this guy in the most emotionally unavailable and fuckable way, i hope one of y'all gets me

tags/warnings/thots: 18+/explicit, smut, toxic ex/fuckboy lucien, sex instead of communicating or processing emotions, angst but we fuckin’ and that’s the whole plot, we hit raw in my fics bc of my imaginary latex aversion or something, crying, biting, dom lucien vibes (? i never know when that’s the right tag), big dash of pls sexy man fuck the feelings away, tell me if there’s something i should add

– no editing, no thinking, wrote this in a fever dream while staring at one of the new gifs all afternoon, idk his character! I haven’t watched anything! i just saw the chains and the face and let the horny devil in charge of my sole brain cell take the lead, aka he's my barbie, i was trying to challenge myself to just do something short like 1k- but, uhhhh it’s only 3!

seeking feedback though (as always) so i can improve!! tell me all ur thots pls!

“I know,” Lucien argues, “but I never meant to hurt you.”

“I don’t care anymore.” You speak plainly. Small and quiet. Without conviction. Apathetic. Honest.

“Anymore?”

“Baby, please.” He looks at you with those stupid round eyes. He’s effortlessly put together like the wrinkles in his silk shirt were approved by a team of stylists to give him a hint of carelessness. Your incessant attraction to an emotionally unavailable man, it pulls you toward him like a bitter fate. Your therapist, Angie, says you need to learn how to find healthy attachment attractive, but if you shudder with disgust at the thought then what’s the point?

“Just listen to me,” he continues, talking in circles. Apologizing without taking accountability. Explaining away everything. His behaviors, words, decisions. Apparently, he floats through life at the whim of others. Like one of those ugly deep sea creatures, he tempts you like a glowing lure in the dark. Your eyes glaze over, everything shifting out of focus as you dissociate in your living room. No matter how numb you are, he calls to you.

You aren’t listening to the words. They don’t matter. It doesn’t matter if his tone is sincere or if it’s thick with flattery and empty promises. It’s more basic than that. Simple. The timbre of his voice. Unique to him. Imprinted in the chambers of your heart. A sharp ache spears through you, and something cracks. A fat, hot, tear escapes. With your shoulders drooping, staring at the ground, the tear falls, splashing on the floor.

When you look up, meeting his eyes, it’s over. Lucien pulls you close, wrapping his heavy arms around your frame, bracing for the crescendo, keeping you steady. Tears stream endlessly, flooding down your cheeks, sticking to your face and his neck as you bury your face into his warm skin. He’s still trying to placate you, speaking nonsense, thinking he can comfort you. Thinking he knows why you’re upset. Thinking he understands you.

When your therapist asked you to define love you had described it as being understood. Being seen. Being known. Being considered and prioritized.

Lucien thinks he knows you. Thinks he understands you. Does he think he loves you?

Following this line of thought hurts. Splitting you open, a raw beating heart, glistening, thumping, full of life, or a meal fresh and hot for a carnivore to tear into with its sharp fangs. Plump muscle, rich and dark, bleeding out, helpless. Snapping back into reality you shake, a violent sob racking your diaphragm as the pads of his fingers massage the back of your neck. Soothing. Coaxing.

You want it sharper. Rough. Violent. Distracting. Painful. Anything. With wet lashes, swollen eyes, and ragged breath you become fixated. Licking the salty tears from the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, you can feel his muscles and tendons beneath the flesh. So human and alive. He strokes his hand down your spine, attempting to pacify you, but it sparks something lurid and ravenous, instead.

You graze your teeth along his neck. “What are you doing?” he mutters the question over the top of your head. Maybe he does know you. “What do you need?” He growls, lowly, the hand he traces your spine with trails lower this time. He’s gluttonous and torrid. A hair-trigger to shift from his concern for your pain and the hole in your heart to a sordid desire to mollify you with his fingers and his cock.

Maybe it’s a perversion, the tangled experience of despair and desire, the duet of anger and arousal, the sick escape using sex to skip over the emotional suffering. But it’s exactly what you want. It’s the root of the fucked up toxicity. Of everything wrong between you. He does know. He does understand. The same heat that flickers in your core sparks in his.

Voracious and brash. You bite down, sinking your teeth into his neck, igniting a wildfire. An untamable beast. Again and again and again. Biting, sucking, kissing. His skin tender and raw, your lips wet and swollen. You run a hand along the back of his neck, tugging into his hair, anchoring your grip, and pulling a husky groan from his throat.

“What do you need?” Lucien repeats, this time with a sharper edge. He detaches you from the safety of the crook of his neck. His two hands. Unnecessarily large, warm, and steady brace either side of your jaw, his fingers wrapping behind your neck. He holds you in front of his face. Vulnerable. Messy. Heat radiates from your cheeks. You release a shaky breath.

“Don’t make me say it.” It’s a whisper. Pleading and demanding at the same time.

The cocky smirk that spreads on his face is sickening. It makes you want to slap him, to hear the crack of your palm against his cheek. It makes you want to surrender. Soft and pliable, ready to please and earn praise. It makes you want to scream. To bite him so hard you draw blood. To fuck him until he can’t talk.

You tell him all of it. Exactly what you need, what you want, what you refuse to say. You tell him all through your kiss. The hunger in your lips as you press them to his, the violence on your tongue, the desperate and vulnerable need to be cared for in the soft moans that rise from your chest, from your heart, from the blood in your veins. He chases all of it. The punishment and pleasure.

He backs you into the kitchen, caging you against the counter like a scene from a movie. Impervious to whatever protest you make as he clears space, blindly sweeping his arm over the counter before lifting you onto it. The edge of the counter digs into your soft thighs, but it doesn’t matter. You’re ready to drown in the vanilla musk and bourbon-spiced scent of him. The bass in his voice that makes your eyes fall shut and your head tip back against the cupboard behind you. The bruising pressure of his grip that he knows you crave.

“Baby,” he croons. His words are soft and gentle. As if he propped you on the counter to tend to your wounds. But his hands show no mercy. Roughly ridding you of your clothes. Dropping them into a pile on the floor. He’s ruthless with you. In ways you can’t be with yourself. In ways other lovers could never master. Harsh without being cruel. Deliberate without a plan.

He lets you tug his shirt over his head. Skin to skin the intensity is primal. “Fuck,” is all you can manage to say. The heat is overwhelming, prickling your nerves and sharpening every sensation. Lucien toys with you like it’s his favorite game. Alternating.

First, palming reverently at the flesh, sweeping his tongue over your hard nipples, and teasing the wet skin with his hot breath.

You let him make the decisions. Take the lead. You’re done arguing, done thinking, done with the guilt of letting him in the door, done with acting like you’re any better than him. You brace yourself, one palm flat on the counter, the other resting on his shoulder. Taking whatever he gives.

He switches up. Everything becomes pointed and precise. He sucks marks into your skin on the underside of your breasts. He pinches and flicks the pert bud of your straining nipples. The contact of his fingers, tongue, and teeth sends white-hot jolts of electricity straight to your cunt. He bites down hard enough to make you choke on a moan. Your whine fills the room, twisted with pain and pleasure.

“You poor thing,” he purrs. Your face is still wet from your tears. But now they’re tears of frustration. “Just a mess.” You reach for his belt, impatient, but he stops you. He’s not done looking. He lifts one of your legs, propping your foot onto the counter and posing you obscenely in front of him. His gaze makes your pussy throb.

He’s torn.

Studying your face. Everything unsaid in your eyes. The anguish and rage. The acerbic disdain. The nearly imperceptible longing.

Admiring your sex, spread open for him. Shining with your arousal. Swollen, slick lips so sensitive for him. Your core, fluttering with anticipation, achingly empty without him.

He holds your chin between his thumb and curled forefinger. His eyes swirl with lust and something you can’t quite place. “You have no idea,” he rasps. “No idea how much it fucking kills me to see you like this. And knowing I’m the reason why.”

You don’t know if he means it breaks his heart to see the way you suffer or if he means the sight of you dripping on the counter has him so hard it hurts. You don’t know which you’d believe anyway. He’s not hard up to find someone else to torment or to fuck. That thought makes your throat dry.

“I can’t stay away from you,” he traces his fingers down your soft inner thigh, closer and closer to where you need him. “How could I?” You tip your head to the side, your limbs and head feel heavy, drunk on a cocktail of everything you love and hate about him all at once.

“Then don’t.”

Your reply makes him smile again. He’s so handsome when he smiles it’s infuriating. “You could scream at me, kick me out, hate me–but you still let me touch you, you need me to touch you. Why do I love that so much?”

“You like feeling important.” You let your snarky comment out without thinking. His question was definitely rhetorical. A few emotions flicker across his face before, a dark little smirk curls the corner of his mouth.

He feeds off of your challenge. “There she is.”

“I never left,” you snap, frustration spilling over. He laughs, loose and easy.

“Listen to me,” Lucien says, low and velvety. Subduing you with the tension and proximity. “I know. You want me to use you. Like you’re my toy. Until you can’t keep those beautiful eyes open.”

“Yes.”

“I know.” He echoes. Then he closes the gap, kissing you with affection. Holding himself back, but you aren’t reserved. You’re greedy; you want it harder. He just said he’d ruin you, why is he being so gentle? He pulls back with something sincere in his eyes. A whimper falls from your lips, pouty and baffled.

“Gonna fuck you like I’m trying to ruin you, baby.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Sometime soon, hopefully? You don’t snap again, answering with another yes.

He leans in, breath fanning hot over your ear. “But, we both know that tonight you’re the one using me. Ruining me. I’m your toy.”

Your breath hitches at that. You mouth I know in response, not even able to whisper it. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He nips your ear lobe and you loose a surprised cry before gasping out his name.

He’s swift now. Purposeful. Undoing his belt, shoving his pants down and revealing his cock. Reflexively your hips tense and shift. Just looking makes you salivate. He runs his thumb over the bead of precome, drawing it along his length.

He knows how you want it. His fingers can coax you to an orgasm in no time, but you don’t want that. You want the resistance, the stretch, the dull ache, and intensity as your muscles work to let him in deeper. Nobody makes you feel the way he does. Full. Complete. Mindless.

It could be pornographic, vulgar, raunchy. The way he pushes your inner thigh further open with one hand while he uses the other to languidly stroke himself. The way he grips himself so tightly like he’s punishing himself. The way his jaw hangs slack and he mutters under his breath about how badly you need him.

To you, however, it’s a profound admission. A candid confession. The more he goads you the more it solidifies that he’s the one that needs you. That it flows so easily from him because he’s really talking about himself.

“You say you don’t care anymore, but look at you now, baby.” He shifts closer, at counter height you’re aligned perfectly. He glides the head of his cock up and down the folds of your soaked cunt. You shudder and moan, mesmerized by the sight.

“It’s almost sad how much you need me, like you can’t breathe without this,” he keeps talking.

He demands that you watch, as if there was a chance you could stop, as he lines up and sinks into you. You groan in unison. You’re so tight, he draws back out. Repeating the same motion, feeding his cock into you deeper and deeper each time. Your hot, plush walls pulse around him, adjusting. When he finally meets the end of you, he hums, pleased. “You feel that?”

You bob your head, nodding, agreeing. “Yes.” Your voice is breathy. “Perfect.” You grind against him as if you could take him any deeper, begging him to move with your needy display. It’s wholly overwhelming as is, every nerve within you alight as his cock kicks within you, tensing with the same craving to move.

He takes your hand in his, nestling your fingers around him. Somehow he feels even larger than he looks, like he shouldn’t be able to fit inside of you, but here you are feeling it and seeing it for yourself. Slowly, Lucien tilts his hips, almost pulling out of you completely before plunging in with force. He keeps up the tantalizing pace, guiding you to touch yourself. He watches your fingers with rapt attention, bracing a hand on your hip to keep you in place as he drives into you with another snap of his hips that edges you closer.

He gradually speeds up, a master at tempering his desire. Your hip flexor aches as you hold yourself in place but it doesn’t matter. You find your rhythm as he holds steady at a pace that has him landing brutal thrusts that force the words out of your lungs. Soft oh’s and fuck’s pour out of you, under your breath, adding fuel to the fire blazing between you.

Lucien savors your chanting and the image of you fixed in place, taking him eagerly. Your fingers move with urgency, chasing the release that looms closer and closer. Your mind is blissfully blank, reduced to something animalistic, removed from the burden of your history. “Don’t stop,” you plead, “I’m so close.”

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you at the same pace, all the way through it. As you contract around him, when everything pulls taut and snaps within you, crying out his name, when it’s too sensitive and you whip your hand away, and as you shudder and breathe deeper and deeper. As the ache in your legs from being spread wide open returns and your ass feels numb where the edge of the counter digs into your flesh. Another tear spills from the corner of your eye, but you can’t say what it’s from anymore.

When you fidget, he stops moving, letting you readjust. A sheen of sweat glistens all over your chest and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how loud the slick noises between you are. How easy it is to get lost in Lucien's hot and heavy magnetism. You know you were falling apart before he propped you up on the counter, but you’re sure you’re a complete wreck now.

Lucien pulls out but then leans against you, pinning the length of his cock between you, hot, slick, and messy against your sweat-damp skin. He floods your senses, all you can see, hear, and smell. Caging you in his hand find a possessive hold on you, one wrapped around the back of your neck, one wrapped tight around your thigh as you hitch it around his hip.

“You feel good?” he asks. You hum in agreement. You do feel good. You know he’s not done yet, and smile wide, still hungry for more. “How good?” he asks and you know there’s something coming next.

“So good.” You trail a hand between you, drawing a line down his chest and back up to cradle his cheek in your palm. Something about the prickle of his facial hair along your palm feels so natural, domestic, and sweet. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek, nuzzle against his ear, and ask him to take you to bed. But you can’t. You’ll never have that. Instead, you bait him. “I think you’re holding back though, I know you can fuck me harder than that.”

He scoffs, unamused, blowing a hot puff of air between you. His fingers dig deeper into your thigh, applying the kind of pressure that stirs arousal low in your belly.

The dark glint in his eye gives you butterflies. “I will, Baby,” his rumbling voice is innately sensual, but the condescension in his tone makes you tingly. You’re so close to him that you can feel his heart beating in his chest, you can feel the same pulse thrumming in his cock, still flush against you as he slants his lower half along yours. He’s all things heavy and firm, strong and sculpted, yet fitting so naturally against you. You need more, wriggling and squirming against him, you can’t contain the restlessness.

“You know,” he says slowly, drawing your eyes back to his. “You can keep trying to move on, but no one else will ever know you like this. No one else will ever ruin you the way I do. You can tell me you don’t care anymore, but you’ll never let anyone else in the way you let me. They won’t touch that part of you, the one that’s mine—because it’ll always be mine.”

It trickles through you slowly until your blood feels like it’s boiling. They’re tears of anger now. It’s like a sick double entendre.

“I know,” your words are steeped in every emotion cascading through you.

You don’t know if it’s worse that he’s right. That there’s a Lucien-shaped mark imprinted on your heart that will never fade. Or if it’s worse that he doesn’t even know it applies to him just the same. That he always comes back because he’s trying to fill the same void.

Maybe he does know. Maybe he does know and this is all he can do to make it up to you.

Maybe that’s why he leads you to your bedroom and lives up to his word.

Why he fucks you so hard you see stars. Why he doesn’t stop even after he comes deep inside of you with a possessive always gonna be mine. Why he litters your skin with more false promises and confessions. Why he gives you so many orgasms you lose track.

