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just-aake · 27 days

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Detecting Love

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A person with the power to detect lies meets the spy who has been trained to lie her entire life.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 6169

You have the power to detect lies.

Now, it’s not exactly strong enough to be a hero, but you can honestly say that it has been useful in your life.

Sure, it gets annoying at times, but one of the many lessons you’ve learned is to ignore minor instances of dishonesty — white lies or small things like that — since it helps reduce unnecessary confusion or chaos with others.

People lie. That is an undeniable fact of life.

And while one may believe that being able to detect such things is great, the truth is there are times when you find yourself resenting your power.

Because, of course, everyone experiences moments when they wish that someone important to them isn't lying.

Like when your fiancée tells you she loves you.

There wasn’t really a malicious reason behind why a usually affectionate statement suddenly became so hurtful.

There was no cheating.

There was no fighting.

It was just another one of the many lessons you’ve learned in life.

That sometimes…a truth can also become a lie.

It’s just unfortunate that this lesson happened to you in such a way.

These kinds of moments make you wonder if maybe it’s better that people shouldn’t always know when someone is lying to them.

Then they don’t end up alone, drinking at a bar late into the night, trying to numb the pain of a broken heart.

You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the pair of rings resting on the bar top, remembering the conversation that ended with one of them being returned to you.

It was a heart-wrenching discussion where your fiancée confessed her steadily changed feelings for you, leading to the resolution to remain friends.

And while neither of you is completely at fault for why things ended, you can’t help but blame your stupid power for putting you in the situation in the first place.

You sigh heavily once more before swiftly downing the glass the bartender had set in front of you.

At least your current attempt to drown your sorrow is going well, judging by how the rings start to blur in your vision.

With a sad sigh, you reach for the rings to put them away, but in your clumsy state, one slips from your grasp and tumbles to the floor.

Just as you move to retrieve it, a hand beats you to it.

Looking up, you find a red-haired stranger standing before you, offering the ring to you with a charming smile.

She looks familiar but the drunken haze in your brain makes it hard for you to remember where you’ve seen her before.

“Here, you dropped this,” she says, her voice low and smooth.

She’s beautiful and her voice sounds perfect. You think to yourself as you take the ring from her.

She chuckles lightly, “Thanks.”

Oh, did you say that out loud? You must be more drunk than you thought.

The woman offers her hand to you in greeting, and with a confident smirk, she introduces herself.

“My name’s Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”

Immediately, a red aura surrounds her, causing you to roll your eyes and return your attention back to the bar.

“Liar,” you mutter tiredly as you gesture to the bartender to close your tab, not really in the mood to deal with any more lies tonight.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the stranger give you a slightly impressed look.

Ready to leave, you stand up quickly from your seat.

However, the action makes the room suddenly spin in your vision, causing you to stagger backward.

A hand steadies you, resting gently on your back, and you unconsciously lean back against her surprisingly strong frame for support.

There’s a soft chuckle near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me try again,” she whispers smoothly, guiding you upright and turning you around to face her.

Offering her hand once more, she reintroduces herself.

“My name’s Natasha Romanoff. I’m here to recruit you to work for the Avengers.”

You blink slowly, trying to comprehend her words through your drunken haze. You wonder if the alcohol is affecting you more than you thought when no red aura appears this time at her words.

Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, unfortunately worsening the pounding in your skull.

Work for the Avengers? That has to be a lie.

Before you can think about it any further, you feel yourself falling once more, unable to remain upright.

Strong arms catch you, and as your consciousness fades, you see a blurry glimpse of her striking green eyes before succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You wake to the pounding in your head and the bright sunlight streaming through your window. Turning away, you groan into your pillow, remembering that your fiancée – your ex-fiancée – would typically close the curtains before leaving for work.

Now that she’s gone, you’re going to have to adjust to living alone once again.

A cup being placed on the nightstand startles you into sitting up, as you turn in surprise to find the beautiful red-haired stranger beside your bed.

“For your headache,” she explains, placing some medicine next to the cup.

Your mouth hangs open as you struggle to remember the events of last night, some of which are honestly a blur.

You examine yourself, checking your clothes and finding them unchanged from the previous night, and then you scan your surroundings again and realize in relief that nothing was out of place.

Well, except for the presence of this stranger in your home, who’s patiently waiting for you to gather yourself.

Searching through your drunken memories, you think you vaguely remember meeting her last night. She had mentioned her name was — Nata…?

“Natalie?” you ask with uncertainty.

At her raised brow, you quickly apologize, feeling bad for not remembering correctly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but did we…did something happen between us last night?” you ask hesitantly.

Her face twists in genuine sadness and disappointment, causing a panic to run through you as you struggle to recall what could’ve possibly happened between the two of you for her to have such an expression.

“I’m hurt,” she finally says, placing a hand on her chest, “And after you even said that it was the best night of your life.”

Seeing the familiar red aura appear around her at her words, you let out a brief sigh of relief before realization sets in, and you give her a hard glare.

“You’re lying.”

Her hurt expression quickly morphs into an impressed look, and you are slightly startled at how effortlessly she was able to shift her emotions.

The woman straightens her posture and crosses her arms, adopting a commanding stance that seems more likely her typical demeanor.

“So it’s not just luck,” she remarks, studying you curiously.

At her words, you quickly rise from your bed in confusion.

However, the action causes you to wince in pain at the pounding in your head.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you hold your head in comfort and lean lightly on the nightstand for support.

As you do, your hand brushes against yesterday’s newspaper that you had been reading moments before your ex said those fateful three words that led to the heartbreaking conversation between the two of you.

When the pain subsides, you slowly open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the front page before doing a double take.

The front features an article about the opening of the new Avenger Compound, including a photo capturing the Avenger members posed in front of the completed building.

What catches you off guard is the uncanny resemblance between one of the Avengers in the picture and the woman standing before you.

Pointing at her in disbelief, you stammer.

“You’re…,” then, gesturing at the newspaper, you continue, “…her?”

She doesn’t respond to your question but instead nods toward your other room, inviting you to follow.

“Let’s talk,” she says, heading toward your door, then gestures at the medicine on your nightstand. “But drink those first.”

After freshening up in your bathroom, you take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the remnants of last night’s tears in your slightly puffy, red eyes.

Sighing, you brush away the depressing thoughts of your failed relationship before taking the medicine and exiting your room.

You are greeted by the sight of your unexpected guest comfortably seated at your kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest.

“You’re Black Widow,” you say confidently this time, positioning yourself on the opposite side of her.

She closes the magazine with a snap, placing it on the table before clasping her hands atop of it and meeting your gaze.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects you, before nodding at you. “And you’re Y/n L/n.”

“How did you…?”

She holds up a wedding invitation draft, displaying you and your fiancée’s names printed in fine lettering.

Realizing that she must have been snooping around your things, you give her a disapproving glare, snatching the card from her hand and hastily stuffing it into a drawer.

Feeling a mixture of emotions—irritated, sad, hungover—you turn to the fridge, deciding to make breakfast to give yourself some focus.

After you retrieve the eggs and other ingredients, you heat the stove before glancing at Natasha briefly, asking, “So, what does an Avenger want from me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her resting her head against her hand, watching you with interest.

“I told you yesterday,” she replies.

You roll your eyes, giving her a deadpan look, knowing she’s aware that you don’t remember.

“Remind me again.”

Natasha gives you an amused smirk, straightening up in her seat.

“Alright, I’m here to recruit you, more specifically for a sort of managerial position at the new Avenger Compound.”

Furrowing your brows, you question, “Why me? I don't have experience with that sort of thing.”

“But you can tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”

Pausing briefly in your cooking, you contemplate her words and its possible implications. Not many people know about your ability, and you don’t think you did anything to reveal it to the spy who’s currently staring expectantly at you.

So, in response, you shrug, replying as casually as possible.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people…psychology degree and all.”

A silence ensues, broken only by the sizzling of your cooking, until Natasha finally nods, seemingly accepting your explanation.

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, returning your attention to your current task.

But then she pulls out a folder filled with documents and places it on the counter, causing your nerves to rise again.

“Well, you’ve helped solve hundreds of cases with your interviews of the suspects,” she remarks casually, flipping through the folder before glancing up at you through her lashes.

“100% accuracy rate in the information that you provided to the detectives,” she continues, nodding at you in acknowledgment. “For a part-time profiler, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” you respond with a polite smile, but beneath the surface, a hint of suspicion creeps in as you begin plating the meal you made.

Natasha closes the folder with a definitive snap, making you look at her.

“You could say it’s almost impossible,” she muses, before a confident smirk forms on her face, and she tilts her head at you with a raised brow in challenge.

“Unless there’s some way you can guarantee that they’re telling the truth.”

Honestly, you should’ve known better than to think that the experienced spy hadn’t already completed thorough research and investigations into you and your powers before meeting with you.

If anything, this was likely just a test for her to confirm what she already knows about your abilities.

Sliding a plate across the counter to Natasha with a pointed glare, you relent, deciding there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“Fine, what do you know?”

Instead of responding, Natasha’s gaze lingers on the plate before her, a hint of confusion in her expression.

Her plate holds a fluffy omelette accompanied by a side of crispy bacon and a slice of golden-brown toasted bread.

As she glances back up at you with a questioning look in her eyes, you take a seat across from her, setting down a similar plate in front of you before also placing a stack of fluffy pancakes at the center.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the meal.

“Breakfast,” you reply bluntly, taking a bite from your plate.

Natasha raises a brow at you, remarking plainly, “It’s noon.”

“Brunch then,” you correct with a roll of your eyes.

Natasha's lips quirk up in amusement, and she shakes her head.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

The red aura appears around her, and with your mouth full of food, you give her a pointed glare.

“Right,” Natasha says in realization, remembering what you can do. She pulls the plate closer to her with a soft thanks.

The atmosphere that followed was unusual but surprisingly not awkward. Despite being practically strangers, you find yourself slightly comforted by Natasha’s presence.

If she wasn’t here, you probably wouldn’t have dragged yourself out of bed today after what happened yesterday.

After a moment of eating, Natasha breaks the silence.

“So, how can you tell when someone’s lying?”

Pausing to contemplate your answer, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before responding.

“Well, when someone lies, there’s always this rush of chemicals that happens in their bodies,” you explain. “It ends up causing the typical indicators — things like fidgeting, sweating, or tone changes in their voice.”

“I didn’t do any of that, yet you still knew I was lying,” Natasha points out.

“No, you're right,” you admit, nodding. “You’re a perfect liar.”

From what you have seen so far, every expression and comment of hers appears genuine and honest, and if it was anyone else, they’d probably believe anything she says.

However, thanks to your ability, you know better.

Gesturing at her, you clarify, “You still give off the same chemical reactions though, and I have the ability to see that.”

Natasha leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as she processes your explanation.

“It’s mainly visual then,” she concludes before asking curiously. “You don’t even need to hear what they said to know that they’re lying?”

You nod, ruefully adding, “Yep, my world’s just filled with people glowing red at random.”

“And how long does this ‘glow’ stay around them?”

“Depends,” you reply with a shrug. “Usually not long, maybe a few seconds.”

Natasha hums in interest, tapping her chin, her brows pinching lightly in thought.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the sight.

For a person who has such an intimidating reputation, the spy in front of you right now looks kind of cute rather than scary.

After a moment, you break the silence this time.

“So, what’s the job?”

Natasha’s eyes focus back on you at your question.

“Nothing too complicated,” she assures. “You’ll be in charge of interviewing the new employee candidates and conducting continuous reviews of the current ones.”

“You mean like screening them?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, already aware of the rigorous and difficult process required to work at the Avengers buildings.

“Don’t you guys already do extensive background checks before hiring people? Why do you suddenly need me?”

At your question, a charming smile appears on her face, effortlessly shifting her expression like before, though now you understand she’s just hiding her true feelings about the situation.

“That’s confidential.”

You scoff in disbelief and cross your arms.

“You do know that just makes it harder to trust you, right?”

Natasha mirrors your posture, her pretty grin still in place, masking any other emotions.

“Fair point,” she admits. “But to be honest, you should never put your trust in people like me anyway.”

“People like you?”

“Spies,” Natasha clarifies as she begins to gather her empty plate and utensils. “Which is one of the types of people you’d be looking out for in this position. Their deception skills would be on a similar level to mine.”

You chuckle at that, causing Natasha to pause in her actions, raising a brow at you in question.

“Sorry, but everyone lies, whether you’re a spy or not,” you tell her, standing and taking the empty plate from her with a small smirk. “You’re just slightly better at it.”

A tiny offended look slips through Natasha’s expression at your little jab, her brow furrowing for a brief second.

Your grin widens at the sight of seeing a glimpse of her real self as you turn to place the dirty dishes in the sink.

Natasha quickly regains her composure, moving around the counter to lean back against the table next to you.

“In any case, the decision is still yours. I’ve already confirmed your abilities. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept.”

At her words, you pause to consider your options.

A new job working with the Avengers is a great opportunity, but it would be a significant change in your life.

Then again, you’re already facing a huge change.

Your eyes unconsciously drift to the drawer next to where Natasha is leaning, where the wedding invitation draft remains, and your face twists in sadness at the memory.

You guess it wouldn’t hurt to add a career change alongside your new relationship status.

At least this way you can still earn a salary while also distracting yourself from the depressing thoughts of your failed engagement.

“Okay,” you decide, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a sigh, “I’ll take the job.”

“Great, I knew you would be agreeable,” Natasha remarks, extending her hand to you.

A red aura appears around her, causing you to huff and roll your eyes.

You take her hand in yours, giving her a tiny glare.

“Liar.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

You say that as you dodge another swing from Natasha, ducking under her arm to get behind her, only for her to twist her body around and deliver a kick that you narrowly block with your arms.

Still, the impact has you stumbling back.

“Really?” Natasha asks with an innocent tone as she circles you. “I thought I mentioned to you that training was a part of your employment.”

A red aura begins to appear around her, but you don’t have time to comment before she swings her leg at you again.

You catch it against your side with a small grunt of pain.

Having been a profiler for criminal cases before, you do have basic defense training, and you always believed that you could hold your own against most aggressors.

At least you used to.

This current fight is making you reconsider your skills.

With her off-balance position, you attempt to throw her to the ground, but Natasha swiftly regains her footing, catching herself on her hands and executing a fluid movement to flip upright. She then bends low, sweeping your legs out from under you.

You land on the mat with a groan, feeling the impact reverberate through your body. Another pained breath escapes you as Natasha expertly pins you down.

You catch the faint red aura fading from her before throwing your head back against the mat with an exhausted sigh.

