#I WROTE FIX IT FANFIC AND I LIKE SOME WORDS IN IT

[vampcastellan]

forever with him, luke castellan fanfic

summary: friends to lovers, sunshine and grumpy, apollo cabin main character <3

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warning(s) : lots of plot, some cringey fluff, cute kissing moments & use of y/n

dedications: my bestfriend honeymoomin. i hope you enjoy reading, i love you minnie !!

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note: hii first time poster here but i’m so in love with luke fics so i wrote my own :)

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everyone at camp half blood knows that the apollo kids are an embodiment of sunshine and happiness. no matter what happens, they always find a reason to make those around them smile and laugh. people gravitate towards the positive energy that being an apollo kid has, and you are no different. even the angsty and moody kids seem to enjoy your presence. luke castellan is the most popular example of this.

the horn echoes in the distance as you wake up, kids slowly pile out of your cabin and walk down to the dining pavilion. mixed foods are spread out for everyone to grab and enjoy. you grab a few small items, fruit, yogurt and an apple juice before heading toward your respective table. 

all cabins have their own tables, and all cabin mates must eat with their siblings. every meal, everyday, forever until they grow up and leave. luke castellan does not follow this rule. 

his brown curls are messy and falling into his eyes, it’s obvious he didn’t sleep much the night before. he walks to grab a plate of mixed fruits and walks towards your table. chiron tried to take away dessert privileges the first few times it happened but luke didn’t care, he still wanted to sit with you. eventually it was a habit for both cabins, luke ate every meal with you instead.

“rough night?” you ask, smiling as he slips onto the bench seat beside you.

“yeah, the twins wouldn’t shut up..” he trails off, slowly piling his plate of breakfast down into his mouth. luke was the head counselor for hermes cabin, which means he didn’t get to sleep until everyone else was taken care of. 

“wanna come to mine and help me study?” you chirp up and turn to look at him, his focus is fixed on the table in front of you both. the ares kids are fighting over who has to scrub toilets after losing the capture of the flag. clarisse la rue, their head counselor is repetitively smacking one of the trouble boys on the head until he stops yelling.

“uhh maybe later? i have training duty today for the new group that showed up last week” luke replied without even turning to look at you. he continued eating his fruit and even continued onto eating some of yours as well. 

“oh it’s okay, i can just study with someone else today” you smiled at him and brushed off how different the rejection felt today. 

“okay, come find me before dinner?” luke asked as he stood up from the bench and grabbed his remaining fruit left on the plate. 

“of course!” you cheerly replied and turned to look up at luke as he hovered over you. he quickly wrapped an arm around your chest and hugged you from behind, kissing your temple before walking off toward the fire pit. every demi-god child has to offer food scraps to their parent, as a form of admiration and love. therefore, the fire pit burns every minute of every day, basically for the rest of eternity as long as camp half-blood stands alive.

and let's just say the flames weren’t the only thing burning bright red anymore.

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you decided to study with annabeth in the athena cabin since luke ditched you for counselor duties. nobody can compete with the smarts of an athena kid, but you were pretty damn close. 

annabeth was incredibly talented in basically everything, but she liked to study architecture specifically. she could ramble about the history and purpose of buildings for days. you on the other hand preferred the easier topics, like high school english and ancient greek history. 

“are you going to tell me what happened at breakfast this morning or not?” annabeth dropped her pencil down and looked straight at you. the burn of her stare was starting to become undeniable to acknowledge. 

“what are you talking about?” you sigh and glance up at her, before returning back to the textbook sitting in front of you. 

“are you seriously this clueless? luke kissed you this morning in front of everyone. you have no feelings about that?” her dead serious look made you feel slightly disoriented. you wait for a few seconds before replying back to her.

“he kissed my forehead, beth. it's not like we made out in front of the entire camp. and why exactly does this matter anyway?” you glare at her confused, squinting your eyes slightly and tilting your head in a questioned manner.

“you really are clueless, aren't you?” she took a deep breath and collected her belongings. “luke has had a crush on you for years, y/n” annabeth beams at you and then your wrist. a thin beaded best friend bracelet sat by itself. luke had made it for you after you arrived at camp, that being almost 6 years ago. he wore his matching one everyday, refusing to take it off even in combat.

“i’ll see you at dinner!” she gives you a quick side hug and then leaves you alone in the cabin to gather your thoughts and feelings. 

and staying with your feelings is exactly what you did. the rest of the day you couldn’t focus on anything but the conversation with annabeth. did luke actually like you back? and if so, how did she know before you did? everything was becoming so complicated and confusing now.

clarisse stopped you on your way toward the training fields, she wanted your help fixing up and decorating a chariot for the camp’s racing event tomorrow. you, being an apollo kid, couldn't possibly deny her request. the two of you worked together for a couple hours, mixing scraps and parts into useful weapons. after she saw how distracted you were when you began painting small hearts along the doors sides, she took a pause. normally this could have passed without question for the aphrodite cabin, but ares? absolutely not. 

“alright, who has you in a love spell y/n? i appreciate the help you know, but drawing hearts on my chariot won't go well with me or any of my siblings.” she questioned you, removing the small hand held paint brush from your grasp. 