Maybe that’s why he’s still there when the sun starts to peek through your window. Why he fucks you slowly when you’re too tender and exhausted to take him any harder until you’re floating in limbo between a dream and reality. Why he stays there, just cradling your back into his chest and listening to the rhythm of your breath.

Maybe he does know.

PLEASE COME YELL WITH ME ABOUT THIS FICTIONAL GUY BC I NEED HIM IN A SUPER NORMAL WAY or tell me if my writing was incoherent or if you can't relate to the toxic ex that is still the best fuck of your life (cruel and twisted fr)

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

tags for the babes that let me annoy them with my thots <3

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin

#lucien de leon x f!reader #pedro pascal character smut #lucien de leon x reader #lucien de leon x you #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfic #pwp fic #the uninvited #lucien flores #but not #lucien x f!reader

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ellecdc · 3 months ago

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A Man With a Plan.8

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: Remus losing his ever loving mind, temporary(?) truce w/ Slytherins, truth is revealed, Peter is very nervous when the discussion turns to plotting murder [3.2k words]

✧A/N - please read ✧ this fic is still and will remain on hiatus until it's completion. I will not respond to asks about when the next update will be (feel free to gush and discuss, just please don't ask for updates). this fic, for whatever reason, is a sore spot for me & if I didn't have people who loved it so much, I'd have trashed it by now, so please take this into consideration. secondly, the taglist is closed and I will no longer be tagging anyone on future updates - kudos to all of the creators who take the time to offer tag lists because it is not easy and I will never be doing it for another fic again lol

Remus had been trying (and failing) to pay attention to the lesson, but apparently watching the odd bird fly past the window was far more entertaining than listening to Professor Binns’ sluggish lesson about the Goblin rebellions.

Yesterday’s conversation with you was still replaying at the forefront of his mind; most of Remus’ thoughts were already about you, mind you, but this had become an incessant point of worry for him. He found that he was particularly bothered by how bothered you appeared to be.

Remus was the first to admit his friends weren’t always the…easiest to be around. They were loud, abrasive, brash, somewhat aggressive, and always up to something.

He should have been more patient with you and your friends; as much as Moony called you his; you were your own first.

You always had to come first.

Moony huffed in response to that but seemed to relent when Remus insisted the utmost importance was your happiness and safety.

Even the werewolf couldn’t argue with that.

He could tell you were still bothered today; he could feel it, in the rise of your heart rate intermittently throughout the morning, or the white hot heat that would settle in his (your) chest before evening out just as quickly. He had learned by now that you were quite attuned with your own feelings, and seemed to control them very well. Remus found himself quite jealous of that trait. It was clear how deeply you were attuned to emotions, both yours and others, and the way that tended to influence your behaviours.

You seemed to be content right now, and Remus found himself wondering where on the castle grounds you might be right now.

Gods, he was such a freak.

Want. Mine? Where mine?

He fought the urge to groan at Moony as he returned his gaze to the front of the class.

It appeared that Remus wasn't the only one with a lack of interest in Binns’ wearisome lesson as most of his classmates were beyond even pretending to pay attention; a few even drooling on their textbooks and letting out the odd snore.

It didn’t appear to bother Binns much who continued drilling on about the role goblin metal played in the rebellions.

Remus wondered if the professor had ever put himself to sleep during one of his lectures. He let out a small snort at that.

Before he could be concerned about whether anyone heard him or not, Remus felt an abrupt tension wash through him. No, not him. You.

You were beyond tense, a tight kind of worry worming its way through your core.

Not good. Not good. Not good.

Though Remus didn’t find himself in a position to argue with Moony, he didn’t find the commentary particularly helpful. But for the first time since the soulbond came into effect, Moony quieted completely - almost as if he was allowing Remus to fully lock in on you.

Shock - horror? You’d been startled… a painful surprise. Why couldn’t Remus think of the bloody word for the way you were feeling?

It quickly moved to heartbreak; it was as if Remus could feel himself sinking to the ground along with your heart.

Where the hell were you right now?

The heavy, sinking pain settled in Remus’ stomach whilst the sounds of Professor Binns and the surrounding student’s snores fell away into a quiet hum; Remus simply ceased to exist in the physical world as his consciousness went looking for you.

Disappointment and guilt is what you seemed to settle on; a decisive determination forming in your mind.

Then your heart spiked.

Worry?

Pain?

Panic???

Remus had little time to acknowledge his realisation before an ice cold terror overtook you.

He could feel the violent rattle of your heart in your chest as your lungs started to burn; it was as if he could hear you screaming.

And Moony went feral.

NOW. NOW. NOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOW NOW.

Remus hardly even realised that he had shot up until the chair fell to the ground with a loud thunk, likely startling the many napping students out of their slumber but he found that he just didn’t care about the disturbance he made as he took off in a full sprint out of the History classroom.

He took the stairs two at a time in what felt like an arbitrary direction; he couldn’t tell you even if he tried where his feet were taking him, all his mind was concerned with was getting to you.

Remus had no idea where you were, but he'd find you.

If he didn’t know something was terribly wrong before, he certainly knew it now when your panic turned into a frantic desperation; cold, so cold was the terror that seeped down into your very soul. He was certain your magic was calling out to him, even as your core began to weaken.

I’m coming, dove. I’m coming. Remus chanted as Moony howled in agreement.

Remus’ own lungs burned nearly as badly as his legs did but he didn’t slow down, even when he shoved past a group of first years as he tore through the courtyard. He’d be sorry later; right now he had somewhere to get to, someone to get to.

Remus was just beginning to regret not taking up James’ offers to go for runs with him in the mornings when he felt a sharp relieved feeling - it was not relief, but a relieved moment - before shock and horror took over.

Your heart rate was a riot and you were distressed but Remus was sure he could feel you breathing and it was enough, it had to be enough until he got to you.

He had to get to you.

“Remus!” James shouted in a manner that told Remus it hadn’t been the first time he did so.

Remus simply turned to look at him over his shoulder without slowing down.

“Mate! What the hell?!”

“Something is wrong.” Remus shouted.

“Yeah, you’ve bloody lost the plot it seems - I’d say that’s very wrong!” James replied breathlessly.

Remus was going to tell him to sod off when relief came in the sight of you, though the relief was tentative when he noticed you soaking and hunched in on yourself in the sand.

“Y/N!” He shouted then; you didn’t react, which only resulted in him panicking more.

“Y/N!” He shouted again as he made it to you; sinking to his knees in the wet sand as his chest burned. “Dovey, hey. Hey, look at me. Are you okay? Baby please, look at me.”

He finally brought a hand to your chin and tilted your head up to him; your skin was horridly cold and eyes were wild as your own chest heaved like you, too, had just run all this way.

“What happened, dove? Are- are you okay? What happened?” He was practically begging at this point but he couldn’t bring himself to care, even as James made his way over to stand behind you.

“What’s going on?” James asked quietly; Remus could only shake his head at him.

“You’re soaked. Did you fall in?” He tried asking you; you simply looked towards the water in response.

James quickly shed his jumper and handed it to Remus who wrapped it around you before he shed his own cardigan to wrap that around you as well.

“Please baby, talk to me?” Remus begged. Your lip trembled and you pointed your gaze to your lap.

He felt completely helpless; he had this deep desire - no, need - to help you, to protect you. He wanted to know what happened so he could fix this; he wanted to fix this.

But this wasn’t about what Remus wanted, it was about what you needed… what you deserved.

“Prongs?” Remus said quietly as he simply settled into the wet sand beside you, pulling you into his lap and cocooning you with his body to provide you with some of his warmth. “Can you go get Junior? Please?”

James quickly looked between the two of you before nodding and running back towards the castle.

·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·

Remus had been unable to encourage any more from you than a few shuddering breaths and a squeeze of your hand that he was holding hostage in his.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let you go again.

Unfortunately, this appeared to be one more of his many plans destined for failure.

“Treasure!?” Barty called as he and James ran over. “Hey! Tres, you okay?” He breathed as he knelt in front of you and Remus, much like Remus had when he found you mere moments ago.

“Talk to me.” Barty whispered as he pushed your damp hair away from your face.

You let out a short breath that had you deflating significantly, as if you’d been sitting with every string in your body pulled taut until Barty had shown up.

It hurt, for a moment, knowing you weren’t Remus’ person - or rather, that he wasn’t yours - but he bit back the emotion flooding in his mouth because it still wasn’t about what Remus wanted, it was about what you needed.

And right now, you needed Barty.

Your chin dimpled as your bottom lip began to wobble and Remus watched as your eyes filled with tears.

“What happened?” Barty begged through a whisper, and that seemed to be the last of your resolve.

Remus was forced to relinquish his hold on you as you dissolved into tears and fell bodily into Barty’s embrace; he seemed to be expecting it though and caught you readily in a way Remus wondered if he’d ever be capable of.

Unable to explain your hurt to Barty, you simply sobbed and clung to him as he looked at Remus in horrified bemusement.

Remus could only shrug his shoulders and shake his head remorsefully.

“Okay, you’re alright Treasure. We’ll figure this out, yeah? We’ve always figured it out; you and me, okay?”

Remus immediately felt like he was encroaching on something entirely too private and stood; bitterness, grief, and worry twisting up an emotional cocktail that he knew would taste horrid on the way down.

“Lupin.” Barty called out, forcing Remus to pause as he made his way towards James. “Thank you, for fetching me.”

Remus simply nodded before turning back for the castle.

“I’ll-” Barty called again before pausing, waiting for Remus to turn around once more. “I’ll let you know how we make out.”

Remus nodded and let out a breath. “Thank you.”

The two boys shared a knowing look before Remus turned, joining James as they headed back towards the castle - no doubt facing a detention or two for causing a scene and abandoning class - in silence.

Remus learnt little else about what happened at the lake until dinner when Regulus approached them with the small amount of information Barty had managed to get from you.

“She said she fell in?” James asked quizzically then.

Regulus tilted his head side to side in a so-so. “It was less that she said it and more that she agreed with Barty that that’s what happened. Why?”

James shook his head as if jostling around the thoughts in his brain would make it make more sense. “She’s been going to that dock for months to feed the mermaids, I-”

“She wasn’t feeding them.” Remus interjected quickly. “She was bringing them gifts.”

Remus looked up from his novel to see his friends and Regulus staring at him incredulously.

“Right…” James continued after a beat. “So, she’s been going to that dock for months to bring gifts to the mermaids, and she’s never once had an issue. Why now?”

Regulus heaved a sigh as he shrugged his shoulders defeatedly. “We’ve not been able to get much more out of her; she just keeps saying she needs to ‘fix things’.”

“What things?” James asked then, causing the younger Black brother to sneer at him.

“I just said we haven’t been able to get more out of her, Potter. Merlin; tu t’entoures d’idiots, frère.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius moaned in exasperation. “Thank you, Reg.”

“Thank you.” Remus seconded, earning him a nod of understanding from the younger Black.

Remus returned to his novel, though he found himself unable to make sense of any of the words. James was right; something just didn’t make sense.

Just yesterday you had laughed at Remus for his concern for you on the dock

… Remus quickly stood and gently helped you stand and pulled you closer to the middle of the dock, away from the edge you’d been inhabiting.

You giggled at him; the first real spontaneous emotion he thinks he had ever heard from you, and it caused Remus’ heart rate to speed up double time.

“You needn’t worry, Remus.” You expressed solemnly. “I’m very careful.” …

And James seemed to know that to be true as well.

What weren’t you telling them? And what did you need to fix?

It wasn’t until later that evening that Remus came to realise what it was that you weren’t telling them.

“Remus! Is she okay!?” He heard Amelia call breathlessly as she approached him in the library.

Remus was momentarily confused; he hadn’t spoken to Amelia in what felt like weeks, and he couldn’t imagine who she was possibly referring to.

“Pardon?” He asked dumbly.

“Y/N.” Amelia answered quickly; a deep divot present between her brows. “I just heard what happened; I swear I had no idea what they were doing, Rem. I would have never allowed it!”

Remus quickly slammed his History tome closed and stood over her menacingly.

“Allowed what?” He sneered at her. “Who are ‘they’ and what exactly did ‘they’ do to her?”

Amelia seemed to baulk at the sudden severity of Remus, but she soldiered on. “I.. it was Silas, Shirley, and Coraline. They- I guess they figured, well-”

“Spit it out, Amelia.” Remus hissed at her.

“They think they were like, defending me, or something… by picking on her. I guess they tried to tell her to back off from you, and Silas said he shoved her in the Lake.”

Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Kill.

And while Remus knew, generally speaking, that he couldn’t kill a bunch of Hufflepuffs, he didn’t exactly disagree with the enraged and murderous Wolf howling inside of him.

“Is she okay?” Amelia asked again, quieter this time.

Remus felt bad when he noticed her cowering slightly beneath him; he felt bad about all of it.

Leading her on, playing with her feelings when he knew she liked him as more than a friend, and for ever getting you tangled up in this mess of his.

He planned to never let it happen again.

“I’m not sure, Amelia.” He admitted then, realising somewhat belatedly that he had been simply waiting on you to come to him instead of actively working to help you fix this. “But she will be; I’ll make sure of it.”

Amelia offered him a sad smile at that. “Okay…thank you, Remus.”

“I’m sorry, Amelia.” He blurted then, watching as her sad smile turned soft.

“Thank you, Remus. Tell Y/N I’m sorry, too, okay?”

And Remus watched Amelia walk away as he formulated a plan.

James was easy to find, seeing as he was currently hanging on to every word coming out of Lily Evan’s mouth as she practised her presentation for the upcoming Herbology assignment.

“Hey, Rem.” Lily greeted with a smile as she shuffled through her cue cards, causing James to turn comically in his place on the couch where he’d been sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin on fists.

“‘Lo Moons!”

“Prongs, I’m sorry, but are you terribly busy right now?” Remus immediately felt bad for asking when James grimaced and turned to look at Lily. “It’s Y/N.” He clarified.

James immediately turned back towards him. “Is she okay?”

Remus shrugged his shoulders. “But I know what happened.”

James’ face turned solemn as he turned to give Lily an apologetic smile.

She quickly smiled tenderly at him and waved him off. “Go, Potter. Make sure she’s okay for me, yeah?”

James beamed at her before jumping up and planting a smacking kiss on the red-head’s cheek. “You were doing brilliantly, Lils! I’ll help you practise more later!”

“That seemed cosy.” Remus murmured as they stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them.

“It certainly felt cosy.” James agreed readily.

With the map that James had on his person, finding Sirius was an easy feat - what was not an easy feat was opening the broom closet door to find him and a Ravenclaw in various states of undress with their tongues down each other’s throats.

“Sorry, sweets.” Sirius winked at the other student as he pulled up his fly. “Duty calls.”

They found Pete in Chess Club and pulled him away from the game he was currently “winning, you absolute sods!” by the collar of his uniform shirt.

And with the full moon a little bit more than 24 hours away, even Moony couldn’t deny the advantage they’d have with a little more help…

“It says he’s in the library.” Peter explained as he trailed behind the group with the map.

“Where’s my- where’s Y/N?” Remus quickly corrected himself.

Peter hummed as he searched the map whilst Sirius and James shared a knowing look behind Remus’ back. “Says she’s in Ravenclaw.”

Good, that was good.

You were fine. Safe.

And Remus knew that just had to be true, because Barty wouldn’t have agreed to leave your side otherwise.

Back where Remus had begun this search, they did indeed find Barty hunched over a large looking tome at a table as Regulus, Dorcas, and Evan conversed quietly beside him.

“Unless you’re here to learn the art of the Mermish language, bugger off.” Barty muttered without raising his head as Evan and Dorcas eyed the Marauders warily.