“You’re such a liar,” you breathe out, your voice tinged with both exhaustion and playful accusation. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to catch your breath.

Natasha's laughter fills the air, resonating above you, her amusement infectious and drawing a small grin from you. You peek open your eyes, watching as she disengages from atop you and heads over to her water bottle at the side.

“I’m a spy. It comes with the job,” she says casually, taking a sip.

“Okay, and I’m basically just HR,” you counter, pulling yourself upright into a sitting position. “So how does combat training fit into that?”

Natasha gestures towards you with a sweep of her hand.

“You need to be prepared to defend yourself if you ever expose someone dangerous and find yourself without backup,” she explains.

“That’s unlikely considering I haven’t even encountered anyone suspicious since I started,” you remark with a sigh.

It's been a month already, and you're starting to question if your presence here is even necessary.

Before you can dwell further on your thoughts, the cold touch of a metal water bottle against your cheek startles you.

Recoiling, you look up to see Natasha holding it out to you.

Raising a brow, Natasha waves the bottle lightly in offer.

You snatch the bottle from her with a tiny glare, but she only smirks in response.

Apart from the new job, the other surprising addition to your life is your budding friendship with the Avenger.

After the whole recruiting ordeal, you honestly expected to only have passing encounters with her at the compound.

However, to your surprise, on your first day here, Natasha was the one who volunteered to give you a tour of the place, and in the days that followed, the two of you would often share coffee and chat before you had to head off to your respective jobs.

Those regular interactions with her also earned you a fearsome reputation among the other workers, which actually works out in your favor since they’re already nervous by the time you call them in for a review. This way they are more likely to slip up and reveal anything they may be hiding.

But, like you said, you haven’t found anything substantial yet.

With a heavy sigh, you pull your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, feeling the weight of failure bearing down on you.

Then you hear Natasha plop down beside you.

“Back when we met, you asked me why we needed you,” she begins.

Curious at her words, you turn your head slightly to glance at her, waiting for her explanation.

Natasha leans back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she continues to speak.

“A couple of months ago, our surveillance revealed that someone within the compound staff was plotting an attack during the opening ceremony of the new building. However, we couldn’t confirm who it was without risking exposing that we knew of their plan."

Your eyes widen in confusion at the revelation. From what you remember, the opening ceremony was a success. There hadn’t been any news of an attack that day.

“But you caught them, right?” you inquire.

“No,” Natasha responds, shaking her head before meeting your gaze. “You did.”

Surprised, you straighten up, giving her a questioning look.

Natasha offers a small smile, elaborating, “You had recently interviewed him as a suspect for another case, and in your notes, you labeled him as dangerous and untrustworthy, despite everything about him proving otherwise.”

“And you believed me?” you ask incredulously.

Natasha shrugs, “Well, I had no other leads at the time anyway.”

You scoff in exasperation at her teasing, playfully pushing her away.

She chuckles softly before adopting a more serious expression.

“Trust in your abilities, Y/n,” Natasha says with a genuine tone. “If it’s you, not finding anyone suspicious is a good thing.”

You watch her closely, waiting for the red aura to appear.

But as a couple of seconds pass and nothing changes, you tuck your forehead back against your knees, this time to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face.

“Alright, break’s over,” Natasha announces, giving your back an encouraging pat. “Let’s go again.”

You groan in reluctance, remaining in your curled-up position.

“Come on,” Natasha urges, her tone coaxing. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

You don’t even need to look up to know the red aura is surrounding her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“What’s this?”

Natasha's voice draws your attention away from the task of pouring cooked popcorn into a bowl.

She's sitting on your sofa, examining a small, elegant card that you had accidentally left on the table.

Widening your eyes in realization of what she’s found, you hurry over to her, but her narrowed eyes tell you that she has already read the names on the card.

“She’s inviting you to her wedding?” Natasha exclaims, disbelief coloring her tone. “It’s only been a year since your breakup, and now she’s already getting married?!”

Sighing in disappointment, you had hoped to keep this information from Natasha, who developed a strong dislike for your ex after you shared the details of your breakup during one of your girls' nights.

Placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, you take the invitation from her hand and head to the kitchen, intending to tuck it away in a drawer.

As you slide it open, you catch the sight of the old wedding draft buried at the bottom, which causes a tiny pang of sadness in your chest at the memory of that time, of how everything changed so suddenly.

You can't help but wonder how your life might have unfolded if your engagement hadn't ended.

Would you still have accepted Natasha's offer if you hadn't been seeking a distraction from your failed relationship?

“You’re not thinking about going, are you?” Natasha's voice interrupts your thoughts.

Glancing up, you notice a peculiar look in her eyes, though it quickly shifts to a neutral expression at your gaze.

After a whole year of spending time together, you could tell underneath her impassive expression that she was upset about something; though, you figured it was just outrage at the situation.

Tossing the invitation into the drawer and shutting it, you offer her a small reassuring smile before returning to your seat beside her to start the movie.

“No, of course not,” you tell her.

As the opening scenes play, you maintain a normal, nonchalant expression, aware of Natasha's gaze still lingering on you even as the red aura fades from around your body.

After a while, Natasha huffs in disbelief before finally settling into the sofa, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap.

“You better be sharing that, Romanoff,” you tease, your eyes fixed on the screen.

Natasha scoffs before tossing a piece of popcorn at you.

“Of course, I will.”

Just as you're about to turn your head to look at her and confirm her honesty, she swiftly shoves a cushion pillow to the side of your face, blocking your view.

After a few seconds, she releases it, fluffing the cushion casually before leaning her head against your shoulder and tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

You chuckle at her antics, amused by her playful behavior, before returning your attention to the screen.

A few days later, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of the wedding area, observing as servers and workers hustle to complete the finishing touches.

A sad, bittersweet expression tugs at your lips as you recognize familiar details chosen by your ex, mingled with hints of a stranger’s preferences in the decorations.

To be honest, you don’t intend to stay for the wedding. You're just here to confirm something for yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, conjuring your ex’s face in your mind, and whisper to yourself.

“I’m in love with her…”

Opening your eyes, you exhale slowly, a content smile on your lips as you notice the red aura surrounding your skin. It's a relief to be able to find closure regarding your feelings for your ex.

“You know, I don’t need powers to know you were lying,” a voice remarks from behind.

Startled, you turn to find Natasha approaching.

She stops beside you, her gaze fixed at the scene ahead as she accuses, “Saying that you weren’t going to come here.”

You look at her briefly before returning your attention to the field.

“I got curious about something,” you admit. “Figured that this was one way to confirm it.”

Excited and happy chatter fills the air as your ex appears, surrounded by friends and family.

Suddenly, thoughts of what-ifs from the other night resurface, prompting you to ask out loud unconsciously before you can stop yourself.

“Do you think I should’ve just pretended that she was telling the truth at that time — when she said she loved me?” you ask Natasha. “Maybe it might’ve worked out between us if I just kept my mouth shut.”

There’s a beat of silence before Natasha finally responds, her tone tinged with wistfulness.

“From my experience,” she begins, “I can tell you that living a lie would not make you happy…no matter how much you wish for it to be true.”

You chuckle lightly, “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am,” Natasha says confidently.

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both observe the preparations from a distance.

“She is a fool for letting you go, though,” Natasha suddenly adds, her tone casual.

You laugh softly, gently chiding her, “You can’t call the bride that on her wedding day.”

“Alright then,” Natasha concedes, turning to you. “You’re an even bigger fool for coming here by yourself.”

She returns her gaze to the field, muttering under her breath with a hint of irritation, “…still visiting the one who broke your heart.”

Amused, you tilt your head to catch her eyes, chuckling at her words, as you tease, “You know, it almost sounds like you’re jealous.”

When Natasha doesn’t respond or look at you, you raise a brow in surprise and poke her side.

“Wait, seriously, are you jealous?”

She swats your hand away.

“Stop that,” Natasha reprimands, before gritting out, “I’m not jealous!”

A small grin forms on your face as you notice the red aura appear, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and walk away.

“I’m leaving,” she declares firmly.

“Aww, come on, Natasha,” you call as you trail behind her.

Glancing back at you and seeing your pleased expression, she points at you in warning.

“That smile better be off your face by the time I pull up, or else you’re walking home,” she states before continuing on her way.

Watching her go with a fond smile, you find yourself softly repeating the words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Looking down, your smile widens when you don’t see the red aura appear, confirming what you already knew about your feelings for the red-haired spy.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As you sit in your office at the Avenger compound, you feel a sense of fatigue wash over you at your busy schedule of back-to-back interviews.

Across from you, the final candidate squirms in her seat, clearly nervous under your scrutinizing gaze.

A chill sweeps through the room, courtesy of the cold blast of air from the AC, and you can't help but regret your decision to have it set so cold, a choice originally intended to maintain an intimidating atmosphere during interviews.

With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your hands from the cozy warmth of your hoodie pocket and turn to the next page of questions.

"Let's talk about handling confidential information," you begin, your voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Can you share a time when you had to ensure the secure handling of sensitive data?"

The candidate responds with some slight hesitation, but you sense it’s more from her nerves than any dishonesty, so you continue, moving on to the remaining questions.

Luckily, the rest of the interview goes by quickly and smoothly with her answering the other questions without any problems.

However, now comes the final question of the interview.

“Among the Avengers, who do you consider to be the hottest?”

Clearly caught off-guard, she stumbles over her words, “W-what?”

Maintaining your serious demeanor, you repeat the question.

“Who do you believe is the hottest Avenger?”

After a moment's pause, she softly answers, “Black Widow..."

Setting your clipboard down, you extend your hand.

"Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you," you say, signaling the end of the interview.

As she thanks you and leaves, you flip to the last paper on your clipboard, revealing a sheet with tick marks beside the names of your Avenger friends.

With an amused smile, you add another mark at the end of Natasha’s already leading line.

“I don’t think that last question was approved by Steve,” a voice accuses from the doorway.

Glancing up, you see Natasha leaning against the frame, her arms folded.

You shrug in response, “Makes it more interesting though.”

Natasha hums curiously before moving to your side, perching on the edge of your desk. Her narrowed eyes fix on you.

“Is that my hoodie?” she asks in suspicion as she tugs at your sleeve.

“Maybe,” you reply, hastily pulling the hood over your head to conceal your guilty eyes.

Natasha had left the piece of clothing at your place after her last visit, and given the chilly room, borrowing it seemed harmless enough.

“Don’t you have a briefing to get to?” you deflect, attempting to change the subject.

Natasha huffs knowingly before responding, "I had some spare time, so I came to bother you."

"I’m honored," you quip sarcastically, though inwardly your heart warmed at the fact that she thought of you.

Natasha chuckles lightly, then gestures towards your clipboard.

"Ask me some questions," she prompts, her tone playful yet eager.

Deciding to indulge her, you reach for your clipboard and adopt a serious demeanor.

“Name?” you begin.

Natasha shoots you a deadpan look, prompting you to show her the document with the question written on it.

“If they lie about their name, then that’s a red flag already,” you defend, giving her a pointed look.

“Natalie,” you mock.

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head at the memory before extending her hand.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects, playing along.

Skipping past the other general questions, you delve into more targeted inquiries related to threat assessment.

“Have you ever been associated with any extremist or radical groups or organizations?” you ask.

“If you consider working undercover to gain intel on them, then yes,” Natasha responds without hesitation.

“Have you ever participated or been involved in any violent behavior where someone was hurt?”

This one makes her pause for a moment before she finally admits softly, "…yes."

As the questioning continues, Natasha's playful demeanor gradually fades, replaced by a rueful tone.

By the time you reach the final question, she places her hand on your clipboard, gently setting it down on the desk.

"Maybe these questions aren’t meant for people like me," she says sadly, her tone filled with regret.

Observing her disappointed expression, you scoot closer and rest your hand on hers to draw her attention.

“Do you still want to hear my final assessment?” you ask gently.

After a contemplative pause, Natasha nods, curiosity evident in her eyes as she gestures for you to continue.

“Well, based on your answers,” you say with a dramatic pause, flipping through the papers before shaking your head firmly.

“Absolutely not. Extremely dangerous. Definitely a high-risk candidate.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your teasing and gives you a playful push. As your laughter subsides, you soften your tone, meeting her gaze sincerely.

“But…I’d trust you,” you admit genuinely.

Natasha's eyes widen slightly before she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. Her fingers toy with the clipboard, flipping to the last page and seeing the score sheet, before chuckling in amusement.

Turning back to you, she tilts her head with a raised brow.

“I don’t get the special question?” she asks.

You take the clipboard from her, offering a knowing look as you begin to organize the documents on your desk.

“I think we both already know your answer to that question,” you reply.

“Then ask me another,” Natasha insists.

Her request makes you pause as you ponder what to ask. Only one thing comes to mind, the question you’ve been hesitating to ask her for a long time.

Meeting her expectant gaze, you find yourself wanting to know the answer, despite the fear in your mind at the possibility of causing another big change in your life again.

Summoning your courage, you face her directly.

“Would you…,” you start, faltering momentarily before gathering yourself with a deep breath.

“...would you say ‘yes’ if I asked you out on a date tonight?”

There's a moment of silence, and just as you consider retracting the question, Natasha reaches out and adjusts the hood atop your head.

Perplexed by her action, you watch her suspiciously. Then, in one swift motion, she pulls the hood down over your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“No,” her voice responds to your question.

Hearing her stand, you quickly remove the hood to see Natasha already making her way out of the door, but before she disappears from your view, you catch the red aura surrounding her slowly fading away.

As an excited smile spreads across your face at the revelation of her true answer, your phone on the desk pings with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Natasha.

I’ll pick you up tonight.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading! I know I said I was going to take a little break, but I had some time so I ended up finishing this and decided to post it now instead of later.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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loveinhawkins · 11 months

Text

Robin’s always had a soft spot for Eddie Munson, but up until recently it had been in a distant kind of way; she appreciated his class clown act, the way it had a domino effect of keeping the heat off the band kids, how he hogged the spotlight for any passing douchebag’s attention.

But then they both literally dive into The Upside Down, and her appreciation reaches a whole new level.

They’re in the Wheeler’s garage, thanking their lucky stars that four bikes exist in 1983 (and yeah, Robin’s sure that if she thinks about the whole time thing for half a second more her brain will promptly melt, so she doesn’t).

Each of them are pushing their chosen bike down the driveway, in a dazed sort of silence—the high of the Lite-Brite worn off in the face of another grim journey through The Upside Down.