“hmm? sorry i’ve got alot on my mind” you quickly replied, giving a sympathetic smile as blush crept onto your cheeks. clarisse looked at you for a moment, sighed, and then walked back toward her side of the cart. she threw the brush back into the pile of others before continuing whatever progress she has at making some wheels spin faster.

“the horn will sound for dinner here soon, you can leave now. thank you for the help” she yelped from beyond the chariot, smacking around parts of steel.

you close your eyes for a moment and deeply exhale. like clockwork the loud conch shell announced that it was time for all demi-god children to meet in the dining pavilion. a sudden wave of worry had overcome your mind and body. 

luke always sits with you and the rest of the apollo cabin. there was no possible way to ignore his actions, or ask him to sit with his own cabin mates. making the friendship awkward wasnt what you wanted to do. this was undeniably going to happen right now, you just needed to act calm and chill like always!

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you slowly make your way out of the forest with clouded thoughts and a funny feeling in your stomach. you meet with annabeth again as you walk past the athena cabin doors. 

“hi y/n, have you seen luke yet?” she smirks at you and wiggles her eyebrows. you stop in your tracks and turn to dead pan her. 

“please tell me you were joking earlier.” you say with a serious face, thinking there’s no possible way that THE luke castellan could ever possibly like you back. 

“wait do you not like him too? i only told you because me and percy were tired of the constant flirting and neither of you were making moves.” she stops beside you and looks at you with a confused face. her happy and fun aura has since fallen after your recent question.

“that’s the issue beth, i’ve been in love with him forever! i never in a million years thought that he could ever feel the same until now. he’s so nonchalant and only ever talks about hooking up with one of the ares kids. i didn’t think he would want someone completely opposite of his personality…” you continue to ramble on, but annabeth’s focus slowly leaves and shifts to something behind you. a pale tone overtook her face about halfway through your speech

“are you even listening to me anymore??? i'm sorry, forget it, i’ll see you at the campfire.” you begin to turn around only to be faced with none other than luke castellan himself. there’s an awkward moment of silence before he speaks up

“you’re in love with me?” he questions, a slight blush is noticeable all over his face. his hands are tucked away into his pockets nervously.

“no no it’s not like- well yes but i can explain, can we talk? alone maybe?” you try to reason with him while hinting toward annabeth to give the two of you some privacy. she kindly understands and smiles at you before walking away and down toward the pavilion. 

“we can talk on the way to my cabin, most of the kids are already sitting down for dinner so it should be empty this time around.” he offers you a smile and extends his hand towards you. without skipping a beat you lace your fingers into his and prepare to walk toward the hermes structure. the silence between you is oddly peaceful, luke’s always been really good at making people feel safe even in the most uncomfortable situations. his hands are warm and soft, his thumb is gently rubbing along your fingers as he guides the way. 

“i assume annabeth told you” he glances down at you and then back up toward the graveled path. his grip on your hand is strong, almost as if he would die if he let go.

“uh yeah, she did..” your throat is suddenly very dry and you begin to feel that funny feeling in your stomach again. 

“i can almost feel the nerves radiating off you, take a breath y/n.” he chuckles as he pulls you toward the hermes cabin doors. gently releasing your hand to open it and gesture for you to enter first. you awkwardly walk inside and head toward the corner where his bed sits. you take a seat on the edge of his bed and glance around as if it's your first time in here. even though you’ve been friends with luke for half a decade, the new found feelings are making you feel like it's your first time hanging out together. he closes the door and walks over to the bed, sitting next to you. his thighs are practically touching you, his hand brushes against yours everytime he tries to move. the tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a butterknife. 

“so do you wanna explain what i overheard you telling annabeth..?” he offers you the chance to talk first, but he doesn't look away from your guys feet on the floor in front of you.

“how much exactly did you hear?” you question him, turning to look him in the eyes. 

“would you be alarmed if i said everything?” he peels his eyes off the floor and glances down at you. his lips are pursed into a small smirk and there's a red tint that lies on his cheeks.

“oh great” you awkwardly laugh and place your head into your heads. luke carefully wraps his hands around yours, pulling them away from your face. he makes sure not to let go of them, as he places both of your guys hands into his lap.

“i like you, y/n. i’ve always liked you, i was just waiting for you to realize it…” his eyes are soft when you look into them. you can see as his eyes dart between your own and down to your lips. the room is suddenly hot, and you feel a gravitational pull toward luke. he must feel it too because within seconds both of you are leaning in. one of his hands comes up to hold your jaw. he’s pulling you into him, and quickly you are inches away from his face. there's a quick pause in his movement before he speaks up. “are you sure you wanna do this?” the gentle look in his gaze is the same he’s always given you. this whole time he was admiring you from afar, and you had no idea until this very moment.

a radiant smile overcomes your face, you nod your head and lean into him. luke’s other hand reaches up to hold the other side of your face. 

his lips finally meet yours, and the feeling can only be described as euphoric. you’ve dreamt of this happening for years and years, but nothing could compare to the real thing. his movements are gentle, guiding you through the moment. his lips are warm and welcoming. his hands move toward the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side and deepening the kiss. 

moments pass before you finally pull back, making an attempt at catching your breath. luke, refusing to let you go, happily places small kisses over your lips and cheeks. you throw your head backwards and giggle as luke wraps his arms around you. 