“Relax, Meadows.” Sirius taunted. “We’re not here to prank you lot.”

“Forgive me if I don’t particularly believe you.” She muttered in response, narrowing her eyes at the boy.

“To what do we owe this displeasure?” Evan drawled as he twirled his want in his hand.

“Play nice, Rosier.” Regulus muttered; obviously not particularly grateful for the Gryffindors’ company but clearly understanding there was a reason for it.

“What, did you just say you were learning Mermish?” James asked Barty then; never one to manage to stay on task.

Barty did look up at that only to look at James in bemusement. “Yes?”

“Why?” James continued, causing Barty to scoff.

“To thank them for saving Treasure, obviously. Do keep up, Potter.”

A disbelieving breath escaped Remus’ lips as he scrutinised your oldest friend. “That’s…actually really nice of you, Junior.” He admitted quietly, causing Barty’s bemused gaze to flit to him.

“Well yeah…I’m a real sweetie pie.” Barty muttered as if that had been really quite obvious and didn’t know why they were all talking about it, suddenly.

“Listen, I found out what happened to Y/N.” Remus announced then; every Slytherin quickly standing at attention for Remus to explain.

“They shoved her in?” Regulus confirmed slowly, earning him a nod in agreement from Remus.

“Well boys,” Barty started as he stood with a flourish, pausing at Dorcas’ pointed ‘ahem’ to amend “and Meadows, fuck’s sake”, “looks like we’ve got some Hufflepuff’s to kill!” He cheered gleefully, moving towards the library doors as if expecting everyone to follow him.

“We’re…we’re not going to actually kill them, right guys?” Peter asked nervously as the Slytherin’s rose from their respective seats, and the Gryffindor’s trailed after them.

“Right!?”

Tag list [NOW CLOSED] part 1:

@hanniejji , @y0urm0m12 , @c0nsc10usworld , @aphrcdites , @starsval , @anuncalledbridge , @klazina-couch-potato , @cancelledkaley , @ttulipwritezz , @boo8008 , @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @frostooo , @myriadmoons , @aremuslupinsimp , @simars3 , @stargurl99 , @dreamingofts18 , @agent-tempest , @xxrougefangxx , @serenadingtigers , @adhxmoony , @hufflepufffangirlqueen , @thebiggestnaturaldisaster , @urmomw4ntsme , @b4tm4nn , @jamieolivia27 , @stqrgirlies-blog , @loving-and-dreaming , @cultish-corner , @all-in-the-fandoms , @sadslasher13 , @enamoredwithbella

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leclarifies · 4 days ago

Text

THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED IS CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE (LN4)

꒰ lando norris x ex!reader ꒱

synopsis┊in which lando keeps dialing your number even after you've changed it.

genre┊angst (im not sorry)

word count┊ 2.1k

aria yaps┊remember how i broke ur hearts with carlos sainz angst for my first fic about him? YEAH HERE'S THE LANDO VERSION!!!!!!!! i know yall love it either way so, enjoy reading! very short btw, i just wanted to put something out for today

"where did we go wrong? i know we started out all right. where did we go wrong? i swear i knew we'd last this time." - lany, "13"

it takes three rings.

then he hears that stupid automated voice again, "the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected, please try—"

"for fuck's sake."

after he ends the attempted call, the furious typing is apparent in the empty, dark room. the artificial keyboard clicking fills the room as he tries his best to reach her. it's futile really, with every text he sends, the more agitated he becomes.

he knew that he shouldn't do this, that she was probably trying her best to move on, but he couldn't. he couldn't let her slip away from his grasp so easily.

"i just want you here for my races, is that so hard to ask for?" lando sounded desperate, he was desperate. he was a guy who needed his girlfriend and it didn't help that his girlfriend couldn't be there with him when he needed it the most, especially at times like these.

she was tired, he could tell, he didn't want to turn this into an argument but he was going to base it off of how she was going to respond, "lando, i can't. you know this. i have family here that i need to support, i can't just quit—"

"i'm not asking you to quit, i'm asking you to come just when you can," lando ruffled his hair so hard that it hurt, "the races are on weekends— for fuck's sake! why can't you just listen to me and actually hear what i'm saying?"

"i am listening! you're not listening to me!" she had tears in her eyes now, he hated it. he hated when he got riled up like this. it wasn't her fault, he knew it but he wanted her around him at least every few races, he hadn't been able to see her on the paddock at all this year and it pained him.

an exasperated sigh leaves his lips and he tries calling again, he knows she's not gonna pick up. he knows that he's probably blocked everywhere, but he wants to try. he wants to talk. he just wanted to fix things.

"the number you have dialed is—"

the next thing he heard was his phone shattering against the wall after he threw it across the room.

it was only two days later when he got a new phone and tried again, it wasn't going to go through. he knew it, but he just wanted to try. he wanted to show her that he was willing to make a compromise with her, just to make sure that she was there for him.

he didn't understand why he raised his voice so easily when it came to her, maybe because emotions ran high and he didn't know what else to do to express himself. he didn't know. all he knew was that he was a selfish prick and he deserved all of this.

he tried again.

"the number you have dialed is cu—"

he wanted to smash that brand new phone into the wall like its predecessor but he held himself back, he knew that the money that was needed to buy him a new phone was priceless to him, he was a formula one driver. it was pennies to him. all that money and he couldn't keep the most priceless thing to him, her.

he didn't care how selfish it sounded, or how convoluted their issues were. he just wanted her here, to hug, to kiss, to just comfort him. he had so many things on his mind right now and it could've been solved just by a simple touch and kiss to the forehead.

he was losing his mind and he knew it.

something akin to a sob bubbles from his throat when he hears the automated voice again.

"the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected, please try again later."

he fucked up, he knows now. she didn't have to rub it in his face like this, by changing her number and disappearing off of the face of the earth.

he just wanted to be home.

gentle knocking wakes her up from her slumber, it's unusual to get guests at this hour and on top of that, she wasn't expecting anyone. a huff escapes her lips as she gently takes the covers off of her and sits up on the bed. the knocks become more persistent as she begrudgingly gets up from her comfortable bed.

at first, she contemplates whether she should open the door or not but she opens it against her better judgement, her eyes widening when she realizes who it was.

"lando, what are you doing here? aren't you supposed to be in aus—"

she gets engulfed in a hug before she could even utter another word.

inhaling her scent after so long had been a breath of a fresh air for lando, he missed her. she's confused on how lando even knows where she lived. she had moved out of her last flat to avoid him on purpose, and now he's here, when he's supposed to be all the way in australia getting ready for a race.

his hug wasn't reciprocated, unfortunately for him.

"lando—" she was cut off by her ex standing in front of her, his eyes were glassy, puffy, like he had been crying all the way from australia to here.

"i just wanted to see you, that's all."

"we broke up two months ago, you can't just show up in front of my flat like this."

"i know but—"

"there aren't any buts lando, didn't me changing my number make it clear to you?" she folded her arms in front of her chest, her hair was still a mess from sleep and she was in pajamas, but her eyes were nowhere near his, not wanting to have any type of eye contact.

lando could only look down on the ground in embarrassment, he knew it was wrong. he knew he shouldn't have asked her friends where she lived, all of them had turned down his questions, telling him that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore but it wasn't anything a little persistence couldn't solve.

"is that all? you have a race to catch," she didn't even give him the chance to speak before trying to close the door on his face, but he blocked it with his foot, he wanted to talk. to fix things. he knew that things were irreparable but he wanted to try.

lando pushes the door open, despite her insistence of not letting him in, "i want to fix things, love—"

"there's nothing to fix lando, we're done. we've been done. what part of done do you not understand?" she was on the verge of tears, she didn't want to end it with lando, no, not at all but she felt that it was best for the both of them, she couldn't provide him with what he needed and he couldn't with her either, so it was best to just separate because why be in a relationship when you don't feel the love?

her eyes were still on the floor, not even daring to look up at lando's. it hurt for her too of course, just throwing away their year-long relationship out the window when the beginning of their relationship was so lovely, but now all there was is resentment and she didn't want that in her relationship.

lando couldn't utter anything out his mouth, he was stuck in place by her words. he let himself in earlier after he pushed the door open, he gently closed the door behind him before sighing, "we didn't even talk about it, you just decided for yourself that you didn't want to be apart of this anymore, you didn't even wait until my race ended before i could respond. how can i let it go?"

she swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked out the window, still refusing to look at lando, because she knew that if she did, she would start crying, "you just do lando. sometimes break-ups aren't always mutual, sometimes it's one person who doesn't want to be in a relationship anymore. it takes two to tango."

lando tousled with his hair, what could he say to that? she wasn't wrong. she couldn't deny the hurt and sadness that was in his green eyes, she hated that she made him feel that way but they were nothing. they've been broken up. by definition, they didn't have anything to do with eachother anymore, but she still had that care inside of her heart for him. after all, it had only been two months.

"just hear me out, and by the end of tonight, if you don't want to see me anymore, i'm gone. i won't try to contact you anymore," lando gave an ultimatum and she was fine with that, because she knew well that whatever he said, she would still say no.

she sat down on her couch, patting the space next to her to at least give him some sort of hospitality, wanting to hear him out even though she was steadfast in her decision.

"i won't bug you to come to my races anymore, i'll even help you with helping your family—"

"you can't throw money at this problem, lando."

"i'm not throwing money at it, i'm just saying that it's an option and you can take it if you feel like you need it," lando's voice was always pleading— begging for her to hear him out. he wasn't that type of guy, never. all of his exes got the same type of treatment, if they said that they were done, then lando wouldn't even bother.

he was a formula one driver, he didn't have the time.

but for her, he did.

she looks up, her arms still folded in front of her chest, legs curled up beneath her as she tries to find a comfortable position in an uncomfortable situation. glancing at the clock on the coffee table, it read in bright red neon numbers that it at 4:27 am, far too early or late for him to be here.

"we've had a similar conversation before, and i refused. so i'm refusing again," she sighs before meeting lando's eyes for the second time tonight, "i don't understand why you would want to keep this relationship. it doesn't benefit you for dating a poor girl."

"do you really think i care about your financial status?" lando asked, almost if it the thought of him caring about his (ex)girlfriend's financial status was ridiculous. he didn't care, it's the way she made him feel for the entirety of last year. she made him feel whole, like even if the world was against him, she would still be there.

she was used to men coming into her life who could think that they could "save" her and lando was no different to all of those other men. sure, she was definitely struggling trying to pay for her younger siblings education while working and pursuing her degree at the same time but that doesn't mean she was a damsel in distress and she expressed that to lando.

lando closed his eyes in frustration, "no, i didn't mean it like that—"

"well you sure as hell worded it like that," she looks away from him yet again, refusing to meet his eyes again until he had to leave. her eyes were glued to the window that overlooked the city, it was beautiful, calming— peaceful even, "i'm not changing my mind lando, we're worlds apart. i don't need you helping me, i can take care of myself."

with that, lando bit his lip and she ushers him out of her flat.

it had been months since lando's seen her, but he never forgot. he couldn't. the way she smelt, the way she laughed, everything still stuck in his brain as he continued his career.

the world didn't revolve around him, so the show must go on.

calling her old number had also become routine, almost an obsession. every finish, every weekend, anything that had to do with his career, lando would try and call her and tell her how his races were going, as if he wasn't talking to an automated robot on the other end of the line. the automated voice was practically his best friend because he's heard the damn voice so many times.

"the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected. please try again later."

and try again later he would.

he didn't understand himself, was it an obsession or was it the comfort that it gave him when he dialed her number? he didn't know. but sometimes he would hold up that phone to his ear and talk as if she was on the other end of the line, even though lando knew that there was no one waiting on the other line for him, not anymore.

but, the show must go on, right?

#Spotify #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #ln4 #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1

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hyunnie04 · 9 months ago

Text

tender

lee know x reader, hurt/comfort | m.list

wc: 1.4k | warnings: themes of depression and struggling with mental health

a/n: this fic is a little self indulgent as i haven't been feeling great lately. so i hope this brings comfort to anyone who needs it ♡

you don’t remember how long you’ve been sitting in the tub. you’re sure your hands have pruned and wrinkled due to the prolonged time you have been in here, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

the sides of your head pulses as a migraine at the forefront of your temple starts to fully form. you had hoped a moment of reprieve in the bath would calm your nerves and ease your headache, but it had yet to do so.

the droplets fall slowly against your furrowed eyebrows and taut expression, dripping freely down on your chin and on the dewy expanse of your chest. both arms are splayed limply across the sides of the tub, staring blankly ahead at the white tiled walls above, unmoving.

the temperature was warm, too warm for your usual liking but you didn’t seem to mind today, welcoming the dull pain it brought. the white tiles that you’ve been staring at for what seemed like forever stared back at you.

the silence was deafening.

a lot has been on your mind lately. the restless and constant feeling of not being good enough and comparing yourself to others caused you to no longer find enjoyment in the things you used to love doing.

words that usually meant nothing had stuck themselves inside your head as well, dissecting every meaning when they had none. sleep did not come easily to you these nights, tossing and turning, failing to succumb into the comforting arms of sleep.

isolation became your company in these moments, withdrawing yourself from everything. missing out on a lot of stuff, in turn, made you feel worse than you already did.

you knew you should probably tell someone about your problems but you just couldn't find it in yourself to do it. the last thing you wanted to be was a bother.

some days are admittedly better than others, where you’re able to get things done, to do your obligations and continue on with life like normal. but when you least expect it, it creeps up on you, pulling you back into that unhealthy head space.

you tried to force these thoughts and feelings down for a long time, pretending that everything was fine. today was apparently the day it all came rising up, unable to keep a lid on your bubbling emotions.

a sense of dread hung over your head, eyes aching from all the crying you did. wet strands of hair had clumped together, obscuring your view, perturbed by how sometimes your skin doesn't feel like yours.

“y/n?”

the bathroom starts to fog with mist, clouding the glass and mirrors, the water slowly scalding your skin. the call to sink down into the water and never come up are louder than ever.

“-y/n? are you in there?” a voice makes itself known. lifting yourself up a little bit, startled at the faintest sound of knocks.

you forget that minho would be home around this time. a hand flies towards your forehead to ease the pounding pain. shit, you haven't started making dinner.

it takes a while before you answer, collecting yourself as to not sound as shaky. “yeah! just finishing up, i'll be out in a sec.”

“don’t get out, i'll join you.” he yells back, the sound of padding feet against the wooden floors reverb through out the apartment. your eyes flicker at his sudden decision, causing you to sigh and sink down into the water once more.

as much as you adored and love him and how most days would let him join you with no hesitation, you silently hoped that he wouldn't today. you couldn't bear to let him see you in this state, all disheveled and puffy eyed. but it was rare when he was even home, given his grueling schedule.

so you wait for him patiently to come over to your shared bathroom, hugging your legs tightly. you remember to turn the cold tap on and off before he enters, water droplets filling in the silence.

when he finally creaks open the door with nothing on but a bathrobe and a silly cat headband that kept his hair away from his forehead on, you can't help but smile even if it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

you inch farther into the corner, making space for him quietly as he gets in. if he had noticed the temperature of the water that had yet to cool down, he made no attempt to comment.

the two of you don't say anything for the time being, just in each other's corner, relaxing and leaning your arms on the cool edge of the tub.

“you’re quiet.” his voice echoes. minho’s voice cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to the quietness of the bathroom just moments ago.