Steve is flagging, Robin can hear it: his breathing’s growing laboured as he walks, an occasional unsteadiness to him that’s setting her anxiety off all over again, because what if they were wrong, what if it’s really rabies, and it’s too late, it’s coursing through his veins, and he’s—they’re gonna lose him—

“Hey, Harrington,” Eddie says, swinging a leg over his saddle, “wanna race?”

“… Hmm? Sorry, what?” Steve says.

There’s not even that long of a delay in him speaking, but the pause still has Robin’s heart in her throat.

Eddie’s got one foot on a pedal now, ready to set off. He looks back at them with a shaky grin—like he’s terrified, but he’s still gonna have some fun anyway.

“I’m throwing down the gauntlet, King Steve. Bet I’ll be faster than you.”

Steve scoffs, stands up a little straighter before he mirrors Eddie, balancing on the bike with one foot on the pedal.

“How much are we betting?”

Eddie huffs. “Oh, no money involved,” he says nonchalantly. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “This is just for the glory.”

And God, there’s that spark back in Steve’s eyes; it’s like Robin can physically see his competitive streak giving him strength.

Eddie Munson, you beautiful soul, she thinks, I could kiss you.

“Faster than me? Yeah, maybe in your dreams, Munson,” Steve says.

But Eddie’s already speeding off with a comical whoop; Steve curses as he hurriedly tries to catch up, yelling, “You dick, that’s cheating!”

“Not in my rulebook!” Eddie says with a cackle.

And for a little while, that’s enough to put Robin’s mind at ease: watching the pair of them taunt each other like kids—hearing Nancy laugh at the spectacle as she bikes alongside her.

But then she falls through the Gate, Eddie close behind her, and they freeze when Steve screams Nancy’s name with such fear.

Robin’s plunged back into a mind-numbing panic; she’s sure that her heart doesn’t even begin to slow until they’ve left the trailer park, until Steve’s control of the RV switches from ‘holy shit, we’re on the run, what have our lives become?’ to something more normal—the reliable, measured driving she’s familiar with, taking her to and from school or work.

Finally, she has time to, um… take stock. Of… things.

She wobbles her way over to Eddie, grabbing onto his elbow as Steve takes a turning.

Eddie instantly holds her up, a steadying hand around her waist. “Oh, hi. I’ve gotcha—” “Your music isn’t actually shit,” Robin says in one breath. “I know, um, on balance, it’s probably not the worst thing I could’ve said, but the delivery was—but, you know, considering I thought Nance was literally about to die, I’d say it was, like, kinda calm all things considered, but—”

Eddie’s chuckling. “Yeah, on balance,” he echoes teasingly, “you were pretty damn funny, actually. Uh, sorry for. Um. Screaming at you? Basically?”

“Basically,” Robin agrees. “Yeah, you were like impressively loud. Not quite eardrum-rupturing level, but y’know, I don’t actually know anyone who’s really had that happen to them; Amanda Wallis said she ruptured hers at the pep rally ‘cause she was standing too close to us—the band, I mean, but—”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s bull, there’s no way that’d be loud enough to—”

“—I think she just had a grudge ‘cause David C on mellophone got literally the tiniest bit of spit on her, and he was only—”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you sit in the splash zone at your own risk.”

“Exactly! She’s had plenty of time to learn marching band protocol.”

“Uh-huh, protocol,” Eddie echoes again, with a giggle.

He’s got a nice kind of laugh, Robin thinks: one where she’s never in doubt that he’s laughing with her rather than at her.

“That stuff you do’s pretty cool,” he says; with his free hand, he actually imitates her mime of playing a trumpet. “You must have good, uh…” She can see the exact moment that he’s having second thoughts about saying it, but he forges ahead anyway, with a hilariously uncertain, “Good… lungs?”

“Fascinating attempt at a compliment,” Robin says. “Luckily for you, I accept insults as, like, equal tokens of friendship.”

Eddie does a double take. He doesn’t go so far as letting out a questioning, “We’re friends?”, but he might as well have said it anyway: his eyes widen for a moment, like someone who’s just been unexpectedly asked out to prom.

Steve takes another turning; he does it smoothly enough, but even he can’t stop the RV from moving with it, and Robin stumbles again, very nearly ends up repeating how she toppled right onto Eddie in The Upside Down.

“Woah there, you’re good,” Eddie says, “just gotta find your, uh, what’s it called? Your equilibrium.”

“I don’t have any,” Robin says, all theatrical devastation, and Eddie snorts.

“Sure you do, Buckley. Look, just take my—yeah, that’s it, then just kinda straighten up… yeah, you’ve got it.”

And yes, after a minute or so, Robin’s footing does feel more certain, but she still keeps a stubborn grip on Eddie’s elbow, just in case.

“God, d’you know what I’m gonna do when all this is over?” Eddie says.

“Pray tell.”

“I’m gonna make a list. What was it you said, Madonna, Blondie…? Whatever, I’m getting all of them, m’never getting caught out like that again.”

“I’m hoping that needing music to evade the clutches of a serial killer from an alternate dimension is, um, strictly a one-time thing.”

“Don’t care,” Eddie says. “Still buying those tapes. Just in case.”

And yeah, it’s said partly in jest, but Robin can hear that he means it. Still, it’s the most optimistic that she’s heard him be so far: making plans for after, like he can really see a way through this. Like maybe he finally knows that they’ll help him get there.

“Need a list of tapes from you too, Buckley. You and Harrington.”

Robin smiles. Her first thought is of singing Total Eclipse of the Heart from the dirt-ridden floor of a mall bathroom, but then she thinks of every car ride with Steve, every time they’ve turned up the radio to belt along, and she knows that there are way too many songs to count.

“Forget a list,” Robin says, “I could fill a book. Same for big boy over there.”

Eddie blinks, like he’s suddenly taking stock, too. “Oh yeah,” he says, laughing lightly, “I did say that, huh?”

“Sure did. I was doubting my ears, too.”

Robin had been hoping they’d long since reached the point of being able to joke around with one another. But while Eddie does laugh again, he also starts biting at his thumbnail, glancing over at Steve in the driver’s seat.

“Um, hey.” Robin manages to keep her balance, briefly pressing her knee against his leg. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Eddie.”

“No, I know.” Eddie huffs self-effacingly. “I’ve kinda got permanent foot-in-mouth disease, my report cards would tell you that.”

Well, if he wants to pass it off as sometimes I just say the darnedest things, Robin would be a hypocrite to deny him.

It fascinates her in a sad sort of way though, how he veers between joking and nervousness—like he’s worried he’s intruding on their group, of overstepping somehow.

She wants to tell him: Look, we all got dragged into this, but we chose to stick around, and you’re no different.

But she no longer has the aftermath of Russian drugs to help bypass her own nerves, to kickstart her sincerity.

“Hey, you’re awfully quiet back there,” Steve calls, and Eddie startles.

Robin shakes her head. “Not us, that’s his—”

“Hello? Henderson, I’m talking to you.”

“We’re not even doing anything!” Dustin shouts back in exaggerated affront.

He’s sat on the backseat of the RV, peering out the window along with Lucas, Erica and Max. Robin stifles a chuckle at the sight; they look like they’re on a field trip—the cool kids at the back of the bus.

“Yeah, well, just checking,” Steve says, amused. “For all I know, you coulda been building a gigantic radio again on, like, the roof of this thing.”

“Cerebro,” Dustin says, just as Eddie lets out a baffled, “Uh, again?”

But then they’re pulling into The War Zone’s parking lot, and any chatter abruptly dies.

Afterwards, Steve gets off the road to park in a reassuringly deserted field. They don’t head outside right away (Robin’s not exactly looking forward to prepping Molotov cocktails), instead staying in the RV to eat junk food they’d grabbed beforehand.

Robin discovers that Dustin’s somehow bought five more cans of Pringles and snorts, declaring, “You’ve got a problem.”

At some point, Steve tries to sneak off to the bathroom so he can change his dressings—“And use actual proper bandages!” Robin calls to him; no offence to Nancy’s resourcefulness, but the torn shirt strips only do so much good.

It becomes a more comical than horrifying event, although she’s sure that’s down to Steve deliberately making it so, like a sleight of hand trick: playing it down as he keeps talking to the kids throughout, never wincing even once.

He ends up having to keep the bathroom door open to continue an argument with Erica over which Scoops Ahoy sundae was the best of all time—then figures that he might as well just step out into the open anyway.

At least the wounds have stopped bleeding—although the sight of Steve cleaning around them with bottled water is one that Robin could personally do without.

The kids are entirely unfazed. They flock to Steve, peering at the glimpses he lets them see like he’s just got a cool tattoo. Robin supposes that after El and whatever nightmare wormy thing was in her leg, they’ve seen everything.

Eddie, however, is another matter. He keeps quiet about it, not obvious at all, but Robin watches his face grow paler and paler before Steve wraps the new bandages around his stomach.

Dustin, bless his precocious little heart, must also notice, because he quickly starts up a seemingly impromptu game of charades, meaning that Eddie is soon distracted by his ridiculously over the top gestures.

“No, Steve, how are you not getting this?”

“I thought the whole appeal of this game was that you’re not meant to talk, Henderson. Dude, watch it, you nearly took Max’s eye out with… whatever the hell that was.”

“Oh my god, it’s Back to the Future, obviously! Ow, Max, I didn’t mean to—uh, yeah, the mime needs to be that big, how else am I gonna project what—”

“Dustin, I swear to god, I’m about to project you out the window,” Steve drawls.

Eddie laughs, hides it behind his hand.

But Steve must catch it, because he glances over at Eddie and winks before he’s dragged back into guessing another movie title.

And Robin’s obviously seen Steve wink before—he does it all the time, so much so that she’s become quite adept at reading when it’s a friendly one for her, or if he’s sharing some kind of in-joke with one of the kids.

She’s also seen his attempts at a ‘smooth’ wink towards some girls at work—and look, he’s Steve Harrington, it’s not like he’s going to be bad at it.

But if you ask Robin, it’s never looked quite right, like he’s always performing to an audience he’s unsure of.

But this wink doesn’t look like it belongs to either of those categories. Well, it’s got something in common with the first: that it looks entirely natural, as if he’s doing it almost without thinking. Like it just feels right.

They go through some more rounds of charades—Dustin’s gestures, if possible, getting even more dramatic—and Eddie gradually goes from contributing a few guesses to none at all, curling up on the backseat. He looks utterly wiped out.

Robin tries to catch Nancy’s eye, and after a few attempts, she gets the message, stands up with a nod.

“Okay, let’s take this outside, guys.”

“Spoken like a true camp counsellor,” Max says.

Nancy acts like she’s offended, but her lips keep twitching into a smile. “Max, never say that to me again.”

“There’s more space outside,” Erica says, “so we can duck out the way of Dustin’s windmilling arms.”

“Hey!”

“I’m bored of charades,” Lucas says. “We could do another competition? Like, I dunno, cartwheels or handstands or something?”

“Oh sure, so I can show you up?” Max returns, grinning.

Steve scoffs. “Uh, if you’re doing a cartwheel competition, I would win.”

“Since when?” Dustin says, an obvious taunt that Steve predictably rises to, flipping him off.

“Save your athletics for Vecna, please,” Nancy cuts in dryly.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight.” Lucas gestures to Steve’s stomach, a little uncertainly. “You know, considering…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Under normal circumstances, I would kick all your asses.”

“Sure,” Robin says brightly, “but Steve, if you do literally anything more strenuous than sitting down right now, I’m gonna—”

“Uh, Steve would kick your asses, actually,” Eddie says slowly. His voice is muffled from the way his hand’s holding up his chin, partly covering his mouth. “He did gymnastics.”

Robin, surprised, looks to Steve; he’s doing that thing where he scratches at his cheek unconsciously, seems to be a mixture of embarrassed and pleased.

“How’d you know that?” he asks.

Eddie shrugs. “We didn’t have a cover for gym one time, remember? There was a whole group of us slacking off but you just kept doing, y’know,” he twirls his fingers, “tricks on that box thingy.”

“Vaulting box,” Steve corrects like he can’t stop himself. He’s sporting an almost abashed little smile that Robin’s never seen before.

Eddie shrugs again. “S’all Greek to me,” he says, interrupts himself halfway through with a deep yawn.

Steve’s eyes soften. And then he’s ushering the kids outside, “C’mon, you can do whatever competition you want for thirty minutes before we get to work.”

“Got it, coach.”

“Shut up, Mayfield.”

“I’ll be your stopwatch if you’re doing handstands,” Nancy chips in, bringing up the rear—she catches Robin’s eye again, subtly tilts her head in Eddie’s direction and mouths Stay?

Robin nods.

“Uh, that won’t be accurate at all,” comes Dustin’s rebuttal—he’s outside now, but his voice still carries. “Unless you can like accurately keep time in your head down to the second—”

“Oh my god, Dustin, you’re such a shithead.”

“Nancy Wheeler, I’m heartbroken.”

Steve’s chuckle floats through the open door. “She said it, dude, not me.”

“You say it all the goddamn time!”

And then the voices fade away until all Robin can hear is distant laughs and joyful screams. It’s relaxing, in its own way.

“No gymnastics for you, Buckley?” Eddie says.

“Nope, not since 7th grade. Managed two cartwheels before I broke my wrist.”

Eddie winces in sympathy. He’s slumping a bit more; Robin makes herself comfy in the opposite corner of the backseat, gives him the most space.

She feels a weird lump at her back, behind one of the cushions. A quick investigation reveals an issue of TV Guide Magazine.

“Ooh, we can find out what we missed while on the run,” she says, waggling it in front of Eddie.

He smiles with a small huff. “Doubt it. Says 1981 on the front.”

“What’s a little more time travel?”

Robin flicks through to the crossword. She’s all too aware that Eddie’s still sat more stiffly than anything else. With Steve, it would be so easy; she could prod him in the thigh with her toe, light touches until he took the hint and relaxed.

But even before they’d really become friends, they were tactile: a tap on the shoulder to grab attention, bumping hips to move each other out of the way whenever they were scooping ice-cream at the same time. It’d been done so unconsciously, like they were already learning to read each other’s minds.

With Eddie, it’s clear that a different approach is needed.

Robin had caught onto that after her misstep at the boathouse, a pit in her stomach at the sight of Eddie’s hands shaking.

But her instinct to reach out, to soothe, made her unthinkingly try again; as they walked in the woods, she’d heard his breathing quicken, and her hand lightly brushed his back. She drew back as he instantly flinched at her touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said hurriedly. “Just—just checking you were okay. Sorry.”

Eddie just stared at her before nodding hesitantly.

And Robin wanted to tell him that it wasn’t by chance, that he had people who cared about him; that she did, and it wasn’t a fluke or an accident—she was choosing it.