“i suppose this means you definitely like me too, right?” one of his hands is gently playing with the hair that frames your face, as the other is rubbing your back. “you’d be stupid to think otherwise, luke castellan.” you respond and smile, leaning into his soft touch. he takes this moment to kiss you once more before pulling you into his chest. the two of you sit there for a few moments, enjoying the moment. 

“we should probably go to dinner before chiron sends someone looking for us” he speaks and leans up. you follow his movements and nod your head slightly. luke stands to his feet and gives you his hand, pulling you to your own feet as well. he places one more kiss on your lips before guiding the both of you toward the cabin door. 

as usual he joins you and your siblings, the apollo cabin, for dinner. this night, he sits closer to you, holding your hand under the table and drawing small circles around your fingers. every now and again, you share a look and smile before returning to the conversion happening at the table. everything feels right, and you can't wait to spend forever with him.

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#luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #charlie bushnell x reader #vampcastellanwrites

[hollybell51]

Don't bet on it

Navigation

Castiel x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm shocked too dw)

Summary: I have no idea how to describe this I'm so sorry it's just smut. There's also some morning-after shenanigans. Believe me if I could I would but thinking of a title was hard enough.

Content: Just... pretty much 9.6K words of shameless Cas smut because I love him. Only one bed, porn with a plot, friends to lovers (sort of), little bit of hurt/comfort and first aid (?), Cas is a bit of warning honestly. Smut: Cas is a virgin, first kiss, making out, hickeys, blowjob, handjob, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (yikes), fingering, very very light dirty talk, very loving very gentle sex, sharing a bed. Dean is a bit of an oblivious idiot, Sam is less oblivious.

Notes: I wrote this while trying to fall asleep at my friend's house and didn't proof read. I've also only known Cas for six episodes (almost seven), so most of the characterisation for him is based of gifsets, incorrect quotes, and other fanfics (so is the lore/plot because I'm not that far into the series yet but I was impatient so just ignore any mistakes or plot inconsistencies if you find them, although I did try). Hence it's probably bad. But oh well, this wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it and like I said I'm impatient and also I'm a little bit proud of the smut alone and he's fucking hot I mean come on. Dean Winchester is a better man than me because god damn I would've jumped his bones the second he looked at me and I have no idea how he didn't. Be nice.

Cas was watching you. Again. It wasn’t like you minded, but something about his cool eyes following your movements from across the booth made butterflies swirl in your stomach. You were acutely aware of every single bubble in your glass of lemonade, every clink of the ice cubes, every slurpy noise it made through the straw you were sucking on. You probably looked a bit stupid, hunched over your drink and the plate that had contained your burger, the huge shirt you’d borrowed from Sam while the one you’d packed for yourself dried rolled up to your elbows, hanging off your shoulders way too much to ever be considered cute. Not that you wanted to look cute, and not that it mattered, but…

“There’s a pharmacy down the street,” Sam was saying. “They’d probably have more of that antiseptic, right?” 

There was a pause in which you snuck a glance at Cas. His gaze was fixed on the bubbles clustering on your straw, mildly interested as they formed and floated away, formed and floated, again and again in an endless cycle. You’d never found bubbles so fascinating, but now that you looked – and you knew he was looking too – there’d never been anything so beautiful. 

“(Y/N)?” 

Right, yeah, antiseptic. The cut on your shoulder seemed to itch at the thought, prickling under the carefully applied dressing. You’d done it on a barbed wire fence that had barred the entry to a nest of vampires, and a day later Sam was still worried it would get infected. It wasn’t exactly a clean cut – the fence had been filthy, and your assurance that yes, you were up to date with tetanus shots had stopped him driving you to a hospital. You appreciated the concern, but really, you were sure it would be fine. 

“Mhm,” you answered, leaning back in your seat. “D’you think it’ll still be open?” 

Beside you, Dean frowned, looking around for a clock. “It’s not that late, right?” 

“There’s an open sign in the window.” All eyes swung to Cas, who shrugged, pointing. “It’s lit up,” he added. 

“Oh, right,” you said faintly. “Thanks Cas.” 

He smiled, a tiny twitch of his lips that had no right to make your heart speed up as much as it did. “That’s ok.” 

You smiled back. Your face seemed determined to ignore your brain and grin like an idiot, and it was a damn struggle to keep it to a normal expression. 

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and bursting the little bubble you could have sworn you’d been stuck in. You would have liked to stay there, where it was just Cas smiling at you. But no, you were being silly. 

“Right,” you echoed. There was a slightly awkward silence, in which you swirled your straw around idly, watching Cas watch the movement of ice cubes and bubbles. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t really believed he was an angel. He seemed so… ordinary. Shabby, even. But the longer you were around him, the surer you’d become that he was the real deal. Strange, not what you’d expected at all, but a real honest-to-goodness angel nonetheless. Even now that he was human, there was still definitely something otherworldly in Cas. Something that, despite the grime and rust of the lives all four of you lead, was almost pure, precious to you, and a little unnerving all at once. 