“i’m sorry.”

feeling minho’s heavy unwavering gaze into the side of your head, you can’t help but feel awful. you don’t mean to be so curt with him, but any more words from your mouth frightens you, afraid that the underlying shakiness of your voice will give you away.

your eyes still keep averting his, afraid of what expression he might bore. will he look at you with pity? with a tired gaze of disappointment?

he does not. instead, minho grabs one of the lavender scented shampoo bottles placed neatly on the shelf and gestures for you to turn around. you follow his request, albeit apprehensively, turning around.

“there we go.” he says. even if you refuse to meet his eyes, you could tell he was smiling as he said it.

minho takes great care to shampoo your hair, his blunt nails gently raking over your scalp, unknowingly soothing your dreadful headache. minho is observant, very much so. it doesn’t surprise you at all anymore when he suddenly asks.

“what’s wrong, hmm?” he finally says amidst the stillness of the atmosphere, tone dripping of comfort as his hands continue to lightly massage through your soapy tresses. you lean into it like a desperate cat, melting at his simple touch. oh how you've yearned for his touch.

although you don’t answer, his intuitive nature already knows that something was amiss.

“you know i’m always here for you.” minho says, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder. his sweet words and murmurs of comfort act like a salve to your aching heart as tears start to gather at your lash line once again.

you always hated making him worry.

the overwhelming emotion brings you to tears, immense guilt ebbing at your seams. minho places his head on your shoulder as you cry, hands running up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you.

he doesn't deserve this, to be left out, to not know the reason you're so distant lately. he trusted you and you trusted him. so you spill every little thing to him.

voice starting to rasp, your stuttering cries now unrestraint without fear of judgement and just allowing yourself to be vulnerable. salty tears start to meld together with the water in the tub, rippling as they fall. at last, you feel lighter. the weight that you carried for so long in your heart doesn't have to be carried alone.

after a while, the hiccupping in your throat and the tears start to subside, leaving you a sniffling mess. turning around to finally face him, you fought the urge to hide in your hands.

"feel a little better now?" minho looks at you with nothing but a loving smile, no underlying judgement, just adoration, and one that makes you dive into him. you feel so utterly loved, what did you do to deserve him?

your arms wrap around his neck, placing apologetic kisses on his lips. he reciprocates, hands going around your back to steady your form. your mouth tumbles out watery apologies as he caresses the skin of your nape, gentle as he can.

you release him, arms still hooked around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes as if he's the center of the universe, and to you, he is. "i love you." the edges of your vision cloud with the tell tale signs of drowsiness, finally finding it in yourself to relax in his hold.

and he lets you, guiding your head to rest on his broad chest, the steady beats of his heart thumping against your temple, grounding you, his feathery light touches lingering.

feelings like these come and go, but minho is a constant that you keep close to your heart.

“thank you for putting up with me.”

"of course, i love you too."

#lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #skz imagines #lee know skz #stray kids angst #lee know angst #skz angst #skz x you

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prentissluvr · 4 months ago

Text

but daddy i love him — sam winchester

cw : gn!empath!reader, light angst, fluff, some canon typical violence, demons, mentions of weapons, emotional manipulation/some emotional abuse in reader's past/presence, dean's kinda mean for a bit, kissing, food/drink mentions, poor editing, 11.3K words. listen to but daddy i love him by taylor swift. requested !

summary : you were raised sheltered from the world, but once you meet sam, you come to understand what freedom means. ౨ৎ . . . [ empath : has the ability to read and manipulate anyone's emotions. not the psychology kind lol ]

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

you’re not a demon, though you’re certainly no angel. in all technically, you suppose that you’re closer to a demon since they used to be human. not that you’d want to be put in the same box as any single demon, but you know that they feel some emotions. angels, you’re told, do not. to you, that’s quite a strange concept. someday, you’d like to meet one to see if it’s true.

and though you are not a demon, you’ve learned very well how to be like one, or at the very least how to feel like one. this is only helpful because your uncle, the demon who raised you (who is not your real uncle, nor related to you at all) wants you to be just like him. that implies being entirely uncaring and mostly unfeeling, with the exceptions for feelings being guiltless, hatred, annoyance, generally anything negative and parallel with aggression, and pleasure in the face of enacting pain or evil things upon somebody else.

having been surrounded by exactly that for as long as you can remember, you have no trouble pretending to be that way. in actuality, you find it totally impossible to embody it in truth. you, opposite to demons, are especially in tune with all aspects of your humanity. this does include the bad, but you’ve spent your life clinging to and longing for the good. plus, you don’t particularly enjoy experiencing the constant negativity that rolls off of most demons and right onto you. although your powers are geared towards other humans and you can’t read or manipulate demons’ emotions as easily, you learned to use your powers on them before anything else.

today, you accompany a crossroads demon, as per usual. your uncle has you trying a new tactic to aid in soul-collection. unfortunately for you, it's been working well and you have to pretend more often than not that your powers are failing you when they’re working just fine. you feel like a door-to-door salesman for guaranteed painful death and torture until one’s humanity is ripped away, all under the guise of pretty or petty dreams come true.

your accompanying demon, russell, is one of your least favorites. you don’t really like any of them, but unfortunately, russell is one of your uncle’s most trusted. you think it’s stupid, because you’re able to tell that he’s a coward and most likely not as trust-worthy as your uncle thinks. personally, you just find him annoying.

russell approaches the next house, knocking on the door as you lag behind. the man at the last house sold his soul in exchange to look ten years younger. not everyone exchanges their lives for such stupid reasons, but when they do, it makes you feel extra disgusted by the work you have to participate in. but for the sake of fooling your uncle, you pretend to enjoy it. someday, you might get away… you just don’t know what you’d do or how you’d survive.

the owner of the house opens the door, and the second she sees you and russell, dressed in suits and smiling all fake, her annoyance and skepticism immediately become apparent to you. your first order of business is to push that away and replace it with openness, curiosity, and a little bit of desire to get her to listen to you. since you “failed” at the first three houses and were successful at the last one, russell expects you to make this one work as well. it takes a bit of concentration to keep everything subtle and slow so that she doesn’t notice anything too strange.

when she greets you, she smiles a little and you know that you were successful. you let russell do all the talking as you continually feed the woman more desire and assuredness. little by little, you tug at her hesitation, pulling it away as russell gives her his pitch.

“anything you could ever dream of for the small price of your soul!” he lies about how small of a price it is and you mask your abundant discomfort. the more and better you do for your uncle, the more he lets you off of your figurative leash. the woman, mrs. hadley, as she introduced herself, is on the verge of saying yes. you’re seated in the living room as she goes on about how her one wish is for her young son to be treated well at school. you debate sabotaging the deal to save her, when the door bangs open and two men burst into the house, both sporting various weapons.

mrs. hadley screams and your concentration snaps. immediately, her fear and confusion wash over you, along with everything else that the two men and russell are feeling. suddenly quite overwhelmed, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before remembering you’re under threat. russell curses loudly, and when you snap your eyes open, he’s halfway across the room as he sprints full speed for the back door.

“sam!” shouts one of the men, nodding towards you and the frightened mrs. hadley as he takes off after russell. the other man, now dubbed sam, points his knife at you and begins rehearsing a latin exorcism.

“i’m not a demon, i swear,” you say, slowly standing and putting your hands up in surrender. his eyebrows furrow in confusion. you also sense his urgency and protectiveness, but you don’t sense as much aggression in him as you’d expected. the rush of that which you’d felt before must have been from the other man.

“then what are you?” he asks, voice gruff as he slowly approaches, trying to carefully manuever in between you and mrs. hadely.

“i’m human,” you answer, honest but withholding the full truth. “i promise,” you plead, trying to gauge his reaction without actually manipulating his feelings. when sam reaches mrs. hadley, he holds his arm in front of her protectively. there’s still fear and utter confusion rolling off of her.

“wh–what the hell is going on?” she asks, voice panicked.

“it’s alright,” sam reassures, trying to be as gentle as possible. “you just can’t make that deal. it’ll get you killed.”

“what? killed, i– but it seemed– it seemed fine?” you can feel doubt creep into mrs. hadley as well as she questions why she trusted you and russell so much without any real reason.

“trust me, whatever they promised you, it’s not worth it,” sam emphasizes. mrs. hadely goes to speak again, but sam returns his attention back to you. “what are you doing with a demon?”

“i… they have me trapped,” you say in a half-lie.

he clenches his jaw, but most of his distrust subsides because he feels more concerned for mrs. hadley than you. he tucks his knife somewhere accessible, and turns to the woman to comfort her. he tries to explain without too much detail that she should never sell her soul to anyone, but that it’s best if she tries to forget this all. but it’s clear to both you and him that she’s just panicking more and more. you easily read the way that sam wants to help her and it makes you want to do the same.

you mean to just send mrs. hadley a touch of calm and comfort, just so sam can get through to her. but you yourself are panicked and overwhelmed, never having been in such an out-of-control situation, and your strong desire to help her comes out unfiltered and unhindered by your usual careful control when you deal with humans. suddenly, mrs. hadley is grinning from joy, even laughing a little. for a moment, this seems fine to you. you fixed her fear, didn’t you?

but sam turns even more confused and worried. this, in turn, confuses you and breaks your concentration, and she falls back into an even stronger fear as she realizes starkly that she’s been experiencing emotions that aren’t her own.

she bursts into tears. “what– what was that?” she cries. you feel quite overwhelmed by her strong emotions.

you frown deeply. “i– i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to– i mean, i was just trying to help. i didn’t want want you to feel so afraid. i can help, though, i promise. i just– i was distracted and humans can be so sensitive.” you begin to approach with your hands still in the air, but you halt when her fear spikes even more and sam’s hesitance returns in full. they don’t want you near. you consider manipulating both of their emotions, just to get them to allow you closer, but you think better of it at the last second. they might grow even more wary if they notice the change in their own feelings.

“did you do that?” sam asks.

you deflate in guilt. “i’m sorry,” you say again, filling your voice with sincerity, “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you look at mrs. hadley, then proceed carefully, “but i can help, just a little, i won’t do anything crazy– i– i can’t do anything crazy, i promise. and i can make sure that no one ever bothers you again. you don’t have to let me close if you don’t want me to, but i really can help. just to… to calm things down a little and– and leave a little room for you to process. or, of course, i can just go and you’ll never see me or that guy again.” you look between sam and mrs. hadley, trying to calm yourself so you can get a proper read on both of their emotions without overloading yourself with all the information. mrs. hadley is just about as confused and scared as before, but you think that sam’s reassuring presence is helping her. you’re not so sure that your words have done anything to help. sam himself is still hesitant, but as some of his wariness slips away, you think he might be willing to hear you out or at least let you go unscathed.

“oh, you’re not going anywhere,” comes a gruff voice from behind you, along with the kiss of cold metal on the back of your neck. it’s a gun, you presume. you slowly lift your hands back up, having forgotten about the other man’s presence when he disappeared to take care of russell. you turn your attention to his feelings instead of the other two in case you need to use your powers to try and save yourself. he’s got aggression, calm anger, and a whole lot of protectiveness practically spilling out of him. he thinks you’re dangerous. he’s not necessarily wrong, but you really aren’t a danger to them, not unless you have to be.

“i’m telling the truth, i swear. please, just– just let me go.” you keep your voice steady, but pleading, trying not to let on just how scared you are but also appeal to their sympathy. you’re in danger, something that you’re completely unused to despite the way you grew up all around it.

“and let you get back to those demon bitches? not a chance. what even are you?” the man’s voice is unforgiving as he digs the gunpoint further into your skin, pressing for answers. you wince.

“dean, wait,” sam interrupts, “i don’t think they’re trying to hurt anyone,” he says, trying to reason before dean gets any more violent.

“sam, they’re clearly working with demons. i think that qualifies as trying to hurt people. we don’t even know if they’re human,” dean counters.

you’re about to speak again in your own defense when a familiar voice fills your ears.

“it’s always you boys, isn’t it? i should have known that the winchesters would crash my little soul-collecting party,” your uncle drawls.

“crowley,” sam growls, and you’re suddenly flooded with his anger.

your uncle completely ignores sam in favor of dean. “i kindly ask that you let my sweet pet go, squirrel.”

dean turns around, pulling you with him. “so they’re with you?” dean asks, voice accusatory.

“they are. and if you don’t hand them over, i will knock you out cold without a second thought. your choice, of course, darling,” crowley quips. you’re highly confused. the three clearly know each other, but your uncle has never mentioned anyone like the “winchesters” before. dean grows even more suspicious of you, sam confused and worried, and you know very well that crowley is only barely covering up his total anger. he’s anything but pleased to have found you in this situation.

“tell me why, and i’ll hand them over,” dean bargians, not realizing just how much he’s pissing crowley off. your uncle doesn’t even wait to answer before sending dean flying across the room and grabbing your wrist.

“let’s go,” he grumbles, tugging you along with him. you glance back at sam, who moves forward, trying to stop crowley until he too gets flung into the wall.

“uncle!” you shout in protest. “wait, i need to–”

“absolutely not,” he shouts back, “what the hell were you thinking? how’d you mess up a simple deal so horribly?”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly remembering yourself. he’ll only grow more angry if you continue to protest.

“damn those winchesters,” he grumbles to himself. as he drags you home, he continually complains about them, cursing that you got mixed up with them and pounding into your head that you should never, ever get involved with the winchesters.

⟢⟢⟢

honeybee cafe is just about the only solace that you have. it’s away from your uncle and the other demons, the place you always come when you’re allowed out without supervision. on top of that, it’s small and quiet, and you never visit during crowded hours. technically, you’re required by crowley to stay somewhere with other people so you can practice your powers on them. you picked this cafe for it’s cozy, quiet atmosphere, and the general lack of patrons from one to three pm. that way, you’re never overwhelmed by too many emotions. it’s usually just you, another regular or two, and the few workers. maybe it’s a little odd, but you feel secretly close with the people whose emotions you tune into over and over again. and you certainly don’t manipulate their emotions as crowley likely wishes you would.

you always sit in the corner furthest from the door, facing the rest of the small shop so that you can keep an eye on anyone who comes in or chooses to stay inside. sitting with your favorite beverage and a book you picked up from the library beforehand, you relish the comfort and warmth of the sunlight coming in from the window behind you. your room at home has no windows, and that just about kills you. you love windows.

only the soft tinkle of the bell on the cafe door interrupts the focus you lend to the book in front of you, and you look up on instinct. your breath catches in your throat as you immediately recognize the man who walks in. he doesn’t notice you, but you watch him as he orders a coffee. as he waits off to the side, you turn slightly, and you’re too late to cast your eyes down before he catches your gaze. his face lights up in recognition and surprise. he takes a step towards you before he’s interrupted by the barista’s call of his name. quickly, he takes the cup from their hand and thanks them before turning back to you. you weren’t planning on speaking to him, not after your strange first encounter and crowley’s warnings against him, but you feel an odd sort of relief when it becomes clear that he wants to approach you, to talk to you. he had left an impression on you when you’d met. he’d just seemed so… good.

his eyes flicker around the cafe as he comes closer, likely looking for signs of demons.

“i’m alone,” you assure him, smiling carefully as he gets close enough. he nods, slowly sitting across from you when you nod at the seat. “though i have to be back by evening or someone will come looking for me,” you explain, mouth forming a small frown as you think about it. he’s confused and concerned as he looks at you, and it feels sort of nice to guess that he’s maybe worried about you.

he seems unsure of what to say, so he just jumps right into it. “i never caught your name. i’m sam winchester, though i’m sure you got that before. can i ask… are you an empath? i did some research since we last met.” he gives you a tense sort of smile, not because he’s nervous, but just because this second meeting feels very awkward.

you nod and give him your name before anything else. “and yes, i am an empath,” you confirm, unsure if you should explain further or not. he seems to understand well enough.

he’s a bit more hesitant the next time he speaks. “and can you explain your… situation? you said you were trapped, and crowley seemed very possessive of you… but i thought i heard you call him uncle? whatever it is, i can help you get away from him, my brother and i have dealt with crowley too many times to count.”

his immediate offer to help and instinct to suggest you just leave crowley are both sort of overwhelming to you, but a part of you likes his words.