She keeps her eyes on the magazine, jots down a few crossword answers. It reminds her of summer days spent reading on her grandparents’ porch, not wanting to startle a cat her grandpa had rescued as it approached her. It was always so spooked.

“You’ve just gotta let him come to you, sweet pea,” her grandma would say.

After a couple minutes, she hears Eddie breathe out, the creak of the seat as he lies down. He rests his head right next to her thigh.

“S’good?” he asks, pointing at the magazine.

“It’s pretty easy.” One of the crossword clues is ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the?’ which isn’t exactly taxing. “I’m used to doing the cryptic ones.”

Eddie laughs. He kinda sounds fond. “Of course you are.”

“They’re not that hard, once you know how to read ‘em.”

“Hmm, I doubt that. Lay one on me, Buckley.”

She purses her lips in thought. “Oh, I got this one last week. Condition of Wyoming, five letters.”

Eddie lifts his head ever so slightly to give her a blank look. “Not a fucking clue.”

“State. Get it? ‘Cause ‘condition’ is the definition, and Wyoming is literally—”

“God, I’m surrounded by geniuses.”

“Well, I’ve got the advantage of a summer of code-breaking.”

Robin slowly raises her hand as she speaks—makes sure to do it in Eddie’s line of vision, spots that he doesn’t pull back, that he even gives the tiniest half-nod. She pats his head twice.

Eddie scrunches up his nose. “Sorry, my hair’s gross.”

“It’s not that bad,” Robin says honestly. “Y’know for being on the run, it’s holding up pretty well. I’m getting whatever shampoo you use.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure.”

“Yours is looking way better than mine did after, like, one day getting wrapped up in all this.” Again, without really thinking, Robin adds, “I had all this sweat and blood and puke in it.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed now. He makes an unhappy sound, prods gently at her knee. “You’ve all gotta work on telling me horrific shit. That should not be casual for you, Buckley.”

He sounds emphatic—protective, even. Robin feels unexpectedly emotional.

“Yeah, sorry. Bad habit.”

Silence falls, and by the time Steve enters the RV, Robin has filled in the whole crossword, Eddie dozing by her side.

Steve’s getting another bottle of water—actually drinking it this time. He’s got grass stains on his knees, and he’s sweating slightly, like the ‘stay still’ advice hasn’t once been taken.

His eyes soften again when he sees Eddie sleeping—he doesn’t need to linger, but he does.

Robin watches.

We need more time, Steve, she thinks suddenly. For you to keep looking at him like that—for him to be awake to see it.

Steve tears his eyes away. Lands on her.

She smiles, mouthing What?

Steve rolls his eyes. He imitates her ‘what?’ mockingly, but then he smiles back and taps at his wrist, mimes winding a watch on. It’s what they do whenever they’re slammed at work, wanting to talk, but only able to briefly catch each other’s eyes in the rush. Later.

She taps her wrist. Later, she promises.

He gives her a double thumbs up—what a dork—before heading back outside.

Robin quietly puts the magazine away. Ever so carefully, she lightly strokes Eddie’s hair, feels her heart swell and break at the same time when he sighs contentedly in his sleep.

You’d better look after yourself, Eddie Munson, she thinks. You’ve got people here. People who really want you to stick around.

#on newly forming friendships and love ❤️#eddie and robin #robin buckley fic #eddie munson fic #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve and the party #steve and dustin #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve and robin #eddie and robin fic

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repulsiveliquidation · 6 days

Text

Broken || Alexia Putellas

summary : you're broken but your girlfriend knows how to hold you together. angst.

a/n : i've literally got no time to write but i've been itching so here just a teeny tiny blurb i came up with before class while listening to the song below.

Based on ‘Stay’ by Gracie Abrams

Alexia walked into your apartment to the sound of your sobs. She almost dropped the groceries she was holding, your dog startled at the sound of a wine bottle that nearly broke as it hit the marble counter a little too hard.

“Amor?” she called, standing in the doorway of your bedroom. You were a mess, curled up in a ball in the middle of the king-sized bed.

“Please make it stop,” you begged, words muffled into the pillow you were hugging, wishing it was your girlfriend. Alexia shuffled into the room with tears brimming in her eyes, her heart shattering as she watched you become a shell of yourself.

The pain was something you learned to deal with yourself. Years and years of self-loathing from bouts of depression and suicide made you numb to love. Your parents were to blame, favoring your sister who was always smarter, better, stronger, and more deserving of their love and attention. Football was your one distraction and injury took that away from you.

The years of hiding behind a ball and suppressing all those feelings came crashing down when your ACL tore. The feelings were overwhelming, thoughts of self-destruction felt like an old friend.

You were better at football than she was. But that was not good enough for them. She had to be first. Not you.

You thought that if you could just be better at something than she was, they’d love you.

Turns out, they resented you for it.

“How dare you be better than her?”

“How dare you take her spot on the team?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

They got one thing right though. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve their harsh words. You didn’t deserve their criticism. You didn’t deserve their wishes that you weren’t a burden.

Burden. That’s what you feel like now. On your girlfriend who had to deal with your breakdowns and tantrums.

She was too good for you. If she saw how broken you were, or how much of a liar you were, she’d leave. Just like they did.

“Amor, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Alexia cooed, curling up beside you with her arms around you.

“Could you hold me without any talking?” you asked, a voice so soft Alexia almost missed your request.

“Of course, I can,” she said, pulling you into her arms.

They were warm. Safe. Strong. Determined to take your pain away.

She spoke after a while, certain you had fallen asleep as your choked sobs simmered down.

“I don't care if you've changed, but you are so much more than football. You are so beautiful, kind, loving, and most importantly, mine. Amor, you are so special to me and I hope we can help you see that.”

“You deserve someone who isn’t such a mess, Alexia,” you mumble; she’s a little startled that you’re awake but keeps her cool to not agitate you.

“Everyone’s a little messy, cariño. That’s what makes us people who learn how to love.”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #fc barca femeni #woso community #woso soccer #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #espwnt #woso blurbs

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gay-dorito-dust · 8 days

Note

You may request A batboys reacting to the death of the reader

First time writing for Tim, so he’s probs ooc in this one.

Dick feels as though he’s failed you.

He tries to act like he was fine but he was far from it and everyone knew it as they stepped on eggshells with him during this time.

Dick would often find himself sat on the very rooftops where he’d take you on countless dates or just to star gaze and talk as though you were still with him.

It was his own way of comforting himself with your loss but that was never enough to stop the tears that fell from his eyes when he spotted a bright star he’s never seen before until now, and laughs humourlessly.

‘I see you’ve finally made your way amongst the stars huh sweetheart?’ He’d say as your star would twinkle in response, making him chuckle. ‘You’re so beautiful, the brightest of your kind.’ He adds sombrely as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as he felt his heart sing out for you, only to receive nothing in return.

Reality was often disappointing but with you it was a fairy tale.

Waking up to you was a dream within itself and getting to do mundane things with you before heading off to work was something that could only exist in a daydream.

He knew Hayley misses you as badly as he does with how he’d hear the poor dog whine and whimper at the door, as if waiting for you to walk through it and tackle her with kisses and love like you always did, only to get nothing for hours.

‘I know, I miss them too.’ He says against Hayley’s fur as she whimpers and whines at the door. ‘I miss them so fucking much it hurts.’ He adds as he allows himself to mourn for you alongside his dog long into the night.

Jason blames himself for not being fast enough or strong enough to keep you protected and safe.

The apartment you once shared with him that only recently had started to feel like home to him now felt cold and haunted with the ghost of you, so much so to the point he avoids it at all cost.

Nothing felt right without you, everything felt wrong and unjustified that he became more ruthless then before on patrols just to let off some steam and would come back from them more beaten and bruised then normal.

He didn’t care, he couldn’t feel anything anymore with how numb he became after loosing you.

Dick and Roy would stop by to see how he was doing but each visit was the same with Jason refusing his older brother and best friend entry as he held one of your plushies tightly against his chest. He knows they mean well but he just couldn’t find it within himself to hear the same thing he’s heard from everyone else; It just felt disingenuous after a while and didn’t feel as though people truly understood the impact that you had on him throughout your time together.

Jason would become more destructive with himself and going headfirst into danger without a second thought and damns his teammates for dragging him out by the scruff of his neck as he fights and kicks out of their hold. He doesn’t want to be saved! He just wanted to be with you again, why couldn’t they see that?!

After loosing you Jason becomes more prone to angry outbursts and often lets them out on the wrong person but he couldn’t care less at this point, his favourite person was gone and he was left back where he was before you.

Lost and deeply afraid.

Tim would retreat from everyone and everything by cooping himself into his room, rarely to come out.

He’d rather rot in his bed and on his phone, looking through all the photos you’ve taken together and seeing just how happy you both were, all the while a pit in his stomach grew at the thought of all the plans you’ve made but would never get to do.

He hated how easily he gave you his heart and hated it even more at just how easy it was to loose you that he wishes that he could stop himself from meeting you for the first time, just so he could selfishly save himself from the best moments of his life and the inevitable heartbreak he’d soon suffer.

Tim would do anything in his power to get you back but knew that it just wasn’t possible.

He knew Jason was given life by the Lazarus pit but he wasn’t willing to subject you to that even if he was held at gunpoint. He’d rather you rest in peace than force you to live with the knowledge that you should technically be dead.

Tim would remain in his room, wondering about the what ifs and the what could’ve beens if you hadn’t died. Would someone have taken your place? Was your death an unchangeable fixed point in time that was meant to happen?

He would only be reunited with you in his dreams where he has saved you and you had gotten to live out the rest of your life happily, rather then left for dead in an alleyway not too far from the place where you were originally going to meet up for date night.

Damian dedicated his life to getting revenge.

He had lost the light in his life, so why should he think his adversaries should live when you weren’t even given the option?

There will be more bodies pilling up on the streets of Gotham at a faster rate than normal whenever Damian is on patrol, much to Bruce’s dismay.

His anger and grief was all consuming and that left little to no room for logic to make him stop and see what he was doing was no better than the thing that took you away.

Life was black and white for a long time for Damian and you were the colour.

You were the air he breathed and without you he was gasping.

He knew about the Lazarus pit in his grandfather’s possession and its mythical properties and how it gave Jason a second chance at life. However he was at a cross roads on using it for his own selfish gain, on one hand he could have you back and everything would be fine again, but on the other hand you wouldn’t be the version of you he fell in love with…

Damian didn’t know what to do. The grief, the anger, the sadness…it was all too much for him. He felt as though he apart of him was missing and he would never get it back, it just wasn’t possible.

Bruce feels as though nothing has changed since his parents death.

He may be older, faster, stronger and wiser but that didn’t mean nothing in the face of death, and your death only proved that to be true as he held you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he quietly sobs into your cold neck.

Much like Tim, Bruce doesn’t take care of himself anymore and it was up to Alfred to make sure that he doesn’t keep over and die unexpectedly.

‘They wouldn’t want this for you sir.’ Alfred would say as Bruce slams his hands down on the surface of his desk. ‘And what would you know that they want for me Alfred, y/n’s dead and it’s my fault.’ He would bark and bare his teeth at the only father figure he had in his life, a father figure whom has seen this expression bore on the young master’s face more times then he could count, but it still hurt him to see Bruce in pain and heartbreak.

‘They would want you to take care of yourself, sleep proper hours, eat full meals, shower, reach out to anyone,’ Alfred began to walk towards Bruce and place a hand on his shoulder, where he could practically feel the unbridled anger and pain radiation through him that he kept under control. ‘They wouldn’t want you to wallow in pain alone, Gotham needs you.’

‘And I needed them.’ Bruce replied sharply, aggressively wiping his eyes with his hand as he looks over at a framed picture of you that he always kept nearby. ‘All I wanted was them.’ He adds softly this time as he looks at Alfred, lost and confused at what to do now that his anchor was gone. ‘I miss them so much Alfred.’

Alfred brings Bruce into his arms, much like he did when he lost his parents, when he lost Jason and now you, allowing him to burrow his face into the Butler’s shoulder and softly sob into the fabric. Alfred felt his heart break even more as he rubbed Bruce’s back in an attempt of bringing him comfort. ‘I know master Bruce, I know, but you’d be doing their memory a great disservice by destroying yourself.’ The older man started as he looked over at the framed picture of you and smiled soberly, you were a beacon to Bruce and Alfred wasn’t afraid to say that he viewed you as his in law with how happy you made Bruce and that was all Alfred could ever want for him.

Now that you were gone, Alfred couldn’t help but feel that the manor got just that little bit lonelier without you.

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k9wa · 12 days

Text

𑣲 PREPARED. ft. BLADE

⠀ — he will not be overcome. blade prepared for this day

⠀ OR

⠀ — you’re only human and blade isn’t as ready for your death as he thought.

⚠︎ angst, some gore (?) character death, gn reader, this is kind of old

blade prepared for this day.

he reminded himself of all whom he’d seen fall in his years of existence with every breath he took.

blade prepared for this day.

the stellaron hunter had become well acquainted with his own immortality and the grief that without fail would follow him for all eternity.

blade prepared for this day.

he knew it was best to keep his distance from others, especially from humans. friendships or relationships of any kind were feeble and short-lived for a man like him. if you could even call him a man.

blade prepared for this day.

…so why was he speechless?

why had his breath betrayed him?

why did his legs grow weak, how was he brought to his knees with such ease, skin scraping harshly against the concrete beneath him?

blade prepared for this day… hadn’t he?

well, perhaps he’s slipped up a few times. but he was allowed that much, no?

maybe he shouldn’t have indulged you in so many stories of his travels, or the kinds of people he’d met along the way. but it was only because you were always so eager to hear about them, and the dejected look on your face when he’d say no was irritating.

and sure, he probably could have done without the gentle touches and almost domestic intimacy, but that couldn’t have done too big of a number on him. the emotions blade felt ranged from numb to violent, and had not stretched farther than the between for the last hundred years at least. a kiss to your cheek or your arms wrapped around him from behind couldn’t have really changed that.

no. it couldn’t have.

because blade prepared for this day.

he repeats it in his head like a mantra as he cradles you to his chest, your blood staining his bandaged and scarred hands as it drips to the stone floor. there's a sea of bodies surrounding you, a sign of blade’s inevitable victory alongside your inevitable demise.

all blade could do was watch as the spear pierced through your flesh and bones like they were butter, time almost slowing down as he bolted to your side as fast as he could once he noticed the pointed steel hurling towards you.

he was too late, only arriving in time to catch you as your knees buckled before you could tumble to the ground.

it was clean shot through your heart and left lung, tip of the spear poking out of your chest and staring him menacingly in the eye.

blade prepared for this day.

he knew you would not survive.

humans were fragile. a piercing shot through some vital organs was more than enough to take your life.

he pulled it out as quickly as he realised the tragic truth, hoping to make you more comfortable. he whispers small, rushed apologies into your ear as you cry out from the steel ripping through you again, this time the opposite way.

ren fought to keep his hands steady as he held you tightly against him. he would not panic in your final hours, he would not be an addition to the turmoil of your unfair death.

blade prepared for this day.

he sucks down the urge to scream out and curse the aeons for doing this to him again. he swallows the desire to pierce himself with the very weapon that would take you from him as punishment to himself for thinking this time will be different.

a calloused hand is held to your cheek as your body clings to its life, small choked gasps leaving your lips as if your lungs could even hold the air.

ren rests his forehead against yours, swirls of tangerine and crimson and pale skin shining through your cloudy vision. your efforts to speak are in vain, he just shushes you quietly.