“Do you want some?” you asked, gesturing to your drink. 

Cas’s eyes snapped up, almost guiltily. 

You smiled. “Lemonade.” 

He nodded slowly.

“Here.” You pushed the glass across the table, leaning your chin on your hands and watching as he moved the straw around, then sipped it. You’d been having way too much fun plying him with new things to taste, since food now actually tasted like… food. As opposed to molecules. Apparently. 

He wrinkled his nose, drawing back and staring at the glass. Then he leaned forward again and took another sip. There was something in his near-childlike wonder that made your heart ache, the appearance of innocence and naivety so profound that it was hard to remember he was – had been – a soldier. A divine soldier of God. Watching him made you want to reach across the table and just… Well, you didn’t know what it made you want to do. Grab him, maybe? It didn’t matter. 

“Any good?” Dean asked, watching Cas mildly. 

“It’s very sweet,” he reported. “And sticky.” 

Despite yourself, you laughed. 

Cas surveyed you, then gave another of those little smiles you’d come to treasure. He took another sip, his eyes never leaving your face. 

You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper aware of exactly where you were and what you were supposed to be doing. Not staring at – “mooning over” Dean had teasingly called it not even three days ago, a thought that still plagued you – Cas, that was for sure. You slid out of the booth, since you were the one who needed the antiseptic and you were on the edge. “I’ll go across, meet you back at the hotel.” 

“You sure?” Sam asked, watching as you dropped some money on the table. Enough to cover your burger and a small portion of the tip. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” You turned towards Cas, shooting him a small smile. He looked a little confused, and you couldn’t deny the pang of guilt that tugged at your insides. “You can finish that off,” you told him, “if you want.” 

“Thankyou,” he said after a moment. 

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded to Sam and Dean, the former of whom was staring between you and Cas with a look of what could only be described as incredulity plastered across his face. You were going to ignore it, you decided. “Seeya later,” you said, and left. 

You stood before the motel room, shopping bag in hand, staring at Sam’s text. Had he and Dean done this deliberately? Was this some kind of conspiracy between the two of them? 

“Room 09,” the message read, “you’re sharing with Cas.” And then, shortly after; “Don’t worry, it’s a double.” 

Well, you thought, at least you wouldn’t have to share a bed, and at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of Cas taking the couch – even though he insisted he didn’t mind, and refused to let you do it. 

Just as you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open and there stood the former angel, still in his beige trench coat, tie and all. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off. 

“Hi,” you said, slightly breathless. There was something stupidly endearing about the way he just stood there, looking at you. 

“Hi,” he repeated. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly, you squeezed past him into the dully lit room, switching on the light with your elbow. Had he just been sitting in here by himself, in the dark? You hoped not, but at the same time, it was exactly the sort of thing you could imagine him doing. 

You deposited your groceries – the antiseptic, a new packet of dressings, painkillers, and a twix you’d grabbed at the counter. You’d figured you could share it with whoever your roomie was, and now you were glad you’d had that foresight. You turned, surveyed the room, then did a double take. Surely not. There had to be something you were missing. 

But no, on closer inspection, your eyes were not deceiving you. There was only one bed. A double bed, sure, but still only one bed. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you muttered, already reaching for your phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows. 

“Sam said this was a double,” you told him. 

“It is.” 

“Yeah, but there’s only one bed. I always feel bad kicking you to the couch.” 

“I don’t mind. And besides,” he added, “you’ve never kicked me.” 

“No it’s–” you broke off, catching his smile. “Yeah, alright” 

The smile widened. He was a little too proud of himself for your liking. 

You looked away, hoping to hide your own grin as you dialled Sam’s number. “You said it was a double,” you accused before he could even greet you. 

“Yeah, hi to you too,” he snorted. “It is.” 

“There’s only one bed, Sam. Does your room have only one bed?” 

“No, we’ve got two singles.” 

“Lucky you,” you practically spat. “Now I’m gonna have to live with the guilt of knowing Cas is on the couch.” 

“So?” You could almost hear the frown in Sam’s voice. “He doesn’t mind.” 

“I know, but–” 

“Share the bed with him if it bothers you that much,” he cut you off. In the background, Dean was saying something. Sam shushed him. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.” 

“What’s that supposed to–” 

He interrupted you again, all too cheerful. “You’ll sort it out.” 

You stared at the phone, “call ended” flashing up at you. “Fuck you, Sam,” you sighed. 

By the door, Cas frowned. “Is something the matter?” 

“No,” you sighed again, grabbing the dressings and antiseptic and taking a seat on the end of the singular bed. Through the gap in the curtains, the sky was darkening from the pale purple it had been at the diner to a deep indigo. “Just… Sam.” 

Cas nodded solemnly, as if he knew exactly what you meant. 