“oh. i– well, it’s complicated. crowley, he’s– he’s sort of my only family.” sam’s eyebrows raise a little in questioning. “we’re not actually related, or anything, but he raised me. he’s– well, he’s taught me everything i know and… i can’t– i can’t really leave. besides, he’s really not all that bad,” you try to excuse, suddenly feeling oddly defensive in a way that you can’t really explain. “and i get days to myself like this, i– i have my freedom, i just… before, i didn’t want you to think i was trying to hurt people, or that i like to, but uncl– crowley doesn’t really know… that i don’t like the things that he… that he asks me to do for him.”

suddenly, this wave of sad understanding rolls over you from sam, and you’re not sure why. his face doesn’t change much as he listens, but to you it seems like he thinks you’ve said something so sad.

“but it’s alright,” you quickly try to amend, “he thinks i’m weaker than i really am. that way he doesn’t suspect when most demon deals i’m a part of fail. i have to… i have to get some to work so that he thinks i’m trying, but i promise i try to hurt the least amount of people possible. and.. and he still lets me have my days out when the deals fall through. i botched two yesterday, but i’m still here, aren’t i?” you attempt at sounding lighthearted, but sam’s sadness doesn’t go away much. instead, you just feel compassion blooming from him as well.

“i understand,” he says kindly, “i didn’t think you were trying to hurt people. i believe you.” he’s completely sincere and you realize that that’s not something you’re too used to from almost anybody you talk to.

“thank you,” you sigh in relief, smiling and trying to show him that you’re sincere too. “your brother? dean?” sam nods. “he didn’t believe me,” you state.

sam cringes a little. “he can be like that. he–” he purses his lips, looking for the right words, “he doesn’t trust very easily. he’s very suspicious of people he doesn’t know.”

“i don’t think he really thought i was a person,” you say, starkly honest in a way that surprises sam for a moment. you don’t quite understand what his surprise was for, but he quickly shoves it away before you can ask about it.

“he’s– he’s working on that. i’m sorry he made you feel that way,” sam says, truly feeling apologetic.

“well, i didn’t feel that way. just him. i know that i’m a person,” you smile, trying to reassure him and wishing he didn’t feel sorry.

sam smiles back a little. “right,” he nods, “well, i’m still sorry he thought that way about you. he’ll come around.”

“thank you, sam. but you don’t have to feel sorry, it’s not your fault he felt that way,” you assure, completely sincere and trying to work out why sam would feel sorry about something he didn’t cause, nor that he agrees with. he’s already proved himself to be kind and believing enough.

“sure,” he agrees, trying to figure out the right way to explain what he means as he begins to understand how truly sheltered from normal human interaction you’ve been. “but i know how it feels to have someone doubt how human you are and that it’s not a good feeling. so i’m just sorry and empathetic that you had to experience that.”

you nod in understanding. “ah, well, that’s kind of you… you’re right. it wasn’t the most pleasant thing to feel, but i understand that dean was feeling sort of afraid and definitely mistrustful. you didn’t really find me in the most trustworthy position. but if i meet him again, i hope you’re right that he’ll come around. i really am just a person, but i get that i’m, you know, not one hundred percent normal. really, empathy’s a very human thing, mine’s just… exaggerated, i guess.” you look at him, head cocked to the side in confusion. “but you, sam? why would someone doubt how human you are? you feel things just like a human.”

sam gives you a half smile. there’s a tinge of bitterness when he answers, but the way he talks and feels makes it seem as though time as softened most anger or sadness. yet, it also feels as though he’s never really talked about this much.

“i used to have psychic powers. i’d have visions, these premonitions before people died.” he explains it as something so casual, and he’s trying to feel that way about it, but he really seems to care. “in a way, i was barely different from you. of course, i’m still not. we’re both people.”

“really?” you ask, curious, “i didn’t know other people had that sort of thing. and your powers? they’re gone now?”

“it seems like it. i haven’t had a vision in a long time,” he answers.

“you seem relieved by that,” you note. sam picks up on the tinge of sad disappointment in your voice.

“i am,” he answers honestly, “but not because it’s bad to have those sort of powers. i just didn’t really enjoy getting visions of people dying violently.” he gives you a tight-lipped smile to show you he’s okay being lighthearted about it all.

you relax. “right, of course. that must have been hard,” you give him a small, kind smile, “i can feel that it was hard. i’m glad you don’t have to go through that anymore.” you’re all sincerity, and sam smiles right back.

“can i ask what it’s like for you? to have these powers?” he asks, careful and kind. he wonders if you get headaches or terribly tired of feeling other people’s emotions all the time, but he doesn’t want to make you talk about it if you’d rather not.

you’re slightly taken aback by the question, and not because you don’t want to talk about it. you just never really have at all before. you realize the simultaneous oddness and loveliness of this conversation. not once have you spoken about your powers with another human before, much less one who has some understanding about them.

“well… i guess i’ve never really thought about it much. just because i’ve never known anything else. i honestly don’t remember much from when i was young, but crowley’s been teaching me how to use them for as long as i remember. it’s both better and worse with practice, i guess. and the way i learned was kind of odd.” you pause, unsure if sam wants to really hear about it all. but he gives you an encouraging nod and you feel genuine interest coming from him, so you continue.

“i started learning with demons, but they feel a whole lot less than humans do. and i can’t feel or manipulate their emotions as easily or strongly since my powers are geared towards humans. but since that’s how i learned, it’s decently easy now, though it technically takes more effort than it does for humans. now i’m practicing on people, and it’s sort of too easy. it takes much more control because i’m used to exerting more power on demons. and humans feel things much more strongly, and are much more sensitive to change. i’ve gotten much better, but if i’m distracted or overwhelmed, my control slips. that’s what happened with mrs. hadley.” suddenly, you remember her. “is she okay?” i made things worse for her, didn’t i? you think.

“she’ll be alright,” sam says. “she was shaken up, but she was doing much better when i left. don’t worry too much about her.”

you almost want to ask again, if she’ll really be okay, but it seems that sam will most likely give you the same answer he just did. “okay,” you relent. then you realize you did more explaining about how your powers work than what it’s like for you. “to really answer your question; it’s my norm, and i’m not sure what it would be like without them. but sometimes i think it might be nice if i didn’t have them. i would’t have to help the demons, and it can be… overwhelming. i’m used to the demons; their emotions are easier to tune out. but with people? well, they just feel a lot. of course, i’m used to my own feelings, but to feel that, plus everything else around me, especially when someone could be feeling so much all at once is just… it can be a lot. i’m learning how to tune it out, but honestly, i’m still figuring it all out.”

sam thinks you look a little embarrassed when you finish, and he certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way. “that makes sense,” he reassures, “i barely had any control over my own powers. i can’t imagine how difficult it is to be in control of something so complicated and fickle as emotions. most people can barely deal with their own emotions. being able to feel everyone else’s too can’t be easy at all.

you nod in simple agreement. “it isn’t. but i’m also glad for it. sometimes, unc– crowley has me use it for his, you know, demon things, and i don’t like that. but i think my powers are part of the reason why i’m able to hate it. i’m so connected to humanity, the good and bad in everything that people feel, that no matter how i grew up, i’ll always have empathy in its rawest form. and though i don’t get too many chances, and i mess it up sometimes, i can help others when i’m away from the demons. last week, there was this girl in here,” you smile lightly at the memory as you begin to recount it to sam, “she was smiling and nice to everyone, but i could feel how just sad she was. i paid for her drink and told her she looked pretty, and the way that it made her feel… i didn’t even have to use my powers. she was just so grateful and happy that she teared up. and i barely did anything at all. that’s what keeps me going,” you say, completely honest, “knowing that i can help and that it’s my choice when i do it.” you feel like some huge weight has been lifted from your chest. you’ve never said this all aloud, and certainly not for someone else to hear. but something about sam and his sincerity and goodness makes you feel comfortable enough to say almost anything at all.

sam looks at you with a sort of admiration and total understanding, and that alone is almost enough to overwhelm you. it seems like, in all your experience in feeling, sam is showing you more, all by himself and without even trying. to be understood, so fully in so little time, is not something you’d ever felt for yourself before.

“i know what you mean,” he says, and you absolutely believe him. you want to know him, more than you’ve ever wanted to know anybody. you want to know all about what he feels and why and what he likes and how he knows what you mean without being able to read your feelings like you can his. and you know that he feels just about the same way you do. he wants to know you just as much as you want to know him.

and so you talk and talk and talk until you realize that the sun is dipping low in the sky because you begin telling him how much you love windows. then it’s a sort of frenzy; you’re worried you’ll be caught and try to leave right away, but sam catches your wrist, his calloused hand so gentle on your skin. he asks for your number, but you don’t have a phone, so you tell him to come back at the same time next week if he can. then you rush out and he watches you go.

the next week, sam appears in the cafe doorway at 1:24 pm, and he looks all soft when you smile at him wide. before you have to go again that day, he hands you a cheap phone with both his and dean’s contact already in place. he tells you it’ll make things easier because he might not be able to make it again next week. he doesn’t know when he’ll be on a hunt or not. then he tells you not to call dean unless it's a true emergency; dean still isn’t sure about you.

when you go, you forget to ask him how to use it. so, when he texts you on thursday to tell that he’s on a hunt, and might not make it to your meeting spot on sunday, you’re very unsure what you’re supposed to say. figuring out how to use the phone itself isn’t difficult, but you’re unaware that your simple response of “that’s okay.” is a bit bare-boned and dry in response to his kindly worded message. over time, you get used to how sam talks over text and learn how to emulate it.

and when sam calls you for the first time, you’re completely taken aback. you’d seen people talking over phone calls many times, but you’d never actually done it yourself. you accidentally hang up on him four rings in, but he calls you back a moment later. your surprise is delighted when you hear his voice through the speaker. then you discover it’s just like a demon call without all the blood involved. you also discover that, while you can pick up on emotions from his voice, you can’t really use your powers at all through the phone.

he regretfully interrupts your long spiel about the different pastries you’ve tried from honeybee cafe, telling you he has to go. you ask why, confused that you can’t just keep talking since you’re now able to through the phone. you love talking to him, and you think he enjoys it too. then he tells you that he was just calling to see if you could meet a different day this week, like he asked at the beginning of the call, and that dean expects him to be doing research for a case right now. you ask why he didn’t just text like normal, why he’d call if he didn’t want to keep talking.

“i do want to keep talking,” he reassures, “it’s just that i don’t have the time right now, but i thought calling might be a little easier than texting this time around. but i can call you again later tonight?”

“okay,” you respond, happy enough with that solution. after that, you call him any time you have something to say. he laughs to himself, completely endeared when you call him to tell him that you saw a very cute cat, then hang up seconds later before he can even respond.

eventually, you come to learn that he can’t actually pick up most of the time, but he tries to as much as possible, and that calling is nicer when you both have the time to actually sit down and talk. as you get to know sam, you learn many, many things along with all the questions he answers about himself.

most amazingly, you learn what it feels like to fall in love with someone fast, and what its like for them to fall right in love with you too. whatever connection that you and sam felt the first few times meeting each other very easily and naturally turns into love. there’s this tug between the two of you, pulling you closer to each other every time you meet. his hand brushes over yours and you smile at him brightly, and you constantly think about each other when you’re apart.

sam tries to take things slow, feeling a little bit like he’s taking advantage of you and your sheltered past. but you know what you want, what you feel, and what he feels too. he wants you just as much as you want him, and you see no reason not to give each other just that.

and it’s so glorious, because you don’t have to read his emotions to know that he loves you back. he makes it so abundantly clear with the way that he acts around you, the way that he looks at you, and the way that he kisses you. you’ve learned that you’d do just about anything for him. you’ve learned how to feel this wild joy that you didn’t know how to feel before.

and it’s true that you’ve learned other, less pleasant things. you hate aiding demon deals even more than you thought. you’ve begun to think that, maybe, almost everything crowley’s raised you to view as the facts of the world, aren’t nearly as true as you thought. you’ve learned that maybe you don’t really owe him so much for raising you or teaching you to use your powers, and you’ve thought the scary thought that he might’ve done it all just to use you. you’ve learned that you should be able to do anything you’d like without having to fear the king of hell’s wrath. that you want to, probably should, get away from crowley, and that feeling like you don’t have a choice isn’t healthy or good for you at all. you’ve learned that you’re still too scared, but you’d rather be with sam, and that every day you spend with him, you become braver.

you’ve also found out that loving in secret can be hard, and that you want to see sam all the time, not just the times when both of you can sneak away. apparently, dean’s still having trouble “coming around” to the idea of you. he doesn’t know that sam’s yours and you’re his. he’s worried that you’re manipulating sam in caring about you, but sam’s reassured you that his love for you is the realest thing that he feels. you couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that he trusts you so much.

he trusts you so much that every weekend possible, he meets you in the cafe or the nearest motel and you spend hours just talking or laying in comfortable silence together.

he always books the room with the best view from the window and opens the curtains before you get there so that the sunlight bathes the room in warmth and light. today, the late afternoon light is especially pretty, tinted orange and casting a bright hue over yours and sam’s skin as you lounge in the bed together.

his arm is wrapped around your shoulders, both of you propped against the wall with several pillows. you hold his other hand, playing with his fingers and relishing in the feeling of his pretty nose against your cheekbone. because he can’t resist you, he likes to keep his face as close to yours as possible so that it’s very easy to kiss you. his lips will brush against your cheek constantly, and other times he lifts his hand from your upper arm to gently nudge your face closer to his so that he can seal his lips over yours.

you’ve already talked about lots of things today; the best toppings on salad, sam’s most recent case, the symbolism of rhododendron flowers in the book you finished three days ago, and surely more. but the last hour has been quiet, filled with more rustling of blankets, soft sighs, and occasional whispers more than anything else. you’re content, and sam is too, for the most part. often, you try not to be reading sam’s emotions, but spending so much time with him and being so close to him has put you almost irrevocably in tune with his feelings, and you can feel that something’s nagging at him. it’s both good and making him nervous at the same time, but you don’t say a word. you wait for him, until he’s ready to say whatever it is.

it’s when he presses another kiss to your temple that he speaks, voice a more steady volume rather than a whisper this time. “honey?” he says like a question, signaling to you that he’s got something to say, maybe something important that he wants to ask.

“yes, love?” you respond, trying to sound receptive to whatever it is he wants to talk about.

“i, uh, i asked dean if he’d try and meet you, and i managed to convince him. he– he doesn’t know that we’re together, love, but i told him i ran into you again. i think… i think he probably suspects that there’s more to it than that, but he hasn’t said anything about it and i’m taking that as a good sign. would you be okay trying to meet up with him?” he asks, careful and tentative. you can tell that he’s scared to interrupt the balance of things, but that he really wants this. you know how much he hates hiding this all from dean.

“of course,” you assure him quickly. you want the same as him. you don’t want to have to stay furtive and distant from sam so much. but you also have a question. “are we… going to pretend? you know, not to be together?”

sam’s face falls a little at that thought, and at the hint of sadness in your voice when you ask. “i don’t want to,” he starts.