“just look at me.” his voice is quiet, eerily calm and surprisingly comforting.

his thumb rubs small circles on your cheek, he can feel the puddle of blood on his pants growing. you comply, gazing up into his hardened eyes as you swear you see grief shining behind them. perhaps it's just the blood loss.

“you’re okay.” ren’s voice is like silk, despite its natural rasp. he tries to will himself to crack the slightest of smiles for your comfort. he cannot.

blade prepared for this day.

your hand shakily raised up to try and hold his, and all you can do is weakly grab onto his wrist. yet you’re smiling. you turn your head slightly to the left and kiss his palm, and blade does not see fear nor anguish in your eyes. he sees a sea of peace, two lakes of adoration staring back at him.

“you’re okay.” he repeats, lips meeting your forehead softly. “i’ve got you.”

it proves harder and harder to keep his hands steady as your eyes grow heavier, fluttering shut. he pulls you closer to him, squeezing his own eyes shut as if just seeing your face was pushing him over the edge.

blade prepared for this day.

he can feel your breaths shortening, becoming more shallow. he sucks in a breath.

blade prepared for this day.

“i’ll find you.” he wouldn’t. the place your mind and soul would travel to was the only place in the galaxy he traversed across that he could not reach despite his endless and verying attempts. whether the empty pledge is a futile attempt at a comfort to you or him will remain unknown.

blade prepared for this day.

whether the words reached you or not also remains up in the air. ren watches as your chest stops attempting to rise. if you were anyone else, he would be jealous.

blade thought he prepared for this day.

but realistically, nothing could ever truly prepare him again and again for the feeling he knew all too well; loss.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

#blade honkai star rail #blade x reader #honkai star rail #blade hsr #blade x you #blade honkai #hsr blade #hsr x reader #ren hsr #hsr headcanons #hsr #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you

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emmcfrxst · 21 days

Note

Giving Arthur Morgan the sloppiest soul sucking head of his life because that's what he deserves 👏

It’s no secret that Arthur likes you messy.

There’s nothing quite like seeing you covered in his cum; it satiates some sort of primal urge he’s way too embarrassed to ever admit he possesses — out of shame or for fear of being laughed at, he isn’t quite sure. It’s a delicacy he does not always have the privilege of seeing, what with the constant moving around, the never ending jobs, Dutch’s genius “plans” and the difficulties of having any kind of intimacy in a camp full of people— Arthur does not get as much alone time with you as he wishes he would. It’s on rare days like these; ones where he allows himself to be a little selfish as to take you out on a “job” that requires your specific skillset, that he does get to have you all to himself, soft and pliant and wanting. You’re a sight to behold, on your knees all for him, pretty eyes shining with tears as you take him down your throat until his thighs shake.

“Yeah, jus’ like that. Keep goin’, pretty thing.” his voice is raspy, breath catching on a syllable as you swallow around him eagerly, spurred on by his praise. Arthur has to look up at the sky for a moment as to not let himself come so soon, his gut tightening dangerously upon hearing you gag on his cock. Clenching his hands into fists, he chances a look down at you, brows furrowing in pleasure when your eyes meet, a needy moan leaving his parted lips when he notices you rocking your hips against one of your hands, thighs spread obscenely wide in the soft grass below you. He cannot seem to be able to stop himself from bucking forward into your mouth at the sight, making you gag again, a breathless apology on his lips. The action only seems to encourage you further somehow, free hand coming up to fondle his balls, rolling them between your slick fingers. Saliva runs down your chin, trickling all the way down between your breasts in an outrageously filthy spectacle; one that Arthur would pay good money to see more often. His thoughts are cut short by a particularly hard suck to his tip, your lips quickly being replaced by an expert swirl of your tongue, making him curse out loud and grip the bark of the tree he is leaning against. His knees buckle and for a moment he fears he’s going to fall to the ground, feeling your hands move quickly to grab onto his thighs to steady him. The aching desire that takes over his body upon feeling just how thoroughly soaked the hand that was between your thighs has become is almost mind-numbing and he finally lets himself unravel, orgasm carried along to the sloppy sounds of your mouth on him, hearing you moan before you swallow around him one last time, cum leaking from the corners of your lips. Breathing heavily, Arthur helps your gasping form up onto your feet, tucking himself away and putting his gun belt back into place before taking his jacket off and throwing it to the ground, hands moving to grip your hips to tip you backwards onto the grass.

“What are you doing?” you giggle, chest heaving in both exertion and arousal, allowing your lover to lay you down as he pleases, goosebumps spreading over your skin when he moves down your body, calloused hands groping at you.

“Returning the favor.” he replies, winking at you before disappearing between your thighs.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 fic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 fic #red dead redemption 2 smut #red dead redemption 2 imagine #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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imaginesmai · 1 month

Text

Breeding tonic gone wrong - Azriel

This got out of hand, don't want to label it as Dark!Azriel since it's a breeding drug but it's darkish. Wonderful @daycourtofficial wrote this fic and I thought I could try the breeding potion since I've read fics about it before. But I wanted it to be a little dark, not just smut. Here is the result!

Plot: during a trip to the Illyrian mountains, Azriel and you discover a cabin with all types of monstrosities. One of them ends up in Azriel's blood system, a breeding tonic, which no male nor female has survived before.

Warnings: it is consensual but the consent is given in a life-death situation for both characters. Rough, unhinged Azriel smut. Sex pollen fic.

Illyrians were the worst males alive, and if it was up to you, you would blow those mountains down until none of them breathed. Proof of their cruelty was the lab you were investigating right then, that had installed a permanent frown on your face.

The silence of the room was only broken by the occasional scoffs from your partner, who seemed to have the same feelings about the work done in there. With a half-limp from the previous fight against the guards, you let your eyes travel between the different labeled bottles and horror at their uses.

Pain extension for wing clipping – prevents the muscles from reattaching

Numbing lotion – apply in small quantities before perpetration, makes the female stop squirming

Pleasure beverages – draws the pleasure out of fae 1 and inducts it into fae 2. Still testing

All of them were horrific and terrible, and all of them had been tested. You had heard rumors about hat place before, but Azriel and you didn’t have a real location until now. The twenty males that had died protecting that secret were proof of how sicked that twisted that place was.

“It feels wrong to be here” Azriel muttered from the other side of the room, holding up a bunch of vials in his scarred hands. “How long have it taken them to fill all this up?”

“They are all against… females. Years of researching into their pain, uses and worth” you commented too, your voice only a whisper. “And they have been tested. Approved”

“Let’s finish this and get out of here”

You could feel Azriel’s shadows too exploring the room, and for a moment, you gave yourself a minute to think about possibilities. You had also been raised by Illyrians, in the mountains, yet had been lucky enough to be born in Windhaven. To live next to Rhys’ mother’s cabin and become friends with Cassian, Azriel and Rhysand.

To have one of them as your kind-of-lover, at least more than friends. Everyone knew that you and the shadowsinger were something, and few males approached you when you visited the camps.

You had been lucky, because you could have ended just like those girls that had been used like guinea pigs. The hairs on your arms rose up just at the idea, and you promised yourself you would find each and every participant and tear them into pieces.

“Y/N” Azriel called out of you, and you turned around. “Watch this”

The tremble in his voice, the break from his usual stoic voice, was enough to tear you away from your own worries and thoughts. You replaced his place in front of a worn-down table, full to the brim. Azriel stepped back until he was behind you, until he was between you and the open space.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

You looked over to the notebook he was holding open, old and used. There were different handwritings, names of women crossed out and names of males half-erased. On top, a blank space for the name they would come up with.

In the desk, you spotted several vials with a blueish, bright liquid, some of them empty. The handwritten was tough to read, but before you could squint your eyes, Azriel summed it up for you.

“They were testing breeding accelerations” he explained, the edge of his wing curling around your smaller form. “So far, they hadn’t had results. All the participants died, both males and females”

You held your breath as you read some of the details. Fucked to death seemed to be repeated a lot. Was it a game, to them, the lives of so many women that were dragged into their sick experiments? The miracle of life that they perverted so often?

Azriel shifted closer to you on instinct, probably thinking about the same options you were pondering about. His warm chest against your back made you close the notebook with little care. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, feel pity for those males who had died raping innocent females, probably sold by their own father.

The best thing you could do now was try and find their corpses, give them a proper burial and incinerate the whole place down.

Scarred fingers brushed yours softly, like a gosht touch. Azriel wasn’t a verbal lover, not a public one. He preferred to stay quiet and hidden, and you liked him just like that. Only with your fingers tangling, you expressed the horrors in that poisoned cabin.

You turned around, intending to give him a small smile and maybe make it seem real, but you caught movement from the corner of your eyes. The troubled look on Azriel eyes had him too far away to notice the threat, and you only had time to squeeze your joined hands before he was pushed into you.

With a considerate force, you both collided against the work desk and tumbled into the ground with its content.

“Bitches” the incomer groaned, the edge of his knife breaking the skin of Azriel’s forearm. “You’re all bitches, bastards”

“Motherfucker”

You cursed when your hands touched something sticky. The attacker’s knife scurried down Azriel’s arm when your knife drove through his head. A sickening crunch of blood, bone and brain echoed through the cabin. Azriel had kept his body as an iron shield around you, but you had managed to drag one of your curved weapons and kill the male.

He hissed when the body fell against his back, elbows crumbling under the unexpected weight. You fell back against the sticky substance with a grimace, and helped Azriel push the dead body off.

“That was unfortunate” he complained, rolling off you. “I liked my new jacket”

“And I liked my knife clean, I had just wiped off the blood” you rolled your eyes, getting up and offering him a hand. “Even in death, they cause problems”

Azriel smiled at you when you helped him up, and while he readjusted his weapons, you looked down to the ground.

Papers and empty vials were scattered around. Most of the blood was from the corpse of the ground, which you realized, was one of the males you had thought you killed. One of his wings was missing, courtesy of Azriel, and he was covered in wounds. The biggest of them, the missing part of his head thanks to your knife.

You were about to comment about Azriel getting sloppy when you heard him suck a breath. His body tensed like an arch bow, one of his hands quickly peeling the leather off his arm.

“What?” you were instantly on him, helping him get a better look at the bleeding cut.

“There’s something here” he answered, and you didn’t miss the edge of panic in his usual calm voice. “Something is stuck. In the back”

“Must be a splinter” you walked to his side and peeled the rest of the hard training leathers. “Overgrown baby bat”

He didn’t laugh with you, and your smile died down when you saw the empty vial sticking out of his muscled biceps. It still held the remains of the blue liquid, mixing with his own blood. Azriel couldn’t see it, since it was small enough to hide from his sight. Objectively, it had broken from the fall and emptied on the ground. Objectively, it could be any vial and Azriel would be just fine and perfect.

You felt as if someone had submerged your head underwater as he asked you what was it. As you watched yet another drop run down from the bottom of the vial into his body. No matter how quickly you pulled it off, the harm was done.

For good measure, you took a step back and stared all your intrusive thoughts into the palm of your hand, where the remains of the vial stood. It was covered in his blood, your Azriel’s blood. Your friend, your lover, your Azriel. Your mouth went dry when you looked up and watched his eyes widen in panic.

“Is that…” he didn’t finish the question, nor he needed to.

“Think so. It’s small”

“Was it in? Has it touched my body?” Azriel reached a hand behind his back, searching for a non-existing reassurance in your eyes. “Y/N”

“Maybe it doesn’t work like this. It – it broke, the contents spilled before. We have no way of – “

“Was it in?”

You nodded softly, watching him find the exact point of puncture. You could try and fool yourself, fool him, but you noticed the change in his scent in just a few seconds. Under his spiced, fresh smell, there was something else. His throat bobbed down and his eyes darked, just an inch.

Both of you kept quiet for a second. It had never gone so wrong, so fast, in your missions together. You worked well, you were efficient. At worst cases, any of you got injured and the other would cause a carnage well deserved. At better, you spent time with the person you loved the most but didn’t dare to confess to.

Your ears picked up the increase of his heartrate, and your mind replayed the words in the notebook. The effects of the drug were clear – and the consequences too. That sprung you into action, rounding his rigid body and picking up the fallen notebook.

You flipped through the pages, trying to come up with something else. Something that wasn’t death and a breeding tonic that was just flooding through Azriel’s veins.

“I can’t winnow. I can’t… my shadows. They’re gone” you heard Azriel from behind you, but all you could see were words and crossed out names blurring together.

1st trial: Jolene and Atrox. Healthy subjects. No previous incidents to report.

The male ingested the vial. The effect was instant. Killed the female before undressing her, in his haste of getting closer. Snapped her neck. Died after two minutes, heart gave out.

“Rhysand doesn’t expect us until tomorrow. They won’t be coming. Damn it. Damn it!”

9nd trial: Marvel and Broncor. Stronger, healthier. She has already given birth. Fertile and flexible.

The male ingested the vial. The effect was instant. They copulated for five hours. Female died upon multiple traumas taken to the head. Male kept going for two more hours. Heart gave out.

“Isn’t it too hot? Y/N, listen – what are you doing? Y/N?”

20th trial: Evene and Cyrian. Mated couple. Together for fifteen years. Unconsented teaser.

It was injected into the male arm. The effect was instant. Lasted almost a day. Destroyed previous test cabin, in need for a new one. Female died from multiple lacerations. Male died. Heart gave out.

Weirdly, it wasn’t Azriel’s voice trying to call for you what broke you free from the notebook, but the faint sound of his heart. As you had read through the pages, it had increased dangerously. You had never heard it so loud and fast. The spymaster always controlled his heartrate – through exercises, through missions, through sex.