You tried not to pay too much attention to him as you unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, sliding it down off your shoulder to bare the current dressing. You’d had it on all that day and the night before, so you figured it was time to change it. Gently, you peeled back the adhesive, hissing as the air brushed over the cut. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, mostly scabbed over and less raw-looking than when you’d first applied the dressing, but it was still tender. It was awkward to reach too, running from your shoulder along your collarbone, stopping just shy of the centre of the sternum. Stupid, you’d cursed yourself when you’d done it, and you cursed yourself again now. 

“Would you like some help?” 

You looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes. Soundlessly, he’d crossed the room and was now standing directly in front of you. 

He gestured to the cut. “It looks hard to reach.” 

“Uh, yeah, it is.” You shifted over, making room for him beside you. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” He sank down beside you, his weight tilting you towards him. Your stomach lurched. 

Determinedly dismissing it, you turned slightly to face him, one leg dangling off the side of the bed, the other folded under you. Almost immediately you wished you hadn’t done it, because now all you could see was him, bent over you, his face impassive and focused to a fault. 

He took the antiseptic from you, gently dabbing it along the edges of the scab. 

“Is that alright?” he asked when you gasped softly. 

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Just… stings a little.” 

Guilt flashed across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s not you. You’re fine,” you assured him. “It’s the antiseptic, it’s normal.” 

“Should I keep going?” 

You nodded, your heart racing. His skin was cool where it brushed yours, the shitty lighting somehow playing tricks with the colours in his eyes, making them appear even more startlingly blue than usual. Those eyes were fixed on your cut, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“I wish you’d taken me with you,” he said as he reached for a dressing pad. 

“Hm?” You frowned, unsure what he meant. You’d gone alone, which wasn’t why you’d fumbled crossing the fence, but it certainly hadn’t helped. Sam and Dean had been after a demon in the next town over – it took precedence over vampires, you all knew that – and Cas had been with them. You’d been convinced you’d be alright to tackle such a small nest, it was only three, barely a nest at all, and had insisted on it. But still, you’d been a bit more wired than usual, and that was probably to blame for your bungled entrance. It didn’t matter now, you were fine. They were dead. 

He shrugged, smoothing the dressing over your skin more gently than you’d ever thought possible. “On the hunt. I wish you’d taken me with you.” 

“Nah,” you shook your head, trying to dispel the ache his action caused inside you. “You had other stuff on. You don’t need to be wasting time running after a nest of vampires, demons take priority.” You smiled. “You’ve got more to worry about than a silly little hunter who can’t jump fences.”

Cas looked up, that little wrinkle reappearing on his forehead. “That’s not true,” he said, “I’ll always have time for you. I’ll always worry about you.” 

You froze, taken aback by the… intimacy of the words. You’d mentioned before that you liked when people just said what they meant (“Even if it hurts you?” he’d asked, frowning. You’d said that you’d rather that than be left searching for double meanings and hidden clues, and he’d seemed to find that acceptable.), and since then he’d indulged you in that regard. But this felt different, it felt more real than anything he’d ever said to you before. He’d always have time for you, he worried about you. 

“Really?” you asked. “You mean that?” 

He nodded, his eyes sincere where he held your gaze. There was something here, you knew, something tingling in the air between you. You’d half thought you were imagining things when you noticed him looking at you. You’d chalked it up to him being, well, Cas, and hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell too long on the glimmer of hope that it was more than that. And he’d been an angel for Pete’s sake; divine, untouchable, totally out of your reach. But here, now, with his hand resting where it had settled on your thigh and his face inches from yours, the dimness of the motel somehow illuminating every dancing fleck of colour in his eyes, every beautiful shadow and line on his – human – face, you weren’t ignoring it any longer. 

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You’re important to me, (Y/N).” 

Oh. Oh. There it was.

He was still looking at you, but there was a hint of what you would have said was nervousness, maybe apprehension, mixed with the sincerity and lingering concern in his eyes. It was so… raw. You felt strangely vulnerable, while at the same time like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. 

Involuntarily, your eyes flicked down to his lips, your breath hitching in your chest. Fuck it, you thought, then closed the few inches of space between you and pressed your lips to his. 

He was completely motionless, and for a wild moment you were convinced you’d grossly misread something and had just made a massive mistake. Then it was like he was coming to life beneath you, pushing back against you, his lips parting under yours, his free hand finding its place cupping your cheek. His mouth was soft, impossibly soft. His tongue, when you brushed against it with your own, tasted like your lemonade. 

It was near dead silent in the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant thrumming of traffic outside the only noises. Then, as you slid your hand up over his leg, fingers squeezing gently at his thigh, Cas made a sound. 

It was halfway between a sigh and moan, tiny and restrained, and you could feel him hesitate in the kiss. This is new, it said. This is nice. You let your lips curve into the smile they’d been trying to, squeezing again. It’s alright, you told him with your hand, you’re alright. 

You drew back momentarily, sucking a quick breath as Cas chased you, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer and closer and closer and closer and impossibly closer until your chest met his. Then you were shifting into his lap, swinging your leg over his and straddling his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. It sure felt like it. 

“Cas,” you breathed, breaking away properly this time and raising your hands to cup his face. “Castiel.” 

“Hm?”

You moved your thumb in a soft arc over his cheekbone, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His lips found your hand, peppering your palm and wrist with featherlight kisses. 