“but you’re nervous,” you gently interrupt.

“a little,” he admits, giving you a small smile, “but i was going to say that it’s up to you. dean could… i don’t know, freak out and i don’t want you to have to worry about that if you don’t want to.” you nod at his words, feeling a bit embarrassed at your interruption. while you try not to let your ability to discern his feelings dictate exactly how you interact with him, you’re still learning that sometimes what someone feels doesn’t always let you predict what they want to say. and of course, he’s sincere about his concern for you, as always.

“well,” you consider his words seriously, “maybe we don’t have to tell him out right, but if he asks? we don’t have to lie?”

“of course, honey,” he nods, “i’d never lie about being with you if he asked directly,” he promises, sealing it with a chaste kiss to your lips. if there’s one thing you know, it’s that sam is proud of loving you, and one of his least favorite things it’s having to hide it. he wants dean to know, he just doesn’t want him to say something scathing to you or try to keep him away from you.

“okay,” you smile. you understand his hatred for hiding it and his nervousness well. you’d be more nervous than he is now about crowley discovering what you’re doing and who you’re meeting with when you’re out on your own. “but you don’t have to worry, sammy. we’ll try to keep him from asking unless he’s reacting well. if he’s still too suspicious, i’ll know and make sure we won’t act in a way that will make him ask. we have time,” you assure.

now sam feels conflicted, because he’s both relieved by your reassurance and sorry you’d have to hide that he’s yours and you’re his. then he’s suddenly hit by this desire to hide anything at all. he doesn’t want to hide from dean or let the way that dean feels get in the way of him seeing and loving you whenever he wants. he wants to show dean just how good you are and how good you are for him.

“thank you,” he says sweetly, “but i don’t want to keep hiding it from him, not for any longer. you’re too important to me for that.”

you want to melt right into him. “you’re important to me too, sam. really, really important. we’ll do this on your time, yeah? whatever you want.”

“yeah,” he smiles, “and we’ll do other things on your time, and others on ours,” he says assuredly.

you give him a nod as he reminds you that he’s by your side as you build up the courage to get away from crowley. sam has always been cautious about the topic, never saying too much until it was you who brought it up. the first time you told him you’d been thinking about escaping crowley, about realizing you don’t owe him your service or that he doesn’t treat you well, you had felt this surge of pride rush off of sam and onto you. outwardly, he was gentle and quietly encouraging, and he’s been just that since. he reminds you that you should do things at your own pace, but he’s there to do everything he can to help you. the more time you spend with him, the readier you are to stay with him, and just him. unlearning the things that you’ve had beaten into your head for as long as you can remember is nowhere near easy, but it’s undeniably better with sam by your side.

and less than a week later, you’re nervous and wishing for that exact comfort as you wait for him and dean to meet you in the cafe. you sip on your usual order, glad for its familiarity. after ten long minutes, your head shoots up at the sound of the door’s little bell ringing, signaling the arrival of sam and dean. dean walks in first, eyes scanning the small coffee shop until he sees you. you try not to look too nervous as you stand and send him an amicable smile.

you glance at san as he comes up from behind dean, giving you a reassuring smile. the sight of him relaxes you a bit, though you’re so in tune with his emotions by now that his own nervousness immediately washes over you. as dean approaches you try to get a read on his emotions as well. he’s less hostile than you expected, moreso careful, defensive, and begrudging. there’s also a hint of willingness along with it all, and you cling to that. there’s even some trust thrown into the mix, though you assume that it’s reserved only for sam.

“hi,” sam says kindly as he and dean take the seats across from you. you sit along with them.

“hi, sam,” you answer, reciprocating his friendly smile. “hi, dean,” you then say, turning your head to look him in the eye.

“hi,” he echoes, voice gruff. he settles his elbows onto the table top, trying to look casual and at ease, like he’s the one in control of the situation. “let’s, uh, skip the pleasantries. sammy here tells me that we should be protecting you from crowley. i don’t trust you and i’m not convinced you even need protection at all, given that you were helping him with his little demon deals. i’m also not convinced that you’re not using your freaky powers to make him trust you.”

“dean,” sam hisses. you feel a spike of anger from him when dean uses the word ‘freaky.’

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling a little at sam. you honestly appreciate dean’s frankness. “i understand that. i know we didn’t meet in ideal circumstances. i might not trust me either if i were you. and i’m honestly not sure exactly how i can convince you to, but i’d be grateful if you’d let me give it a shot.” dean looks completely skeptical. “without my powers, of course,” you rush to assure him.

“and i’ll know that how? you can literally change the way that i feel. it’s not really a good look for you,” he points out, earning a glare from sam that he completely ignores.

“you’re not entirely wrong,” you acknowledge, “but that’s a lot easier said than done. first of all, the effects of my powers are only temporary. i can only use my powers on you when i’m around you and focused enough. aside from that, you’d most likely be able to tell if i did use them.” dean raises his eyebrows in suspicion, so you go one to explain further. “you’re aware of what i can do, and you’re rightfully wary about it. that means you’ll most likely pick up on even minute changes in your emotions that i make. when you’re aware like that, you can overpower me. my abilities are strong, but frankly, authentic human emotions are stronger. long story short, i can’t do much at all to you. and while sam’s less wary than you to begin with, he’s still aware enough that the same applies to him. either of you would know and be able to overpower my hold on your emotions if i tried anything. the most i can do is get a read on what you’re actually feeling.”

dean still looks skeptical, but you sense a bit of his unease being to slowly slip away. “how do i know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.

without a word, you send just a small wave of trust and comfort through him. for a moment, he relaxes, but just as quickly, his scowl deepens and his own distrust replaces your influence. your affect on his emotions is easily pushed away.

“that’s what it would feel like if i were trying to get you to trust me with my powers. that was about as subtle as i can be with emotional manipulation, and you still noticed. all i can do is tell you that you’re still skeptical, but a little less than when you walked in here. and i can hope that means that you’d be willing to hear me out. i really, honestly could use the help.” you add as much sincerity to your voice as you can, relying on almost all logic to convince him.

dean scowls even more when you mention his feelings and read them accurately, but he does seem to realize that you read a whole lot more than what you actually said aloud. he also can’t say that he thinks you’re lying. it was easy for him to pick up on your influence. almost immediately. “fine,” he grumbles. “no promises, though.”

you nod, relaxing a bit despite his words being less than kind. “that’s fine,” you accept. “thank you.” you glance at sam, suddenly feeling unsure. he gives you a sweet nod and smile and you take a deep breath before forging on. “i don’t know how much sam told you about my… situation. but… for a long time i just didn’t really know i had any other option than to stay with and help crowley. and you don’t have to believe me, but, for the record, i really don’t enjoy helping him. but i think that he’d freak out if i left. and maybe send an army of demons after me, which i do realize would be highly inconvenient for you…,” you trail off, feeling more and more nervous. you take a deep breath to recollect yourself and give your full explanation as to why dean should be compelled to help you.

“but crowley’s also bound to find out that i’m holding my powers back and purposely sabotaging his demon deals. and let’s just say that nobody wants that. he wants my powers and i don’t know what lengths he’ll go to to get them. so… if you help me, you’ll be keeping my powers out of the hands of the king of hell, which means slowing down his demon deals and making sure i’m not doing whatever evil demon-y things you think that i might.”

you can see dean contemplating, sense his feelings shifting. he intertwines his fingers and looks at sam with a raised eyebrow. sam nods, his expression completely serious. dean turns back to you.

“alright,” he says, “this is nowhere near the worst deal we’ve ever made. we’ll take you with us, keep crowley and his demons at a distance, and you can get out of our hair and onto your own life once things settle down. sound good?” he asks the question like he’s already made the final decision.

“thank you,” you sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. it’s not perfect since he still doesn’t know that you’re totally in love with sam and he’s totally in love with you, but it’s a better start than just about anything else. then it suddenly hits you that you’ll really be walking away from crowley, and that scares you. sam manages to catch your gaze. he looks at you with a hint of concern, but also relief as well. you can see him asking with his eyes, should we tell him? it’s you that gives him an encouraging nod this time. if you want, you’re saying.

he gives you a smile, and you know it means that he’s going to tell dean, right here, right now. you’re about to smile right back, but your gaze catches on movement behind him. your face drops, and you feel the blood drain from it. you don’t catch sam’s worried look that he gives you before he twists in his seat to see what you’re looking at. everyone reacts just a little too late, and crowley slides into the seat beside you.

“well, hello boys! darling,” he looks at you pointedly before turning back to the brothers. “not quite the trio i expected to find today! or ever, considering the fact that i expressly ordered you to stay away from the winchesters, isn’t that right, darling?” he doesn’t even look at you, but you cringe away from him slightly. a wave of protectiveness rolls off of sam as he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to pull you right away from crowley.

you avoid crowley’s question entirely. “what are you doing here, crowley?”

“crowley? what happened to uncle? you’re breaking my heart, darling,” he drawls, faking a dramatic offense. “just because it’s one of your free days doesn’t mean i can’t visit you, does it? especially not when i get a report that the winchesters are headed inside your favorite cafe. as your caretaker, i was very alarmed. these two are quite dangerous, you should know.”

sam looks at you carefully, wanting to speak up for you, but not wanting to say what’s yours to say or decide what’s yours to decide.

“i’m leaving with them,” you say to crowley, blunt and too scared to force out any words that aren’t simple. “i don’t want to keep helping you collect souls.” pride and relief wash over sam. it feels good to sense.

but crowley’s anger is the opposite. he’s red-hot mad. “after everything i’ve done for you, you’re going to try and leave with the bloody winchesters?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. it’s not like any of it was ‘for me’ anyway. it was all for your own gain. sam’s done more for me than you ever did.” you let that last sentence slip out without trying, but you find yourself too angry to be in complete control of the things you say. angry, and afraid.

both dean’s and crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. “sounds like you’ve been spending time with dear sam now, have you?”

you swallow, biting the inside of your cheek before speaking. “i– i have. and i’ve learned much more important things from him than i have ever did from you. so you can just give this up and make things easy. i’m not going back with you.”

“i raised you,” crowley growls. “do you know how much i hate children? but i still raised you, taught you to use your powers and made you stronger than you ever would’ve been without me. what the hell could this giant twat have done for you that’s better and more important than that? and don’t dare say something horrible like love. have you never considered the power that you’d have by my side? clearly you learned nothing of loyalty! you’re completely thankless and a complete dimwit if you thought i was going to just let you go. i’m taking you back, whether you like it or not, and you’ll stay in your room until i’m positive you won’t set foot near dearest dean or your stupid, freakishly tall boyfriend. is that understood?”

“no,” you choke out, reaching for sam’s hand across the table. crowley looks like he’s about to explode. dean quickly puts his hand out to interrupt.

“we’re getting stares,” he says, “we can take this outside.”

“no,” sam counters, standing and pulling you up with him, guiding you to stand by his side. “we’re gonna go. and you’re not following, crowley, unless you want my demon blade shoved up your ass.”

“do i look like i care about stares?” crowley seethes, standing and grabbing your other wrist. you yank at his hold to no avail, and sam moves to break his hold as on you he continues to speak. “i will toss both of you winchesters and everyone else in this godforsaken place across the room until you’re all knocked out cold, if that’s what it takes.”

“let me go,” you insist, voice almost a snarl, right as sam tells him to get his hands off of you.

crowley ignores you, even as you struggle against his iron grip. “you first, moose,” he says through gritted teeth.

the second that dean steps closer to the three of you to intervene, crowley flicks his free hand and sends dean crashing into the farthest wall. a few disjointed screams ring through the cafe and spikes of fear wash over you from all the innocent civilians. sam’s anger grows by tenfold and all of it has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. you know that crowley wasn’t bluffing when he threatened everyone in the cafe, so you untangle your hand from sam’s and stretch your arm out in front of him before he can lunge at crowley.

“it’s okay, sam,” you say, voice surprisingly calm. you stop struggling and sam looks at you with such desperation and pleading that you almost want to let him fight. but you don’t want him or anyone else hurt. “i’ll be okay. and i’ll be back.”

“no, don’t do this,” sam starts. crowley doesn’t wait for you to answer as he begins dragging you away. you stumble more than once, looking over your shoulder to see sam start after you. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t, sam,” you beg. “it’s okay, i promise.” your voice raises to a shout to make sure he can hear you as crowley pulls you through the door and away from sam.

⟢⟢⟢

you know without a doubt that sam’s looking for you. that he’s pouring every minute into finding you, that he’s probably skipping meals and losing sleep because of it. but you also know that you won’t be easy to find. either way, you’re getting out. out of this godforsaken room with no windows and drab walls and out of this life, away from this fear. and you’re going to do it yourself.

it’s not easy, per se, but it’s not difficult either. just tedious and time consuming. it’s fortunate for you that crowley’s narcissism can blind him to certain things, like the fact that you’re much more adept at using your powers than he thinks you are, or that the demon guarding your door, hazel, hates him for giving her such a boring job. he doesn’t even think that you’re capable of manipulating his emotions, given his extra power as king of hell, and that’s exactly why it works when you do.

your escape plan is simple, though not foolproof. but it seems to be working so far. each time that crowley checks on you, you boost all of the hatred and annoyance in both your guard and him. this makes crowley snap at your guard constantly, berating her and blaming her for things she didn’t do. in turn, this makes her hate crowley even more, to the point that her rage no longer needs to be manufactured. hazel hates him more than enough on her own.

even more subtly, you’ve done your best to appeal to her, mostly by complaining about crowley through your shut door and lessening her annoyance as you speak. at first, she’d tell you to shut up, but now, she listens if you don’t talk for too long, sometimes even complaining back.

but today, when she began complaining about crowley to you, unprompted, you decided you’d throw all of your effort into escaping. she’s particularly spiteful, all on her own, and all day, you boost that feeling, complaining along with her and building up the sense of comradery she’s starting to feel with you.

crowley stops by, and you can feel her anger acutely. you do as you’ve done every day, making him annoyed so he says something scathing. with the strength of her hatred, you’re impressed that she doesn’t say something back, something that would likely get her killed by his hands.

instead, she waits until he’s gone, and begins to mutter to herself how she’d love to cut that haughty smirk from his face. you lean against the door, making noise so she knows you’re there.

after a few moments, you speak. “you could just leave,” you suggest casually. she scoffs, trying to sound annoyed at you. truly, you can tell just how much she’d like to do exactly that.

“and risk getting hunted down by his minions? not a chance,” she growls.

“i hate him just as much as you do,” you remind her strategically. “if he’s not in charge, you wouldn’t have to worry about his minions, right? whether it’s now or later, i’m getting out and i’m making him pay. he doesn’t know that i have the power to turn every single one of his demons against him. he thinks i’m weak, but i can topple his kingdom, and i will.” you infuse your words with venom and conviction, just how any demon would like. then you fill her with conviction too, making her believe your words easily. “all i need is to get out of this goddamn room.” to you, her silence is loud, but her feelings are louder. hazel grapples with her hatred and her fear and her utter spite.

“i know you have the key,” you remind her. crowley would never bother to be the one to unlock it each time you need food. “we can both disappear, right now. crowley will get what he has coming for him, i’ll make sure of that.” you send her a wave of boldness and reassurance, confidence that this would be a good decision. it’s easy to feel when you tip her over the edge. a split second later, you hear the door unlock and come face to face with her determined expression.