But you could hear it over your own, loud and demanding. You turned around and found Azriel covered in sweat. His pupils were expanded until you couldn’t see the sweet hazel behind them. And his hand, the one that wasn’t tugging at the edge of his shirt, was holding his crotch with a trembling grip.

The jacket was already on the ground, and above all of that, you vision became blurry at the notice of his arousal. The evident, primal arousal that filled the cabin, that was radiating off him in steady waves.

His eyes bored into yours with an intensity you had never seen, but he didn’t move. It must have taken you a while to read all those tests. Failed test where they all died, the males’ heart giving out in each one. And the heart you greeded the most was threatening to give out in front of you.

“You need to leave” Azriel managed to say, his hand squeezing his cock painfully.

“Az”

Part of you seemed to be horrified at the situation. It was aware of the danger Azriel had just turned into, the order to your legs to run fast and steady ready. It was the part of you Azriel had liked, that had made him train you to be a spy.

The other part, he had created. Between soft touches and kisses. You didn’t need a name to know that you loved him, that he had given you everything when he had nothing. That part was terrified, too, yet seemed to scream in the opposite direction.

Neither of those parts seemed to come up with a solution.

“Don’t say my name. Leave” he couldn’t help the moan at your voice, his fingers quickly getting rid of the confines of his trousers. “Y/N, leave”

His cock spang free with little effort, and he jacked off with an impressive speed. Yet you had read also test 14th, where the male had tried to masturbate and hadn’t even lasted five minutes. Any other day, you would have melted at the sight of Azriel’s cock tall and proud in front of you. There was a steady drip of precum that seemed too eager, too early.

He had an impressive resistance, as you well knew. But his balls were almost purple, the veins along his shaft pulsing.

“If you don’t give in, you will die” you announced him, trying to keep your eyes on his. Your own core was starting to pulse with unwanted need. “None of them could do it on their own. And you’re not different”

“And none of the females live either, Y/N. Please, please” his voice broke at the end. His nostrils flared at your own smell, and his thighs tightened in an effort to keep still. “Run as far as you can, and take Truthteller with you. I can’t – with you, I… leave, please”

“There is one who made it”

The lie rolled off your tongue easily, and you knew Azriel was in too much pain and desperation to notice. Only a male had survived, after killing three women in a row. Your heart seemed to work on its own as you noticed the opportunity. Staying wasn’t the reasonable option, yet leaving him was no option at all.

“It might take a while, but we can make it. You need to fuck it out, and we have done it before”

“With consent!” he almost screamed, ending up in a frustrated moan. “I won’t touch you while this is in me. Either you leave or I – I’m gonna – Y/N”

His heart speeded even more if that was possible, and his hand flattered. How long had it been? You didn’t want to think about how long he could make it, how long he could resist it. But you were certain that he would die before touching you in that cabin.

Azriel had been denied of many choices and options in his life, and you knew how much he hated to have decisions taken from him. You watched the anger in his eyes as you stepped closer, unbuttoning your jeans.

With muscle memory, you stepped out of your confines and stepped up to him. Every part of Azriel was on edge, every nerve on his body screamed. And still, he didn’t touch you. Azriel stared with a silent plea in his eyes, a last warning.

“I can’t do this” Azriel begged. “Not to you, Y/N. Don’t make me do this”

“I won’t lose you”

Those were your last words before you snuck up your arms around his shoulders, forcibly lowering his head so you could lock your lips with him. One last act of normality before the drug took control over him. At that point, there was only one real objective in your mind, one coherent thought – don’t let the only light in your life die. Don’t let Azriel die because a stupid mistake.

You brushed your lips against his and didn’t show the surprise at his body temperature. He was burning, not only hot against the cold wind, but sickly hot. His skin was sweaty against your palms, his lips cracked already.

“It’s fine, Az” you whispered against his mouth. “I trust you”

Before you could blink or fully register the implications of your consent, you were turned around and pushed to the closest wall. Only Azriel hand on your forehead avoided the blow to your head.

His other hand wasted no time to roam through your body, already with enough pressure to leave bruises. It wasn’t the kindness you were used to, the love Azriel professed for you in every touch and caress. His touch was rough and brutal, and you didn’t know what to do with the pooling wetness at the thought.

It could have been tears of frustration or drops of sweat falling onto your shoulder, but Azriel didn’t let you turn around to check. As if looking into your eyes made it worse.

“Az” you moaned loudly when he found your center, trembling with the restrain. “The door, close the door”

He obeyed when his index finger pressed in you with enough pression to make your knees tremble. You only heard the sound of the door closing, maybe his shadows doing the work, as your eyes rolled back when he started fingering you as if it was your own pleasure who was making him mad.

Azriel rutted into your body from behind, growling like a feral animal. His hips pushed into you again and again, the hand holding your face into place lowering to your neck. He kept pushing his finger in and out of you, in a rush to make you wet enough to take him. It wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for his size, that you were feeling in your lower back.

When you heard Azriel’s breath hitch, when you were sure he wouldn’t last another second with the drug speeding his heart, you urged him to continue.

“If it gets too much, kill me” Azriel whispered with the last remains of his self-control. “Promise me if it’s between me and you, you’ll kill me”

“We’re gonna be fine”

“Promise me”

You only nodded, and hoped he wouldn’t notice the second lie thrown his way.

His fingers left your entrance with a wet sound, and his cock replaced them. You were lifted a few inches with just one of his hands, your feet leaving the ground. Along the smell of both arousals and the sickening scent of the drug, you noticed the blood that peaked through the scratch on your naked chest.

The brief pain of the rough wood against them died down when Azriel finally pushed into you.

Azriel’s cock stretched you so much that, for a moment, you lost your breath. His body moved on its own accord, driven by the drug, and didn’t let you time to adjust. No matter how wet he had gotten you, it hurt. It hurt as he pistoled himself in and out, fast and hard. As he moaned and whined and screamed your name.

He fucked you so hard, yet you could see from the corner of your eye his fingers creating dents on the well. His sheer will was the only thing keeping him from killing you, according to the reports you had read previously.

You didn’t know for how long it went on, only that you came around his cock and he didn’t stop. He came minutes later, sputtering like a teenager with trembling knees, only to keep fucking you with the same strength.

It could have been minutes, or hours, yet the only thought you could focus on was that his heart was still beating, strong and steady. That you were alive and he was with you.

“I’m going to wreck you” Azriel panted, and his voice was only a distant sound in your haze of pain and pleasure. “Please kill me. Kill me before I do, Y/N”

It wasn’t a playful promise of two lovers, but a terrified pled from a drugged male. Azriel’s body was the only thing keeping you straight, his cock keeping his restless movement inside you. There were cuts all over your breast from how hard he was pushing you against the wall, yet he couldn’t stop.

The drug was so powerful, so primal, that he could only keep fucking you on and on.

Even if you wanted, you couldn’t have answered him. If felt like your throat had closed up long ago, only opening for moans or whines. The line between pain and pleasure was blurry all the time, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it.

“Y/N. Y/N” he called your name as he emptied himself inside you once more – only to keep going a second after.

Your thighs were sticky with his cum and yours, cascading down your legs like a torrent. But the drug kept affecting his body, and he continued even when your body was too sore to handle it. You knew your tears would hurt him and break him into two, but you couldn’t control the overstimulation as you let them free fall your cheeks.

Azriel must have smelt them, the saltiness in the air, because for a moment the male was strong enough to slower his movements. You almost fell to the ground when he took a step back, his heart speeding all over again.

As if the last hours hadn’t meant nothing.

“Run” he whispered desperately, one of his hands furiously stroking his cock.

“I’m not leaving you here to die, Azriel” you managed to say. “Don’t make this harder”

You used the advantage of his self-control before it consumed, and turned around. You didn’t need to follow his gaze to the wounds on your chest, to the bruises with the form on his fingertips, to know they were there. The pain of Azriel’s action was making your mind dizzy.

Yet it was fuck or die. It was for him, whose eyes were still pitch black, his whole body covered in sweat. That you had managed to survive so long broke the records on that old notebook, and that alone would have been enough to make you consider how strong Azriel was.

But you couldn’t think about the pain he must have been in, only dried your tears on your forearm. More threatened to fall because you were tired. You wanted to stop and go back a few hours ago, burn that place down before it was too late. Still, you knew you couldn’t do that.

“I trust you, okay?” you reminded him as Azriel’s own eyes became glossy. “We can make it out. You just need to endure through and try not to kill me in the meantime. We can do it”

You weren’t as confident as before, but you didn’t have time to consider it. With your enhanced hearing, you could hear his heart. It had slowed down from that frenetic, dangerous point at the beginning, but it wasn’t safe still. At any moment, it would give up and you couldn’t phantom that thought.

So, with a trembling hand, you replaced his hand on his cock with yours. He had finished three times already, a fourth time when you used your other hand to squeezed his balls. They emptied on your stomach, precum flowing as soon as he finished.

“I’m so sorry” Azriel admitted, and your breath hitched as you kept stroking him.

It wasn’t enough, the drug made him need to be inside a woman. But it was giving you time to regain your breath, hug his shoulders once more and let him lower you to the ground.

Gaining back consciousness was a long process, that took you a few minutes. First it was the notice of the snow beneath your body, and on you. Flakes fell from the sky and covered your hair and nose, your naked feet. It should have made you cold, but you were warm.

Then it was the soreness that hug every inch of you, from your legs to your shoulders, even your neck. Your throat felt dry and it took you a few tries to open your eyes. When you did, you were met with white.

White ground, white sky, white trees. You frowned at your surroundings before the last events caught up with you, and your body perked up with panic.

Finally, you noticed Azriel’s body draped over yours. He was still inside you, one of his hands cupping your cheek. As you turned to look at him, you saw frozen tears on his cheeks, a sight so rare yet beautiful that broke the last of your stupor away.

“Az” you croaked out, more of a groan than a word.

You weren’t cold because his body and wings were a blanket against the weather. He too was unconscious, covered in snow. The last hours were blurry, only him and his body and the persistent need to hold on. You remembered his body heat, you suggesting the snow to lower it – and the cabin crumbling under his power as he came inside you once more.

One of your hands rose to his cheek, and you watched with morbid fascination the paleness on your fingertips, almost blue. You were far too tired to care about it, the edge of your consciousness slipping away once more.

“We should go” you muttered, tapping those frozen fingers against his cheek. His head just rolled back.

You tried to listen to his heart, to make sure he was alive and had survived the drug. But you blacked out before you could worry about it.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Let me know if you want me to do an Azriel taglist!

Azriel taglist:

@boygeniuses10 , @tothestarsandwhateverend , @starsinyourseyes , @bakananya , @tele86 , @lilah-asteria

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leossmoonn · 6 months

Text

cuffing season | mike schmidt

summary - your handcuffs come into perfect use

warnings / includes - reader is fem. sub mike, unprotected sex, porn with a loose plot. kind of edited so if there’s a mistake lmk.

————

18+ only below the cut

mike was the first one to bring up the handcuffs — unsurprisingly. at first you thought he might have wanted to use them on you, but no, he wanted to be restrained. it shocked you a little bit, but you knew his tough and angry exterior hid a soft, whiny, pathetic mike that was just waiting to get taken advantage of.

he slightly regretted his choices, though. not because he wasn’t enjoying this. oh, lord above knows he was, but he couldn’t touch you.

you had just got on top of him. the tip of his cock is resting against your pussy lips. you can feel his precrum leaking out, creating a slick paste against your skin. one of your hands is resting on his chest, holding you steady as your other hand is touching his favorite parts of your body.

his arms struggle against the cuffs. the chain clinks against his wall where his back rests. your eyes wander down his neck, where his adam’s apple is bobbing up and down. he flexes the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he tries to work against the confines of the cuffs.

his mouth is open, drool pooling at the corners of his lips. you slowly move your hips back and forth. your folds naturally start to part and mike whimpers as he begins to feel your warmth envelop him. he bucks his hips up in attempt to enter you, but you sit up on your knees now towering over him. your tits are in his face, so close to his mouth he could lean forward and put his lips on you.

“you have to be patient, mikey,” you hum. your hand trails up from his chest to his jawline and cup his cheek.

“i need you,” he whines. “need me?” your voice comes out more sinister than you expect, but you don’t think he minds. your lips open up in a chesire cat grin.

he groans in the back of his throat. he didn’t think you could get more sexy, but you’ve proven him wrong. you lean down, your lips now against his ear. the tip of your tongue licks the shell of his ear. he shivers and bucks his hips, wanting to feel your walls coat his cock. he’s so hard, he thinks his dick will numb up and fall off before he will get inside of you.

“how bad do you need me, honey?” you hum. you start to lower yourself on his cock again. this time his tip fully enters you. he lets out something between a choked cry and moan. his hands ball into fists behind his back. he wishes he could grab you and fuck you fast and hard.

“tell me, mike, how bad you need me,” you repeat. “you don’t want me to leave you here cuffed, do you?”

“no, no!” he outbursts. he doesn’t think you will. he can feel your racing heart on his shoulder. he feels how wet you are and your pussy pulsating around him. but he never knows with you, and that’s what makes sex with you all the more fun.

“then tell me,” you say, your voice deep and dark now. you face him, looking him straight in the eyes. “i need you so bad, baby. god, you’re driving my crazy,” he groans. “i want you to fuck me so bad.”

your heart flutters and you swear your pussy did too.

“i want to feel your pussy wrapped around me, drowning my cock in your cum. i want to see your tits bounce in my face and watch my dick disappear between your thighs. fuck, i…” his eyes are closed now, imagining all the things he’s saying. you can feel him throb inside of you. without warning, you sink down.

“oh, fuck,” he mumbles. he rests his head on his wall, opening his eyes and falling in love with the sight of you. your right hand is on the wall by his head holding you up. you bounce on his cock, the base of it becoming wet and sticky, creating a gushing noise each time you go down.

“this what you wanted, mikey?” you pant.

“yes, yes,” he nods. your walls clamp around him and he whimpers out your name, once again finding the handcuffs an inconvenience.

“you feel so good. you’re so perfect, ah,” he cries out, eyes screwing shut and jaw dropping to release a loud moan. “i-i need to touch you, baby. please,” he begs. “need to have my hands on you. get these things off of me.”

he’s getting restless now. he’s starting to squirm more than ever.

“i quite like seeing you like this,” you say. you grab his face, making him look into your eyes. “i love seeing you plead for me. you’re so cute when you’re squirming. so needy for me. makes me happy. you wanna keep me happy, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“yes, yes,” he nods. he’s basically frothing at the mouth. “i’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“you’re such a good boy, you know that?” you start to kiss his jawline, licking a feather light trail to his ear. you lick the outer shell again. you swear his cock shudders inside of you.

he whines your name, his breathing starting to become erratic. you let out a moan yourself as his cock brushes up against that spot inside of you he always hits.