“Can I?” you asked, reluctantly freeing a hand to push at the trench coat he was still wearing. 

He looked up, frowning. “What?” 

“Take it off,” you whispered, then heat rose in your cheeks. “If you want to, of course. If you want this. You don’t have to.” 

He shook his head, pulling back to shrug off the heavy piece of clothing. The blazer followed. He loosened his tie, then seemed to think for a moment before undoing it altogether. It was the first time you’d seen him without it, and he looked… different. Unguarded, almost. Then he was reaching up and unfastening the buttons of his shirt, torturously slowly. He paused, meeting your eyes. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You smiled, nodding. You’d been staring, you realised, watching his deft fingers work at the material so intently that you hadn’t been thinking about what would show on your face. You took over, finishing off the last few fastenings and pushing the shirt back off his shoulders. You didn’t know what you’d expected his body to look like. You’d had the vague notion that it would be nice, that it would somehow match the rest of him, and you hadn’t been wrong, but now that he was in front of you that same disconcerting feeling of unearthliness haunted the back of your mind. This was Cas, Castiel, and that made it somehow hallowed – irony aside. 

“Are you alright?” He was peering up at you, apprehensive. 

You nodded. “Are you?”  

He echoed your gesture, his fingers running along the collar of your own shirt. A question, a request, testing the waters. 

Careful of your still-tender shoulder, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it smoothly over your head, then undid your bra and cast it to the side. Cas’s eyes snapped to your chest, interest and a sort of hunger mixing on his face. Hesitantly, slowly, his hand inched up your waist to your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He paused. 

“It’s ok,” you breathed. When he still seemed wary, you reached down and took his hand in your own, guiding it to your breast and giving a gentle squeeze. His breath hitched, his tongue darting out between his lips. 

“I’m…” he broke off, swallowing hard. He shifted, a hard bulge pressing against your thigh. You smiled.

“Hm?” 

“I’m… I’m kind of…” He stopped again, floundering. 

“It’s alright, Cas. You’re alright.” 

He looked up, something close to nervousness dancing across his face. “I haven’t done this before,” he whispered. “I don’t know…” 

Oh. Right. Why hadn’t you thought of that? It made sense, you supposed. Despite Dean’s best efforts, Cas hadn’t picked up the other guy’s… habits, at least not yet. You’d wondered about it briefly before coming to the conclusion that it had to be an angel thing, a choice on his behalf. You knew some people didn’t want that with just anyone, which you could understand. What you couldn’t understand was a world where nobody was interested in Cas, but then again, you might have been biassed. 

You bit your lip. “Do you want to? It’s ok if you don’t.” 

“I do,” he said, his hand still resting on your chest. “I really do, (Y/N). But I don’t know… what to do.” 

“I’ll help you,” you assured him, affection blooming in your gut. And alongside it, an odd sort of pride. Cas was trusting you here, enough to admit he didn’t know what to do. It was more than any guy you’d ever been with had been willing to give away. 

“We’ll go slow,” you continued. “You tell me what you like, what feels good. If you wanna stop, you say so, ok?” 

He nodded. 

You took his face in your hands again, running your fingers over the rough stubbled coating his jaw. “Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he murmured. 

You trailed your hand down his neck, along his collar bone, over his chest. His skin was soft, smooth. It wasn’t scarred like Dean or Sam’s or your own, and suddenly you wondered if that was somehow a turn off for him. He’d been an angel, immortal, eternal, unblemished even now. If he hadn’t done this before, or even if he had with a normal human, he probably wouldn’t have encountered the kind of skin a hunter such as yourself possessed. Would it bother him? 

Then his chest heaved under your hand, the flesh twitching as your touch crept lower, sideways, up again, mapping the expanse of his torso. He moaned softly as you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, fingers splayed over his heart. Again, you swept down the centre of his body, all thoughts of your own imperfections dashed from your mind as you revelled in the little hums of pleasure you were coaxing from him. 

Carefully, slowly, you inched lower. You passed his belly button, the light trail of hair that led down from it, finally encountering his belt buckle. You paused, tracing aimless patterns over the skin just above the waistline of his pants, pushing your fingers below the material after a moment. 

“Is this alright?” you asked, watching his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. 

“Mhm,” he sighed. “Yes.” 

You smiled. God, he was beautiful. “You wanna take ‘em off?” 

At that, his eyes snapped open, the pupils so wide they almost obscured the blue of his irises. “My pants?” he asked. 

You nodded. “You don’t have to, but…” You ran your hand lightly over the increasingly noticeable bulge you could feel. “I can touch you? Here.” 

He stared. “Do you want to?” 

You gave a little huff of laughter, nodding. “Only if you do. I can keep touching you other places if you want, I can kiss you…” You stopped as he deftly reached down and undid his belt, button and fly in one fluid motion, lifting his hips momentarily and kicking off his pants. It was very fast, impressively smooth. And underneath… 

Your mouth watered at the sight. The outline of his cock straining against his underwear, a small wet patch already forming. You usually didn’t indulge the mantra of “bigger is better”, especially not when it came to penises, but there was no denying that your pussy was already aching at the thought of the stretch Cas’s would cause. Not that it was a behemoth, far from it, but he was certainly well endowed.