“this isn’t a favor to you. it’s for me,” she says, voice low and harsh. “i’ll be waiting to see what you do to him.”

easily, you act just how you know she’d want, eyes and voice ruthless like how you learned to be growing up trying to convince crowley you were like him. “trust me. i’ll rip his kingdom apart brick by brick,” you snarl. she nods, and you brush past her, feet light and quiet as you make it out of the building without incident.

once outside, you break into a run, unable to stay calm enough to walk. clutching the small bag of belongings you took, you make for the road. it’s a bit of a ways away, but you reach the highway, panting and desperately looking out for a car that’ll pick you up and take you to the next town over. all you need is to get on the train and head for kansas. you have the way to sam’s bunker memorized.

too afraid not to keep moving, you walk along the side of the road, listening intently for any car or truck. the area is quiet, frustratingly slow, and the few cars that pass you by choose to ignore the thumb that you stick up in the air.

it’s practically torture, walking and walking and waiting. waiting for something to go wrong, for crowley and his demons to find you within mere hours of your escape. your anxiety builds as your hunger and thirst do, and you want to sit down in the grass when you pass an exit sign signaling another five miles to the town with the train station.

but you don’t think you can stop, even with your parched throat, heavy feet, and anxious heart. it’s a strange feeling; elation mixed with nerves so strong you think you could throw up.

you perk up at the sound of a rumbling car engine, but deflate in disappointment before it even comes into sight from around the corner. it’s headed in the wrong direction, straight back towards the place you want to get away from. for a moment, you wonder if you should try and hitch a ride anyway, in case they can drop you off in a different town with a train station. then the car comes into sight, its sleek black body reflecting back the mild sun of the afternoon. you gasp, an impossible hope entering your body.

it had taken you a moment to recognize it; sam’s never driven the impala to see you before, but he’s shown you pictures of his brother’s beloved car. praying it could really be him, you wave your arms in the air, heart beating wildly.

the car slows and breaks a little ways away from you, and before it even comes to a full stop, the passenger side door swings open, and sam comes running out. he looks nowhere but you as he runs across the wide road.

“sam,” you gasp, voice barely loud enough for him to hear. you match his pace, running to meet him. he practically crashes into you, enveloping you in his arms and sighing out your name. you hug him back just as tightly, pressing your face into his neck.

“i’m so sorry,” he breathes out, “crowley was hard to find and–”

“shut up, sam,” you grinned against his skin, the affection clear in your voice. “don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. it was my choice and i knew i’d be able to find a way out. and i knew even better that you’d look for me.”

he barely parts from you, just so he can gently place his hands on the sides of your face and really look at you. “you’re amazing. i–” he stops himself from saying sorry again. “i know that wasn’t easy for you, none of it. but you did it. you did it, all by yourself. i’m so proud of you.”

your heart lurches at his words. they feel too good to hear, too sweet, too full of relief. tears spring into your eyes as you really realize just how difficult it all was, as you’re hit with exhaustion from the walk and the fear and the uncertainty of it all.

“thank you, sam,” you whisper. it’s true that you did it all for yourself, but it may never have happened without him. “you helped me. so much, sam. and i missed you a lot, and– and–” you decide that if you keep talking, you’ll cry. so instead of that, instead of trying to come up with something to bring justice to the way that you feel, you kiss him. you remember that sam knows how you feel because that’s how he feels too. and though you can’t quite show him that in the way you experience his own feelings, you can show him by kissing him, and kissing him hard.

he melts into you, his hands impossibly soft, yet steady and so sure on your face. he kisses you back with the same ferver, right there on the side of an empty highway with his brother likely watching. he doesn’t care, not about any of it.

when you finally part, breathless, dean clears his throat loudly, and you grin at sam a little bashfully. he grins back. you peek around his shoulder to see dean leaning against the car��s hood, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“while i hate to break up the lovefest, i’m not sure how long we’ve got until crowley sends that army of demons you mentioned. let’s hit the road, kids,” he calls out to the two of you.

in the car, it seems clear that dean’s attitude towards you has improved significantly since your last meeting. maybe it was seeing the way crowley treated you, watching you give yourself up in defense of sam and the others in the cafe, or seeing sam this past week and a half and coming to understand how much he really cares about you. whatever it is, you completely welcome the hesitant sort of affection that begins to permeate dean’s wariness of you.

then, there’s sam, sitting all content in the passenger's side and unable to stay still. he keeps turning to look at you, as if he has to be sure that you’re really there, sitting pretty in the backseat of the impala like he’s imagined a million times before. the only thing keeping him from sitting next to you is the fact that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands and lips off of you, and that would be a bit too much with dean in the car. so instead, he smiles at you all soft and listens intently when you explain how you got out. he tries not to talk too much to avoid bothering dean, but you can tell that dean doesn’t mind one bit hearing the happy tone in sam’s voice as he talks to you.

and for you, to be flying down the highway and looking at your sam, your revelry, your wild joy, you finally understand what freedom really feels like. what it feels like when it’s yours.

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bouncybongfairy · 8 months ago

Text

Not A Peep

Simon (Ghost) Riley x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: You're a medic on Task Force 141 and Ghost finds out you have a thing for him when you get flustered stitching him up. Once you guys get back to the barracks, he fucks your throat under a desk.

Word Count: 1.0k+

Ref Account: @kaionyx

TW: Dom Ghost, Face Fucking, Rough Smut, BJ Under Desk

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It was easy to separate yourself from all the stories being told while studying to be a combat medic. Tales about women falling for soldiers and then being immortally traumatized from watching the war take its effect on him. Whether it be emotionally or physically, the horror stories were gruesome. One teacher talked about how she had to treat her fiance after he’d been shot in the arm, apparently it fucked her up for a while. In a way, you would mock the fact that anyone would put themselves in that situation. Falling in love with someone with such a high risk job. It seemed like common sense not to put your heart on the line, especially when it could affect your job.

That was until I met Simon and you started to understand that those wives tales weren’t so far fetched. The two of you didn’t talk much but it always felt like there was so much tension. Constantly making eye contact, becoming flustered and tongue tied whenever he spoke to you. Avoiding him when you could, not liking the feeling of your heart racing when you did. He held so much emotion in his eyes, like he was projecting his thoughts through eye contact. On a recent mission, a bullet brushed past the area above his hip bone; creating a laceration that needed stitches. Barding into the tent and pulling his pants down and shedding his gear.

Immediately you get on your knees, pulling everything you needed to treat him out of your tactical vest. Looking up just before starting the first stitch, he was already looking down at you. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were narrowed onto you. Blood was running down, trailing down the contour of his v-line. Hands started shaking slightly, especially as he started to moan and curse in pain. Even though you were fully aware his reaction was from discomfort, you couldn’t but imagine if it… wasn’t.

He was watching you like a hawk, swiveling his head to watch you whenever you grabbed gauze. All hope that he didn’t notice you acting flustered was ditched when you started feeling dizzy, swaying a little. He grabbed your arm to prevent you from falling, your partner taking over. Now back in the barracks, you took a long hot shower. Trying to figure out why you got so in your head, the water began to run cold. Prompting you to get out and get dressed, walking back into your room. Ghost who was stripped of gear, laying back on the bed supporting his weight with his elbows.

“Do you need me to redress that for you?” you asked, assuming he was waiting to see you about his wound.

“No. Do you need me to undress you?” he asked, sitting up.

“I- What?” you asked, taken off guard.

“Do you. Need me to. Undress you?” he asked slower, like you were too dumb to answer the question.

“I don’t understand-” you began saying.

“No no, I saw you today. The way your eyes widened when you were on your knees in front of me. The desperation and neediness was so potent I could practically smell it on you. I could have taken you right there if I wanted, forced myself into your throat. So hot and bothered you couldn’t even do your job, I consume your thoughts. Don’t act like I don’t” he said, backing you against the desk that was in the corner.

“I don’t-” he interrupted.

“Wanna say something you regret,” he said, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Dipping it into your mouth, feeling around to see your reaction, “I think it safe to say that if you didn’t want my cock, you wouldn’t be sucking my finger like a whore. Would you?” he asks, you shake your head and in response he gives you a sharp smack on the cheek.

“Would you?” he asks again, giving you a chance to correct your answer.

“Yes sir,” you say, melting at the way he looked at you.

“Good girl, get under the desk.” He said, which you did without hesitation.

He unzipped his fly, struggling for a second to free his member but finally got there. Sitting down in the office chair, rolling into the small space under the desk. Completely trapping you inside the small space. No longer being able to see above his shoulders, not that it mattered when his cock was right in front of you. Every time your lips finally encased his tip, he would use his hand and pull it away. You reach up and try to take his length into your hand. His voice booming through the room as he pulls away a couple inches to look you in the eyes.

“Put your fucking hand down, you haven’t done anything to deserve it,” he said, scooting back in, using his hand to guide your head down.

After all the teasing, the feelings of his cock pushing past your lips felt like heaven. Ever since you met him all you could think about was him ravaging you. Using your body for whatever he wanted. A loud groan coming from the back of your throat, his other hand was stroking your cheek. Slowly starting to push your head down further, you gagged which made him chuckle.

“Fuck, I knew i’d eventually have you gagging around my dick,” he cooed, letting his head fall back. You looked up, now being able to see his exposed jawline. Reaching your hand down and starting to play with yourself. Spreading your wetness around and circling your clit. Moaning as drool and pre-cum started sliding down his shaft. He grabbed your hair and starting to fuck your mouth. His eyes were rolling back, feeling feral hearing the wet slobbering and slapping sounds. There was a knock at the door which made you squeal and try to pull away.

“Shhhhh!” He hisses before clearing his throat and answering the door. However just before he does, he presses your head down, applying pressure with both hands on the back of your head. Forcing your lips all the way down to the base of his cock.

“Yeah!” he yelled, Soap opened the door but remained in the doorway.

“Have you seen y/n? We have training soon,” Soap asked while you were digging your fingernails into his boots, swallowing around his length which hurt slightly.

“Yeah, I think she went to get some fresh air,” Ghost said, stars were forming in your vision. Soap thanked him and promptly exited and Ghost finally let you pull back. Gasping for air and wiping the tears out of your eyes. He moaned as the cold air hit his dick just after getting used to your hot throat.

“That’s a good girl, just breathe. Yeah, you’re a such a good fucking girl,” he snarled and pulled you back down on you.

He stood up and balled his fist in your hair, and pinning his hands onto the top of the desk. Essentially locking you into place and he obliterated your throat. Making sure your nose was pressed into his base with every thrust. Not bothering to pull his cock out as he started came. Warm cum flooding down your throat and into your stomach. He pulled out, not wasting any time putting his dick away. You rested your upper body on the now empty chair that sat in front of you. Ghost squatted down and grabbed your wet chin to look up at him before speaking,

“Firstly, you should thank me for feeding you before training. Secondly, I didn’t make you cum because you left scratch marks on my boot,” he said, walking out of the room.

#rough smut #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction

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theostrophywife · 1 year ago

Note

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

heart shaped bruises.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: toothpaste kisses by the maccabees.

author's note: i'm so sorry you're in pain, love. hope this makes you feel better 💗

Bloody fucking hell.

You clutched your stomach, doubling over in pain as another wave of cramps crashed into you at full force. An anti period pain potion. That would be your first invention after finishing your education at Hogwarts. For now, you were forced to endure the pain and misery sans magic.

The clock on your nightstand rang obnoxiously, rattling the various barrettes and books stacked atop the table. The alarm meant that Charms would be starting soon. With a rather hard smack, you silenced the clock and buried yourself underneath the covers.

There was no way in hell that you were going to make it to class today.

You couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone walk to the other side of the castle. No, you were staying right here. Cocooned in the safety of your blankets so you could wallow in self pity in peace.

Apparently, suffering in silence was too much to ask for because the minute the alarm finally stopped, there was a knock on your door.

“Go away,” you yelled, the words slightly muffled by your goose down comforter.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called from the other side of the door. “Are you alright, love?”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. No, you were definitely not alright. Your uterus was an active war zone, your emotions were a poorly assembled rollercoaster in an abandoned theme park, and to top it all off, you had a raging headache like someone had taken a bludger to your skull.

But you couldn’t say all of that. You didn’t want to freak your boyfriend out.

“I’m fine, Theo. Just feeling under the weather.” You clamped your eyes shut, trying to block out the migraine. “Go to class without me.”

There was shuffling from the hallway before your door swung open, revealing a very concerned Theo. He took in the sight of you in bed, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying all morning. Theo was by your side in three strides.

“What’s wrong, dolcezza?”

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling well.” A fresh set of cramps chose that exact moment to pummel your lower abdomen, making you wince in pain.

“That’s not nothing, darling.” He knelt beside you, taking your hand. “Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N. I hate seeing you in pain.”

Your eyes watered again. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Of course not, love.”

“It’s these cramps,” you said slowly, shifting to face him. “I’m on my period and it’s just really bad today. Usually I take a pain relieving potion, but even that’s not working this time around.”

Theo’s face softened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You averted his gaze, flushing. “I guess I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal,” said Theo. “Everything that has to do with you is a big deal to me. I hate thinking that you’ve been suffering through this all alone.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you with something so silly.”

“You could never bother me, Y/N.” Theo gently pulled back the covers. “If anything I’m the one bothering you right now. Scoot over, darling. Make room for your Teddy.”

“But you’ll miss Charms.”

“I’ve skipped for less. This time it’s actually important. You need me. I’m not leaving you.”

You smiled softly and made room for Theo. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a snuggle. The familiar scent of sea salt and smoke felt like a warm hug in itself. Theo stroked your hair and kissed your temple.

The cold air seeped in through your frosted glass windows, chilling you to the core. As much as you loved the ominous charm of living in the dungeons, this was one of its disadvantages. You shivered in Theo’s arms, cuddling closer for warmth.

Your boyfriend radiated heat. You had no idea how when it was near freezing in your dorm. Theo liked to say he was hot blooded. You were just grateful to have your own personal heater.

“Are you cold, darling?”

You nodded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “A little.”

Theo shifted beside you. He tugged at the hem of his hoodie and pulled it off in one swift move. “Arms up, love.”

You sat upright and did what you were told. Theo slipped his hoodie over you, smiling as the plush fabric swallowed you whole. It was warm and smelled like him. You wanted to drown in it.

He kissed the tip of your nose. “It looks good on you, but don’t think that it gets you out of cuddling.”

Theo pulled you to him, snuggling you from behind. He twined your legs together, making you giggle as his leg hair tickled the back of your thighs. You intertwined your fingers and kissed the back of his palm.

The cramps may still be wreaking havoc on your body, but at least now you had Theo to comfort you.

“How are you feeling, babe?”

You turned, smiling. “Better now that you’re here, Teddy.”

Theo grinned and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. “Get some rest, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

#WHEN DO I GET MY THEO WHEN HUH #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott fluff #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theo nott imagine

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impval · 17 days ago

Text

i found love

Victoria Neuman x fem! reader soulmate au

Everyone had different bonds. Some shared pain or emotions. Some even simply had timers, counting down to the moment when they'd first glimpse into the eyes of the person they were meant to be with.

The movements and subtle pulls of the thread, the little tugs and twists, were a constant in her life. She found herself often idly touching the red thread that no one else could see, and wondering where it led to… and who was on the other end, connected to her.

Orphaned at a young age, adopted and learn quickly to survive - it had shaped Victoria. So, she decided that soulmate were just an unnecessary risk. A liability. No soulmate, and no messy emotions or attachments involved. She didn't need one.

No, it was better not to think about it. Better to simply ignore it, ignore the thread that seemed to itch and burn with every passing year. Victoria had always had a plan, a goal, something to work towards. She simply couldn’t afford to have her whole life thrown into chaos simply because there was a chance that her soulmate could somehow... complete her.