“i-i’m gon’ come,” he warns you. your nails scrape against his wall as you feel the warmth in your tummy start to arise. your thighs tighten around his sides. “me, too,” you say.

his cum shoots out in a hot burst inside of you. you let out a small cry as you come, slowly down and stopping. you slump down against his chest. both of you lay there until your panting comes to a stop.

you lift off with a little sigh. your legs are slightly wobbly as you walk to the bathroom to get the key to your cuffs and a washcloth for yourself. you unlock his hands and he lets out a groan of relief.

you sit down on the bed and spread your thighs, beginning to clean yourself up, but mike stops you. “let me,” he says.

you smile at him and nod. he gets up and gets on the ground in front of you. on of his hands parts your legs and rests on your thigh while the other wipes himself off of your skin. after he’s done, he gets up and kisses your forehead. his hand happens to slide up to your waist, holding you gently. you didn’t realize how much you missed his touch until now.

#idk what this is #🤷‍♂️ whoever reads this I hope you like it #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader smut

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intoanotherworld23 · 3 months

Text

Good Girl For Oliver

Pairing: Reader x Oliver Quick

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, there is smut in this loads of it, there is lots of oral female receiving, minor fingering, smidge of choking, bondage, and unprotected sex

Word count: 1407 words

Summary: Oliver Quick has got you right where he wants you

Long time no read everyone!! I know I’ve been absent for a hot minute but I am back and ready to write again! Thanks everyone so much for kind words and being supportive to me all this time, I appreciate all my followers I really do. So I recently watched Saltburn and like every thirsty horny person out there I had to write something for it! I hope you guys enjoy this one and let me know if you’d like to read more! Love you all so much! Don’t forget to reblog cause reblogging saves writers lives! XOXO

"Oh god."

The heat between your legs was becoming almost unbearable at this moment. It was like an ache you couldn't get rid of, and it was starting to get to you.

Fingers gripping onto the hand rails behind your head as the silk fabric started to cut into your skin.

Back arching off the bed as your toes became entangled in the cold sheets. It was like you were being tortured, and you loved every minute of it.

Your legs were numb to feeling as they were constantly shaking, and thick hands were gripping your soft flesh.

A wet tongue lapping relentlessly at your raw core. Running circles around your dripping opening like you were his last meal. The sounds of your slickness like music to his ears. He could keep you like this all day, and you knew he would too.

“Mhhhm. More Ollie.” Whispering just enough for him to hear.

“You want more?” Tongue sucking onto your clit making your cry out.

Diving his tongue right in as his fingers spread your lips apart getting easier access. Nuzzling his face so close his nose was brushing against your clit. His tongue massaging your inner walls as his hands rubbed soothing circles on your outer knees.

Rotating your hips against his face wanting more, but unable to open your mouth and say the words. His tongue literally had you speechless right now.

“Something wrong sweetheart?” His tone condescending as he smirked up at you. “Did you need something?”

Pushing two fingers inside of you admiring how tight you were. Biting your bottom lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. His fingers felt so delicious inside of you.

Your limbs felt so heavy but relaxed at the same time. Whining down at Oliver to go faster, and he responded with a light chuckle.

“Can’t wait to fuck that little cunt of yours.” He says biting his bottom lip.

His thick fingers continued to slowly thrust and curl inside of you. Waiting for your response as you gasped when he sharply pushed his digits all the way up into your cervix. He was in complete control over you, and had you right where he wanted you.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased when you weren’t responding.

Watching intensely as your mouth hung open, and only little squeaks came out. Kissing up your stomach as he nuzzled your hot skin loving how vulnerable you were for him. Really pulling against your restraints hoping he would untie you.

“Such a poor little thing aren’t you.” Oliver coos into your ear. “So desperate to cum.”

“Ollie.” Mewling desperate to grip onto his locks or just something.

Instead of responding he just pulls apart your thighs even more. The slight burn radiating all the way down to your calves. Meanwhile he just stared between your legs licking his lips noticing just how wet and raw you looked.

“Fuck just look at you.” Shaking his head in almost disbelief you were all his. “Look so fucking beautiful.”

Watching as he lowers one of his hands to grip onto his very erect cock. Stroking himself groaning in pain from how sensitive he was. All he wanted right now was to bury himself deep inside of you.

Even though it was a very simple motion it was still the hottest thing you had ever seen. Grinding your hips into the air wanting him to touch you or something. Of course Oliver saw what you were doing and grinned down at you.

“What do you want darling?” Reaching out to grip softly onto your neck with the same hand that gripped his cock just seconds ago.

“Oliver.” Whining up at him just hoping he would give it to you.

“No no.” He shakes his head at you. “My sweet girl I want to hear you say it.”

His hand tightening around your neck just slightly. Feeling the pressure of his fingers against your throat. Smoothly running his hand down past your collarbone, and in between your breasts. Feeling just how heavily your were breathing.

Oliver was known for pushing you past your comfort zone. He wanted you to always give in to what he wanted when it came to sex. He wanted you and nobody else.

Just to tease you even more he places the tip of his cock at your entrance. Gathering your juices and rubbing it up and down. Twisting your hips to get more, but he just grabbed your hips to keep you still.

“Tell me like the good little girl you are.” His tip barely just entering you.

“Please fuck me Oliver.” Finally able to say the words. “Just fuck me so hard I want your cock so badly.”

Smiling down at you as he leaned forward to attach his lips to yours. His mouth moving along yours in such a sensual manner you felt so many sparks of fireworks. Feeling the outline of his cock pressed against your cunt.

Pushing his tongue inside your mouth at the same time he pushed his length inside of you. Swallowing your moans as his hips were pressed into your pelvis. Staying there for just a few seconds so you could adjust. Savoring the moment your walls enclosed around him like little suckers.

“Such a tight delicious cunt for me.” He groaned as he pulled out and pushing back in. “Gonna have to fuck you more often sweetheart.”

He begins to pound into your cunt with no mercy. The sounds of his hips slapping against yours. Moving the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. His little grunts echoing in your ear and he moved relentlessly inside of you.

Feeling the fabric rubbing against your skin even harder creating a burning sensation. Typically the pain would have brought tears to your eyes, but right now it was only heightening the pleasure even more intensely.

“Look at me sweet girl.” Commanding you noticing your shut eyes. “Look into my eyes as you cum around my cock.”

Noticing how his jaw clenched as he grit his teeth staring deep into your eyes. Feeling your cheeks begin to become hot with such an intimate interaction. It was just you and him in this moment, and he wanted you to become lost in each other.

“That’s my good girl.” He praised you. “Always such a good sweet girl for me.”

Wrapping your legs tightly around his waist as you began to feel that intense feeling building inside your stomach. Breasts bouncing back and forth with the motion of his rocking. His eyes looking down at them with lust. Unable to bear it anymore as he attached your left breast into his mouth.

“Oh my god.” Crying out throwing your head back.

Oliver could tell you were right there with each squeeze around his cock. He wanted to cum at the same time that you did. Holding himself back from spilling his seed inside of you too soon. Sweating so heavily he felt like he would almost pass out.

Lifting his head to look down at where you two are connected. Noticing as each time his cock pulls out a white creamy like substance strings along his length. The image drives him absolutely feral. Moving in and out of you so harshly your afraid he might actually break your body.

Your pathetic whimpers and moans are what keep him motivated. His eyes staying concentrated on your completely blissed out face. Your pupils are so dilated from being high off of each other.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” He begs you unable to hold back any longer. “I’m right there.”

One of his hands reached down between you two to rub circles against your bundle of nerves. That was enough to send you spiraling. Your toes curling as your whole body shook with such an intense orgasm. Legs trembling against Oliver’s hips as he held onto you.

Spilling his own seed inside of you his cock twitching a couple of times as he drained the last of his fluid. Laying against you feeling absolutely tired but relaxed.

“Was that okay?” He asked timidly as he reached up to untie your sore wrists. Your limbs falling straight down. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No.” Responding out of breath eyes fluttering. “No Ollie it was perfect.”

“Good.” He smiled up at you snuggling against your sweaty body his head on your chest. “Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

#oliver quick smut #Oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagines #barry keoghan #Barry keoghan smut #Barry keoghan x reader #Saltburn #Saltburn smut

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shalotttower · 5 months

Text

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere #hunter x hunter fanfic #chrollo lucifer x reader #shalott fanfiction

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miyacults · 3 months

Text

red, blue and yellow lights.

( ft. satoru gojo. )

It’s hard to tell you a cold, numb no. How does Suguru has it in him to ever deny you anything and make you behave? Satoru doesn’t have that much power over you. Yet. It’s the other way around entirely. Usually, you have Satoru wrapped around your dainty fingers… but this time isn’t usual at all.

> part 2.

wc: 4k (unedited im soreeey)

cw: fem reader (afab). only gojo action here but poly satosugu is super implied. +18, explicit content. smut. minors do not interact. slight age gap, reader is younger than both of them but not much and is not stated at all. daddy kink and daddy dynamic so be careful!!! rough sex/rough satoru. manhandling. slight hints at dacryphilia. slight chocking. marking (one hickey). unprotected sex, p in v sex. little mention of blood. that should be all! enjoy <3

It was raining the first day it happened—sky practically crying at the sight of you three, already sinking down in the problems to come for such a reckless call. Satoru and Suguru are the strongest ones, so they know better and they pride themselves with this fact. They’re smarter than the rest, both devastatingly attractive, even more so than anyone could ever imagine and…simply superior. But the first time they didn’t knew better.

Or they didn’t care to.

The second time shouldn’t have occurred. They should’ve weighed into the idea of not stumbling upon the same rock again—but they did it nonetheless. How couldn’t they? When the rock herself got the touch of angels, the voice of the gods and a face made in heaven. Anyone in their right mind would have done the same.

And so the third and the fourth come, and suddenly they stop counting how many more times have they been opening the gates of hell for you three to freely wander—toying with the risk of losing it all, as sorcerers always do. Stumbling upon a path of no recovery, stranding themselves into a new kind of addiction capable of surpassing that of what power and glory and the god-like status they hold has been pumping their veins for a while now.

Satoru likes to share everything with Suguru. And Suguru likes to share everything with Satoru. Where one goes, the other follows. If Satoru likes it sweet, then Suguru deals with the bitterness, and if Suguru wants it that way, Satoru will pave it himself without a second thought. They’ve been complementing each other for so long, it was only natural for this to happen.

For you, to happen.

But even them have their own ways of becoming addicted to you.

“Please,” you’re saying—sobbing, actually, clenched teeth chirping, violent tremors ripping inside your chest, glimmering tears staining dainty features—and Satoru already feels the weight of guilt swallowing him whole. Tense lips press each other firmly in a straight line, azure eyes shutting together as lithe fingers ghost the overly sensitive skin of his neck. “Please, ‘Toru—”

“No.”

He needs you to shut up, fast.

The name—his name—is hanging dangerously at the tip of your tongue, too close to being spilled out loud, too close to make an even bigger mess than the one he’s already sitting himself on.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you’re murmuring now against his sealed lips, small cries leaving your mouth, basically straddling his lap as you desperately try to adjust yourself over the growing bulge in his pants—bare, tight little cunt fluttering at the small friction. “I’ll behave, please, just let me ride your cock for a little while, please.”

“Oh, sweets,” Satoru heaves an exasperated sigh through a low, nervous chuckle, hands running through snowy hair crystal clear gaze finally fixing on you. “You’re gonna be the death of me one of these days, you know that? Suguru told me you were being a brat lately and I didn’t listen to him,”

He’s trying to play it off as best he can, sure, but this is adding up to his temper. His cock throbs painfully inside his trousers. He’s not even sure what time it is—maybe three, four in the morning? He doesn’t know. It’s quite hard to keep the track of time when you’re here to distract him of all the things he should be doing instead, when the blue cotton laced panties—the ones he gifted you like two weeks ago—that are supposed to be covering your greedy, insatiable pussy, are now stuffed in the pocket of his expensive, Tom Ford shirt.

It’s nearly impossible to focus when you’re rolling your hips, humping your needy clit and damping his pants with your juices, causing an unbearable explosion in his stomach, cock hard and full of precum you should be licking off of him.

You should be the one cleaning the mess, not him.

Satoru swallows dry, hands falling in a thump over the armchairs of the couch you’re both sitting at. It takes nearly all of his inhuman strength to keep them there, to not let them travel to the hem of your hiked up oversized shirt—Suguru’s shirt, if he recalls correctly—and place them over the heated flesh of your bare ass. It takes everything in him not to squeeze it, knead it, slap it until the skin is red and tender—an unique piece of art only he can make.

“Is that a yes?” You question eagerly, lashes fluttering and eyes sparkling in awe.

“No, baby.”

It’s hard to tell you a cold, numb no. How does ever Suguru has it in him to deny you anything? How does he ever gets you to behave, to make you an obedient good girl? Suguru had you perfectly trained, bunch of rules memorized and practically burned into the tissues of your brain you could recite them in your sleep.

That didn’t stop Satoru from spoiling you rotten, so much it’s a difficult task to fuck the brat out of you every time you spend a few hours alone with him (as Suguru likes to say)—but even if baby gets whatever she asks for during her time with the white-haired man, when she is back with Suguru what Daddy says goes, instantly.

Because you’re just too perfect for them. The apple of their eyes, their pretty baby, perfection in all senses. It makes it easy for you to be awfully good, to sit prettily in Satoru’s lap all the time, spreading kisses all over his face as his enamoured sapphire eyes don’t leave yours—to sleep almost every night attached to Suguru’s chest as if he’s the incarnation of the oxygen you need to breathe.

But even with all of that—Satoru doesn’t have the same power over you, at least not yet. You have Satoru wrapped around your dainty fingers, manicured nails scratching him in what could be a tantrum. He’s incapable of dealing with you all alone, unable to resist your charms, he fails and falls for you hard. You make him sick, you push him off his highs with a mere, chaste kiss, you leave him hopeless to find a cure—pretty, colored sweets popping inside his mouth all tasting of you.

You’re the most powerful drug he has yet to fully taste, a completely new disease that infects his body, mind and soul, so corrosive it sets him on fire and turn his bones into ashes.

“But ‘T—,” you begin, and he has to cut you off immediately, preventing his name to touch your parted lips.

The name is the key—his name in your saccharine sweet tongue is what will lock him away in the gates of the hell you’ve helped create yourself.