His voice snapped you from your reverie, jerking your gaze away from his dick and back to his face. “Is that…” he paused, searching your gaze anxiously. “Is it alright?” 

Your heart melted. “Oh, Cas,” you sighed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Just perfect.” 

A sound that could only be described as whine slipped from his still kiss-bruised lips, sending a bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. Before the request had formed on your tongue, he shed his underwear too, leaving himself bare to you. 

“Have you touched yourself?” you asked, jerking your gaze from his cock. Fuck, you’d never wanted to lay hands on a dick more in your life. 

Cas looked away for a moment. “No,” he said. “Should I have?” 

You shook your head. “It’s up to you. I’d like to, if you’re ok with it.”

“Touch me?” 

“Mhm.”  

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then nodded.

“Ok.” Dammit, you thought. If this was his first time, you wanted him to feel good. Would he tell you if he didn’t? You thought he would, he was always honest when you asked him to be, and he clearly wanted this. But it was that same want that made you wonder if he’d just keep going no matter what, and you didn’t want that. 

You quickly spat into your hand, stretching up, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then, on second thoughts, you licked softly at his bottom lip. His breath rushed against your skin, the kiss hot and messy and barely even a kiss at all. It was more you licking into Cas’s mouth, Cas experimenting with his tongue in yours. After a few tries he found a rhythm, soft and supple, gentle and careful. Wonderful. 

It was then that you reached down with your spit-lubed hand, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length, coating the whole thing with moisture. There was already a little precum beading on the tip, and you used that too, your hand sliding easily. The skin here was smooth too, apart from the thick veins and swell of the head, the slit that you ran your thumb over, causing Cas to moan – really moan – into your mouth.

“Like this?” you murmured, moving your kisses away from his lips, over his stubble-roughed jaw, down to his neck. You sucked gently at the hollow under his jaw bone, hot and wet, leaving a red mark behind. You moved further down, over his jugular, more and more hickeys blossoming in your wake. 

“Ah, (Y/N), yes–” Cas gasped. “Oh, just like that, please.” 

You hummed softly, his breathlessness coupled with the words themselves like fog clouding your mind. All you wanted was more. More of his ragged voice, more of the desperate pleading, more of his hips jerking up into your hand and as your fingers slid smoothly over his cock. Your mouth paused at the base of his throat, made more apparent by the strain in his neck – the Plender gap, you thought it might have been called. You could vaguely picture that word with an arrow pointing to the spot on a medical diagram, although you weren’t sure why – and sucked a particularly dark hickey into the skin there. His collar would cover it in the morning. 

His hand, which had been flitting about your waist, suddenly found its way to your hair. His fingers tangled in it, pulling your head back up so he could kiss you again. You smiled, your own free hand squeezing at his thigh just as you had before. 

He moaned again, deep in the back of his throat, the sound reverberating through your whole body. How had you waited this long? If you’d known it’d be like this, you’d have jumped his bones the second you laid eyes on him. Hell, you’d wanted to. 

“Can I use my mouth?” you asked between kisses – they still weren’t really kisses by any stringent definition, too messy for that. 

“You are, hm, using your mouth,” Cas pointed out. 

You laughed. It was so… matter of fact. “I mean down here,” you explained, giving his dick a gentle squeeze. “I can keep doing this if you want, but…” 

“But?”

“I wanna taste you, Cas,” you smiled. 

His mouth fell open, his cheeks colouring. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was new to this, you supposed. “Taste me?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded, ducking forward to nip at his lip. “Wanna feel you in my mouth, wanna choke on your cock. I’ll make you feel so good, Cas, I promise.” 

“(Y/N).” His voice was even more gravelly than usual, roughened by the raw desire glinting in his eyes. 

“Mhm?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“That’s sweet,” you laughed again. “I’m sure, Cas. Remember you can stop me whenever you want, though, yeah?” 

“Yeah, alright.” 

“Alright?” 

He kissed you again, more gently and with more precision than before, then nodded. “Go ahead.” 

You felt a grin break across your face, your mouth already watering. You didn’t waste time, giving Cas a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off the edge of the bed and kneeling between his legs, your arms resting comfortably on his thighs. You ignored the slight pull of your cut, taking his cock once more in your hand and pumping it gently, once, twice, three times before you lowered your head and kissed the tip. 

Cas’s stomach twitched, his hand going once more to your hair as his breath caught in his throat. 

“Alright?” you asked, your own breath ghosting over the sensitive area, raising goosebumps. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “Keep going?” 

You smiled. “Magic word?” 

“Please,” he practically growled. 

Alright then. You slid your lips over him, relaxing your mouth as you sank as far down his length as you could. What wouldn't fit in your mouth was taken care of by one hand, the other busy holding his hips down. He nearly whined when you moved, bobbing your head back and forth slowly at first, but faster by the minute. 

“Oh,” he panted, “oh, (Y/N), yes–” 

“Good?” you mumbled, but it didn’t come out sounding like the original word at all. Still, Cas seemed to get the point.  