Work was the closest thing she had to a lover, to a companion. She'd had fleeting relationships over the years, casual things, but she never let any of them grow into something more.

Victoria didn't really think much of the patterns, at first. Just a curious observation that slowly started to nag on her mind, and which she'd occasionally think about when she got the time to do so. The subtle tugging and pulling throughout the day... there was a distinct rhythm to it that only made sense if the person on the other end were in a similar time zone.

It was just another day.

Wake up, get some coffee, get to work, deal with reports, lunch time if she lucky, reports, meetings, and more reports, and then home. It was a routine she was used to - something that was familiar, something that made at least part of her life predictable.

But it took a few hours, embarrassingly long, for Victoria to realize that something was off. Her soulmate always moved during lunch, sometimes stopping before it started again, as though her soulmate was checking their phone or something...They weren't moving today. Why?

It could very well be that her soulmate had simply forgotten to eat lunch - a trivial and harmless explanation for her uncharacteristically still thread, that lay motionless, red against her arm. Or it could also be something worse. Were they ill? Were they... dead?

No. If the fucking thread was there, obviously her soulmate was alive. Obviously. It stupid to be so worried about a thread, she kept telling herself. But then lunch break passed, then the hour... and then another. The thread still did not move.

Her mood began to sour as the evening drew on. Sitting alone in the safety and secrecy of her home, with glass of whiskey in hand, Victoria let her eyes settle on the thread.

Just... sick, she told herself. Perhaps she was worrying over nothing. Perhaps they'd just come down with a cold or something. There was no reason to worry.

Victoria had her hands full - between dealing with supes, potential terrorist threats, and the occasional meeting with other government officials, the days had been busy and exhausting. Every time she had looked at the thread in the last couple days, the movements had gotten better... but they were still somehow off. It was still concerning, and she still couldn't quite figure out exactly why she was worried.

The incident had happened almost a week ago, the usual supe bullshit...Apparently, some supe had gotten drunk, used his powers to destroy the entire club, and injured several people. The only reason this accident was even in the news was because the supe involved was a relatively well-known hero. Otherwise, these kinds of cases tended to be ignored by the media.

The survivors were now in the hospital and, well, it was good PR, public image was key.

Victoria knew the drill - pay sympathy, try to look as earnest and as concerned as possible. It wasn't even that much of a problem - she did care about the people affected - it was just exhausting, pretending to care more about it than she actually did.

The folder her assistant had handed to her had detailed information. Nothing more than routine - she always prepared for any and all situations. Her gaze lingered for a moment, longer than it had for any of the other names on the list of patients: the last one, your name.

People hurried back and forth, the beeping of machines and the smell of antiseptic pervaded the air. Hospitals had always made Victoria feel uncomfortable.

She walked through the hospital, nodding and making sympathetic noises and reassuring people, reassuring herself that she was doing a good work. Most of the victims had suffered relatively minor injuries - a few broken wrists, concussions, a lost eye... it could have been much, much worse.

The thread was shortening with each person she met, and she'd be lying if she said that she didn't notice - but she pushed it to the back of her mind, tried to focus on what was said instead.

And then...

This was the last stop, the last patient. With blank eyes, Victoria stared down at the red thread, and let out a deep, almost exhausted sigh.

She'd almost made a choice to not even stop by your room. That would be the smart thing to do, the practical thing, the one that would save her from a lot of heartache.

The conversation with her assistant was brief, and in a moment she was alone, standing in front of the door to your room.

Victoria told herself it didn't matter, that it wasn't important. She'd made it this far in life without ever considering finding a soulmate - why worry about them now? But the red thread was pulsating, beckoning her towards.

But there was that other part of her, the part that was curious about what it would be like, the part that was lonely, that wanted to know.

She took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Some swore that the moment they saw their soulmate, the world suddenly made sense - became beautiful. Others claimed that it was no different than meeting anyone else, just... less complicated. For all the research and discussion, no one agreed of what it was like.

The room was quiet, only a low beep from the heart monitor - you were laying in the bed, attached to an IV, a visible scratches and dark bruises across your body.

You looked familiar to her, your face and your eyes - and Victoria recognized you, even though she had never seen you before. Familiar. Warmth and comfort. The feeling of being known... understood, even without knowing this person. She could have gone her entire life without feeling that, and yet here it was anyway.

"Hello," your voice was so soft, so soft that Victoria almost didn't hear it.

Your face, oh my god, so beautiful, had a big smile on it - you weren't smiling with your teeth, as if you were embarrassed for some reason (braces perhaps?). Fuck, how was it possible that you looked cute, even though you were currently in the goddamned hospital?

"Hello," she said, equally quietly, taking a few steps closer.

A week ago, she had been completely sure that a soulmate did not matter to her. And now, the stupid part of her brain was screaming that she wanted to hold your hand, run her fingers gently over your skin...

There was nothing particularly special about your appearance, Victoria admitted to herself, and yet... she couldn't help but look at you - so beautiful, so familiar, so perfect.

Well, Victoria has always been adaptable.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "I've seen you on TV. Victoria, right?"

She snapped herself out of her thoughts, clearing her own throat and willing (and failing) to clear her mind of all the new, confusing, and unfamiliar (yet welcome) thoughts and feelings.

"Yeah… that's correct," Victoria nodded, trying to get a hold of the swirling thoughts in her mind.

She spoke your name and god, it was beautiful to hear, it was like...

No, focus.

You slowly lifted yourself to sit on the bed, the movement looking like it took a bit of effort and clearly put you in some amount of pain - and she had to suppress the instinctive urge to offer help.

"And here I thought the nurses were joking about a politician coming to the hospital. To be honest, I expected an old white man."

Despite everything, she let out a quiet laugh. It sounded shaky even to her own ears, but she was too focused on watching you to really pay attention to it.

"I always get comments about me being the wrong age and gender for a politician," she replied with a small, easy smile - or at least that was what she tried to portray.

You'd dreamed of this moment. Imagined meeting your soulmate, had probably thought of this moment so many times, over and over. And then it happens, and you meet your damn soulmate — and it turns out to be a fucking politician. To make things even better, one who was famously anti-supe and you were currently in the damn hospital because of a supe attack.

"How... are you feeling?" she asked, her voice softer with the question. "Your injuries, I mean."

There was a sudden feeling of guilt as she looked at you, and she pushed it aside quickly - she could worry about the implications and consequences of her secret identity later when she was alone.

The thread seemed to vibrate as Victoria took another step closer.

You let out a small huff, and shrugged slightly in response, before grimacing in pain. "Like I was hit by a truck," you stated dryly. "But the doctors say I will be fine. And the painkillers helps."

Her eyes darkened at the thought of someone hurting you like this, injuring you so badly that you were in a hospital. Whoever did this was going to face consequences. Not now, of course - she was going to wait.

For now... Victoria took another step forward. Her eyes glanced down at the way you wrapped the thread around your hand, and she almost - almost - reached out to imitate the action herself.

But she didn't - her hands, instead, gripped the metal rail of the bed, her knuckles turning white from the force of the grip. So many questions entered her mind, all at once. She had no idea how long you'd be in hospital, who came to see you, how your recovery process would be going - the list was endless.

"When will you be discharged?"

"Sometime next week, apparently. My injuries are... non-life threatening. Mostly just..." you gestured to the scratches and bruises on your arms and face. "Well. I'm lucky."

You were blushing under her gaze and she noticed, a small part of her preening with satisfaction at the idea that her mere presence was enough to make you blush.

"Do you have family, or someone else who could look after you?"

a partner?

The mere thought that you might be with someone else, with someone other than her, was just wrong. It was just wrong. Victoria had no right to think that way, and she knew it - she'd only just met you, for god’s sake.

But she felt it, she couldn't help it.

Victoria couldn't help but noticed - no flowers, no "get well" balloons, nothing at all that might have indicated visitors.

"No," you shook your head. "My friends are currently in Spain and my family... we don't talk anymore."

Wait.

So who the hell was taking care of you while you were in the hospital? No one? She was your soulmate. You were hers, and it just felt wrong to leave you in your current condition, with no one to take care of you…

Hers. The word echoed through Victoria mind, over and over again, her soulmate, her responsibility, her to protect, to take care of -

"That won't do," She found herself saying before she realized it.

- and Victoria had always held a sense of possessiveness over the things she considered hers. In this case, she would have no compunctions about using her power and influence to guarantee your safety, to make sure you would be looked after.

But you tried to brush it off, of course you did - yet all she could focus on was the fact that no, you weren't going to be alone while you were recovering.

As her hand touched yours, you immediately went silent. The thread wraps around connected hands, and Victoria found herself thinking that the red looked nice on you.

And that's how Victoria was suddenly having a crash course in learning how to be a doting soulmate.

Funny, but she would have never, in a million years assumed she'd be acting so... obsessive over her soulmate, and yet here she was, finding out information that she felt the compulsive need to know.

How were your injuries healing? Had you been prescribed enough painkillers? Were you comfortable? She learned your medical history, for god's sake.

Victoria visited you at every spare moment she had, taking time out of her schedule just to see you. It was pathetic, in a way, how quickly her entire world seemed to revolve around you, the person she'd just met.

She had flowers brought to your room, balloons, even a stupid teddy bear, all while her logical thinking was telling her that this was all just too fast and too much. But the fact that you were alone, without family or friends, drove her to the point of near-aggression, and Victoria wanted to shower you with so much attention you would hardly be able to breathe.

You blushed and stuttered as you told your friends on the phone about all of this. They were surprised, of course, who wouldn't be surprised and a little freaked out, but there was also genuine excitement, and they were happy for you.

You'd always dreamed of having a soulmate, and now you had Victoria. Even her publicity and the fact that she was a politician didn't bother you as much as they probably should.

She was smart, and knew things before you even tried to say them. And once her mind was set on something, she was stubborn as hell, and you soon found that you were completely unable to resist her, especially when she looked at you with those big brown eyes.

You were staying with her when you were discharged. That wasn't up for discussion. She had already had a room cleaned out for you, had set it up to make sure everything was comfortable.

The thought that she'd be looking after you soon wasn't as intimidating as it should have been. Hell, you'd welcomed it.

Once you'd gathered your things from your home, she took you to her apartment, and you weren't surprised. It was definitely the sort of place Victoria would have. All things said that she was incredibly well-off, not shy about how much she spent in any way.

It was funny, the way she was acting right in front of your eyes. The way she doted on you, the way she made sure you were comfortable and happy, that nothing was missing - anything you wanted, she would get it for you.

Unfortunately, the reality was that she needed to work, and that required her to follow a certain schedule.

You adapted quickly, and she began to get used to the routine of having you around, the feeling far more comfortable than she'd expected. You soon learned that she loathed waking up early but did it anyway - and now sometimes you got up with her, even as she protested, cooking breakfast for her while she was in the shower.

Whenever she was at work, at yet another meeting, where she had to deal with the bullshit of idiots and incompetent employees, she would find herself missing you more than she thought she would.

Before, she'd always spent her evenings working, taking her documents home with her and continuing to work when she was in the comfort of her apartment - but now, that routine was changed.

Victoria found herself actually looking forward to coming home, because you were there, always happy to see her.

At first, you slept in the guest bedroom. It didn't take long for that situation to change, though - it was a nightmare that made it necessary. Anxiety and nightmares were hardly surprising - you had been attacked by a supe, after all. Your body recovered fairly well, thankfully, but your mind was another story.

And if that supe that hurt you somehow died in a mysterious, unexplainable accident, it was all just a coincidence.

If she was late coming home from work, claiming that she had suddenly had more important papers to work on, that was just a coincidence as well.

Coincidences happened all the time.

Victoria's bed was soft and comfortable, and it smelled like her. It was probably one of the best decisions she'd made, having you in bed with her. When you had nightmares and woke up sweaty and breathless, she could help you immediately, and she would often wake up to you clinging to her. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she liked seeing that.

You were hers, and even in your sleep, you were subconsciously seeking her out.

Soulmates didn't have to love each other romantically, it was true, and the relationship between soulmates could take a myriad of different forms.

But Victoria wasn't an idiot. She saw the same expression in your eyes, the same look that was most likely mirrored in hers. She wasn't the most romantic person, but some things were not hard to see. This was a romantic soulbond.

A month and then another passed, you were fully recovered now and yet neither of you even bothered to bring up the subject of you moving out. Why would you? You were soulmates, and moving in together was something that would happen anyway at some point - besides, Victoria clearly enjoyed having you there, and you had no objections either.

Not to mention, getting to see her in her suits every day was a pleasure.

Even for a couple that was going a bit fast, you were taking things slow in other aspects. Gentle touches, late-night conversations, the way you talked about the little things, all of it helped you learn each other, figure out habits and personality quirks.

You eventually introduced her to your friends, and Victoria, being the charming woman she was, didn't exactly struggle to win them over. They were quite amused that you moved in with her so quickly, cracking jokes about the lesbian stereotypes that you definitely seemed to be fitting right into.

The most difficult topic was Victoria's career. It was important to her - and unfortunately, that meant that she would have to figure out what she was going to do with you soon.

But you weren't certain whether you wanted people to know about your relationship with her, especially being a public figure and all that came with. And you were also aware that politicians had two options when it came to their soulmates. Politicians either hid their soulmates or they paraded them out like a trophy.

But the main concern on Victoria's mind was your safety.

She had loads of assholes who could be a problem, including those idiotic Hughie's friends, Homelander (she would end him if he dared to even look at you), her adopted father and whoever else decided to add themselves to the metaphorical list.

What you didn't know was that Victoria was protecting you already, using her connections to make sure you had a pair (or sometimes more) of watchful eyes on you when you went somewhere without her.

And while she held you in her arms and watched you sleeping, Victoria decided that it was perhaps time to thin that metaphorical list of threats with a very literal approach.

You had no idea about the violent thoughts that had invaded her mind, and she preferred to keep it that way, for now. To you, Victoria was just your lovely soulmate, who kissed you every morning before work. Someone who wore comfy, stretched-out sweaters around the house and read the newspapers while drinking coffee like a grandma. She was the one who smiled warmly every time you did something nice for her, and she responded by overly spoiling you with expensive gifts.

Part of Victoria felt guilty that she hadn't even considered telling you the truth about her powers. If you found out the truth, would you look at her differently?

Would you see her differently knowing she was a supe too? Knowing that she'd killed more than once? That she would kill again without hesitation, if it meant saving you and her career?

Well, you didn't hate supes, but you were hurt by one of them before, and you were still having nightmares from the goddamn trauma. How would you possibly react when you found out that she was one too?

You were perfect in many ways. You were so considerate and patient, holding her tight while she ranted after a day of dealing with idiots at work, or giving her space when she needed to sort out her own anger.

As the protective one in the relationship, she was well aware that you were also strong in your own way, though not as obvious about it… but would it all be enough?

Victoria shoved those doubts and conflicting thoughts far out of her mind, to be dealt with another time, when she had time to sort through the mess of feelings.

For now, she had a career to build, and a wonderful - if completely oblivious - soulmate at home who she couldn't get enough of.

Coming home after work to find you there, waiting for her, the weekends now filled with you instead of work, laughter in the house and your smile, and...

Victoria would come home after work just to hear your voice and see your smile, feel your touch. Even on the really bad days, when her anger was still bubbling just beneath the surface, even when she was stressed.

This wasn't a life she'd ever thought she would have, but it was one she didn't want to give up for anything in the world.

#the boys #wlw #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman #gen v #gen v x reader #the boys x reader #my queen

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