“No,” he chastises now rather severely, unnaturally serious for someone like him, hoarse voice sticking at his dry throat. He glances at you firmly as he feels too sober to maintain his posture, hands still refusing to touch you and lips moving away from yours by an inch. “Did you forget how grounded you are, silly baby?” He scoffs, sardonic grin breaking his rather angelic features and turning him into something darker.

You frown.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,”

“You did,”

“I did not”

“Oh, but you are,” Satoru’s tone falls an octave, and suddenly you shiver. You’ve heard about it a couple of times in the past—Suguru has mentioned how, from time to time, those heavenly features of him darken, but to you, that sounds so out of character. ‘Toru is bubbly and jolly and he likes to teased and he even has sweets for dinner with you. To you, that can’t be fully true, right?

His tense muscles relax a little, just a little, as his gaze is dangerously fixed on you. Salty tears wither in your lashes and your cheeks, swollen lips now pouting at him for his harsh accusation and his cold tone. “‘Cause you’ve been naughty, baby, haven’t you?” He insists.

Something definitely shifts, but you notice it. It goes from his flaming eyes to the icy touch, to the calm breathing—previously heavy—, to the devious smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips.

And you think about what it has been.

Usually, Satoru would have fallen by now. Usually, he would have been already caging you between the couch and his body, pounding into you and brushing your cervix with the head of his thick cock, slapping at your ass, pinching your tits and biting your lips until they’re swollen and bruised. Usually, he would have been chanting about how good you feel, how insane you drive him, how weak he is to you.

Usually, by this time, things would’ve been getting to an end. Suguru would have entered the living room of the big house they both own, would have probably lifted you like a ragdoll out of Satoru’s lap and would have scolded you for your little tricks, for seeking such a lewd activity when you’ve been recovering from the flu, for coaxing the Strongest into your desires. Usually, Satoru would have been scolded too by his best friend, and you would have cried his name while being carried into the bed where you most definitely would have got lectured for your little shenanigans.

But this isn’t usual at all.

“N-No,” you murmur, bleary-eyed gaze blinking at Satoru.

“You sure?”

You don’t know. Are you? Are you really sure you haven’t been naughty? You shouldn’t be chided for anything by Satoru, right? Because Suguru’s been in a really good mood lately, he even peppered you with kisses before bed, tugged you in with his favorite blanket before laying by your side, and before that he made you dinner and watched an episode of the show you’re currently catching on with you while eating together.

“Are—,” you begin, and for some reason you stumble on your words, unsure about how to proceed. Being talked to like that by Satoru was so strange, he never chastised, about anything, ever. All of a sudden you don’t feel so bold anymore, you’re not quite certain you’ll get away with yours this time—and suddenly, Satoru’s touch doesn’t feel warm, his arms no longer being your favorite, cozy shelter, transforming into something icy, devious, darker. “A–Are you mad at me, babe?”

“Oh yeah, babe,” He repeats slowly, slender fingers finding your thighs, adjusting his grasp on you for the first time, hands pressing your skin with a little bit more of force than needed. “You call me babe a lot, don’t you, pretty girl?”

You blink at him, head lolling to the side briefly. Little mewl of surprise scaping your lips due to how strong he’s gripping your thighs—pads digging the flesh and all.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I do. Trust me, I do,”

“You want me to call you something else?”

He finds it amusing. The way your features crinkle in confusion, genuinely concerned for what he’s saying. It’s nice, he thinks, since he’s usually the one that’s dotting on you all the time—while you dot on your Daddy all the time.

“What is it that you call Suguru, sweetheart?” He asks almost conversationally, nose caressing your cheek delicately.

“Uh–huh,” you try to shift on his lap, backing a little from him, but Satoru catches you almost instantly—pushing your face against his torso forcefully. “He’s my Daddy,” you end up answering, voice a little muffled by his cashmere shirt.

And he yanks you up without notice, and you whine at the sudden movement.

“Mean” you scoff, the base of your hair being found by his ivory fingers. He catches the strands between them and tugs a little. “So mean!”

“Oh, I’m mean, I’m super mean,” he agrees with a devilish smile spreading from the tip of his lips to his full face. “But you know what you are? An ungrateful brat. And do you know what happens to spoiled, rude and ungrateful brats? They get punished by their daddies,”

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance to as he lifts both of you up from the couch and pushes you over the marble counter of the kitchen, whole body against the cold, solid surface. The action alone knocks a little cry from your chest, glistening tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. And he coos at the sight, he mocks you, looks and talks to you in such a patronizing way you’re complaining about how he can’t scold you, that he’s not Suguru.

“You’re not my D—,”

“Go on, finish that sentence, I dare you,” he warns, azure eyes going completely dark as he hovers over you, steady hands ripping you off of Suguru’s shirt. “I’ll make sure you’re not able to sit straight for a month,”

This time, you’re the one that swallows dry.

And, oh, the way your heart pounds violently inside your rip cage. The way your cunt throbs at the mere image of Satoru stripping himself off his clothes and his dreamy blue eyes don’t move an inch from you, the way your tummy flutters and heat descends all over your now naked body in awe—eagerly expecting his touch, awaiting for him, wanting him to take his way and completely obliterate you.

It’s exciting to push the boundaries a little, test the limits of what’s known and jump into the void. It’s dangerous—with Satoru, it’s unbelievably deadly—, but it sends sparks through your veins. It makes your heart roll, makes you want him even more than before.

You sniff, remnants of tears drying your heated cheeks and little squeals still rumbling through your throat.

“Aw, made our sweet princess cry,” Satoru coos at you, freeing his cock out of his trousers—and it’s worth drooling for, in all honesty, with his rosy pink shade and his angry blushed tip, with his irregularly large violet-like veins adorning both sides, and specially with the dim precum that shines beautifully under the kitchen lights.

He gives it a few pumps, and you can’t help but make grabby hands at him—whiny pout morphing your lips as the sobs return, but this time far from covering up the pain, tears now cracking neediness.

“I want you,” you hiccup as he gets closer, grabbing his shoulders as he positions himself over you.

And you feel him, ghosting the tip of his throbbing cock at your little hole, cold digits caressing your breasts—thumbs rolling your nipples and stealing a soft moan from your lips that Satoru catches quickly with his mouth, merging the two of you in a harsh kiss.

“Mhm,” he’s saying and you yelp, teeth biting at your swell and it’s rough, salty, streaks of crimson with a taste of iron coating him. “Now you want me? But I don’t think you deserve it at all,”

“‘Toru—,”

One slap, straight to your thigh.

“That’s not my name, is it?”

You’ve never felt this kind of exciting fire with him before. It had never been so…primal, so needy, so desperate, entire body jolting in anticipation and tummy in knots out of anticipation. It makes your heart vibrate rapidly behind the ribs, mouth practically watering at the sight of him spiraling in such a state because of you.

“You’re not gonna say it?” He insists, tongue catching your nipple. It’s cold and it sends shivers down your spine, provoking delicious shrieks that resonate in his ears and make his blood run faster. He drives the tip of his cock from the entrance, collecting all your juices and directing it to your puffy clit, all to start circling around the bud—one, two, three, four and more times in a nonstop motion.

It’s has you on edge, really. Body trembling and mind going hazy—all the previous lazy dry humping finally getting to your nerves, pussy clenching the air and hot breath colliding viciously against the lanky man.

“Please,” you beg, quivering under his touch. “Please, ‘Toru, I need you,”

“Not my name, sweet thing,” he sighs in a disappointed tone and, for a moment, you think he actually sounds sorry to prolongue this. But you know he isn’t. Not even close, not even a little bit. “Use the right word and maybe I’ll consider letting you cum tonight,”

The word is there, truth be told, dancing curiously at the insides of your mouth, gagging you up and completely searing his whole name.

It’ll just take a little push to make it go out.

“I—I,”

“Say it,” his hand runs to your neck, fingers wrapping around it and mouth printing an obscure mark to your chin—sucking violently at the skin, a combination of gritted teeth and bloodied lips.

He doesn’t stop the movements of his cock on your clit for a second, and you know he’s starting to get too sensitive himself—cracked groans rumbling from his chest, sloppy hips rolling and nearly slipping inside of your cunt once and for all. Your blood rushes to your ears, eyes shutting close as a new sobs rip through parted lips and delicated nails scratch the skin of his broad shoulders. Heat builds in your belly and you know you’re close—so close to cumming around nothing, merely by the fast friction of his throbbing cock over your clit.

And he notices it at the same you do, so he pulls out and flips you over the marble counter before you can reflect on what he’s doing.

“N–No! Sator—,”

“How empty is that pretty little head of yours, uh?” Condescending. His voice his painfully condescending, and so is his touch, so are his hands smacking your ass as the side of your face hits the counter. “You’re not cumming until you say the word,”

It’s a simple word, four letters that you have to spill, wrap your skilled tongue around it and push it through your swollen lips and into his ears. That is all you have to do. So you do.

“Daddy!” You finally yelp, vocal chords shaking the word out like a quake. It’s pathetic, even, how five simple letters merge into cries, becoming an incoherent mess that all can do is say it repeatedly. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. The name buries deeply in his ears and finds a home in the roots of his heart, forcing an explosion of something he can’t quite describe onto his veins. It reduces him to ashes, it revolves everything in his mind and suddenly—suddenly he’s back in control, suddenly he’s not a wandering dog anymore begging go you, suddenly he doesn’t turn into pieces for you to pick up.

Still, you drive him insane. Still, he’s weak to you. But you’re no longer in control and that fuels him like nothing will ever do.

And all your babbling keeps you from catching on his moves until he’s already sinking in your cunt roughly. You sob at the intrusion, pain exploding in your stomach and ache consuming you by the burning stretch.

“S-So good, baby, my baby is so good,” is all he grunts out, pressing his forehead into the back of your head.

He fucks you raw, more than he has ever done before. He fucks you so hard your limbs go numb and the only thing that stays clearly in your mind is that he’s also your Daddy now. He thrusts his hips into yours intensely, so much he basically has you bouncing the marble, and you scream so much it wouldn’t be a surprise if Suguru runs out of the room to make sure no one is slaughtering you, their sweet little princess.

It doesn’t take much after that for you to let go, with body and cervix bruised by his hands and cock, cumming within minutes of hips thrusting into your tiny hole. And he fucks you full of his cum, too. Too many times for you to properly remember the exact number, too much that you feel it dripping from your cunt, all over your thighs and into the counter—marble stained with the sticky substance. And he doesn’t stop at that, either, not until your face, your breasts, your belly and both your holes are so full of his cum you’re close to drooling it, too.

.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡⠀⠀⠀.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡⠀⠀⠀.

“You left a whole damn hickey on her face, dude,” Suguru’s snickering and he sounds so grumpy as he checks out your sleeping figure curled around his torso, sulky eyes finding the ones of his best friend to recrminate not so silently. “I’m not even that sure is a hickey. That looks like a goddamn punch straight to the jaw,” He then glances down at Satoru, who leans against the wall of the living room, eyebrows raised and lips chopping mindlessly around a cigarette. “Did you punched my baby?”

“Shut up,” Satoru snorts, crystal eyes rolling in annoyance. “Aren’t ya seeing that smile on her face? She’s sleeping like a baby, thanks to me. And she finally has some respect for me, so, we both win,”

“Pretty sure she had things to do early today,” Suguru mumbles, one hand holding the cigarette and the other mindlessly caressing your back above the shirt—Satoru’s shirt now—that covers your frame. “And in the afternoon, too. Guess we gotta let her sleep,”

“Agree,” Satoru walks to both of you, a shit eating grin flashing his features. “Let her rest and gain some energy. She’ll need it to give a warm morning to her favorite Daddy,”

And Suguru has something to say about that—because he’s sure his the favorite Daddy. But now Satoru thinks the same, too.

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thebiggerbear · 4 months

Text

Dean Winchester x Reader - Prompt Response - "Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.

There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!

This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex

Word Count: 12k+

Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago.

It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?

Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.

You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you.

“Y/N?”

“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”

“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”

“Y/N, I—”

You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.

Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?

You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.

You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance…

He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that.

You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.

Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you.

You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?

A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.

Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.

Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.

You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”

He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back.

You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.

“Hey! Y/N!”

He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.

“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.

He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, I…”

You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”

Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”

“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.

You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.

“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you.

You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs.

“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.

“Will do,” you forced out.

“Good luck,” Jack offered.

When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.

After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s.

Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean.

“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.

Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.

Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.

You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway.

It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.

You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.

You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone.

You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.

You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up.

You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention.

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him.

“What are you listening to?”

He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”

“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.

“What?” He nearly yelled.

You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.

“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.

Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?

You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”

“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall.

Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”

“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.

“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin.

“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.

“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”

“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.

“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”

His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”

“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.

“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”

“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.

You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”

“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”

This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”

He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”

You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least.

“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”

A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.

He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”

You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”

“I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay.

“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.

He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”

You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.

“Really?”

“What? It’s our song.”

You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”

Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.

You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.

A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?

You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.

“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.

You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were.

You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.

You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.

You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.

Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.

You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.

You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.

You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.

“How?” Sam finally asked you.

You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.

“Were you ever going to?”

Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.

You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”

Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control.

You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise.

You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.

So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help.

“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”

“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”

You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”

“You betcha. Talk soon.”

You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How?

It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”

It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.

It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then.

You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.

Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.

A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”

You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.

“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.

You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head.

Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”

Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”

“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”

Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”

Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”

Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”

If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”

“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”

Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly.

There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.

Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?

He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him.

“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”

Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”

Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”

Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones.

He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away.

Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why.

He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed.

Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.

The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.

After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard.

When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that.

Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.

Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.

Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”

Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.

His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”

Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”

Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.

“The present,” Jack simply answered.

Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?

“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”

Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.

“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.

Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.

“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.

Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Dean,” Jack called.

When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?

Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:

…When you’d met.

…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.

…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.

…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.

…Your relationship.

…Your breakup.

…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.

…That last night.

…The next morning.

Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning:

…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.

…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.

…Your fears.

…When you’d vanished with everyone else.

…Your panic upon your reappearance.

…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.

…The call from Sam with the news of his death.

…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.

…Your conversation with Sam.

…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.

All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile.

By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”

Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”

Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”

“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam.

Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.

“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”

“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.

Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”

Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.

Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.

“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”

Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”

Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.

Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.

“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”

“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”

“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”

Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same.

Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.”

His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.

“Dean.”

His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”

Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”

Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently.

Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.

“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.

Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”

Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.

“Cas, please…can I touch her?”

“Dean…”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”

Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.

“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”

Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.

“Dean,” Cas gently called.

Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”

“Dean, Jack said—”

“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.

Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”

“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules. Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.

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