“So good, feels so good. You feel so good, (Y/N), you have no idea.” 

The praise went straight to your panties, pooling with the rest of the hot wetness that had been gathering steadily. You’d wanted to take your time, be as careful and gentle as he’d been with you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure. 

“Oh,” he whispered again as you sped up, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, the saltiness of his precum mixing with the lingering sweetness of your lemonade. 

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Cas’s hips despite his best efforts to stay still, as well as your hand attempting to hold him down. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, relaxing completely. 

“(Y/N),” he panted. “(Y/N).” 

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos as his fingers tightened in your hair. 

“You look… ah, so…” He paused, the words choked by another moan as your tongue swirled around his cock. “So beautiful.” 

For the second time, your heart felt like it was melting in your chest. You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You were gonna make him cum in your mouth, you were determined. And after that – if he wanted, of course – you’d spread your legs for him and let him fuck you senseless. 

He was close, he was so damn close, cock twitching and fingers clutching desperately at you despite his best attempts to be gentle. “I’m–” He broke off, gasping. “So much, (Y/N), it’s so much.” 

You wondered if you should stop, if you should pull back and ask if he was ok. If he’d never done this before and hadn’t touched himself either, it was unlikely that he’d ever experienced an orgasm. Maybe you should reassure him. You ran your free hand down his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s alright, you tried to say with the gesture, hoping he’d understand. I’ve got you, you’re alright. 

Then he was groaning deeply, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, thighs shaking under you and hot saltiness shooting down your throat. His skin shone with sweat, his chest heaving, his hand gripping your hair so tight it almost – almost – hurt. But it couldn’t have, not when your throat was working to swallow every drop of what he was giving you, not when he looked so beautiful laid out bare above you, not when you could see the pure, raw pleasure painted on his face. 

As gently as you could, you drew back and licked him clean. You rested your head on his thigh, placing a soft kiss there, then drew back and sat, waiting. 

Finally, Cas opened his eyes and looked at you. He took in your swollen lips, the flush you could feel dusting your cheeks, the tears that had leaked from your eyes, the bird’s nest that was your hair. And he smiled, reaching out a hand to help you up. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, settling back on the bed beside him. You took his hands, holding them close to you. “It wasn’t… too much?” 

“It was wonderful,” he said solemnly. Then he looked away. “Can I…”

“Yeah?” you prompted. “Can you…?” 

He turned back, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel like that, too.” 

Your stomach did a flip. “Oh.” 

“Will you show me?” Cas’s eyes searched yours, curious and sincere. And how the hell could you say no to him?

You nodded, unbuttoning your pants and casting them off – admittedly with much less grace and efficiency than Cas. After a moment’s hesitation you did the same to your underwear, dropping them carelessly over the edge of the bed. You could hunt for them in the morning. 

He was watching you the whole time, eyes following every movement you made in that way that was so him. You’d been unnerved by it before you’d gotten to know him, but now it just turned you on. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and ran his hand over your stomach, up, up, up until he reached your breast. He didn’t stop as he had before, his thumb skimming your hard nipple, making you suck in a harsh breath. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Mhm.” 

“What about this?” He slid lower, past your belly button to where your leg joined your hip. It sent tingles running through your whole body. 

“Mhm.” 

“This?” Lower still, over your thigh, along the inside of it, so close to where you wanted him most. 

“Yeah, Cas, you don’t have to ask.” 

“I want you to feel–” 

You stopped him with a kiss, brief and gentle. “Whatever you do is gonna feel great, ok?” 

“But I’m–” 

“Cas.” 

He fell silent when you placed your hand on his face, leaning into your touch. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I’m gonna help you, remember?”

He nodded, leaning forwards to press his lips against yours. He was getting pretty good at kissing, you noted. Not that he’d been bad when you’d started, but he’d figured out what worked with you. 

“Show me,” he urged, the hand that had been tracing over your leg finding yours. “Show me where to touch you.” 

This is it, you thought as he drew back, watching where his fingers twined with your own. He had officially smashed apart your standards for all men – and former angels – with just six words. You did as he asked, drawing his hand down between your legs to your now practically drenched pussy. 

“Here,” you murmured, a little shock going through you as your fingers brushed your clit. 

Cas’s eyes were wide, the pleasure-haze from his orgasm all but gone now. “Here?” he confirmed, pressing gently at the stiff little bundle of nerves. 

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice much less steady than you’d have liked. 

“Like this?” He slid his finger in a careful circle around it, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Yes, Cas, just like that.” 

He did it again, then again and again. You sucked a harsh breath through your teeth, your hips twitching involuntarily. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, Cas.” 

“Is this alright?” he asked mildly. 

“More than alright,” you half laughed, half panted. You broke off in another moan as he moved his hand, sliding the tips of his fingers around your hole, his palm pressing against your clit. You briefly wondered if he was doing it deliberately or just experimenting, and if he’d heard something about how to finger girls somewhere. If so, you wanted to know where. But, you thought a moment later, who really cared when it felt so damn good? 

“Can I?” he murmured, watching your face carefully. 

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “Yeah, go ahead— please.” The word was torn from you in a way that made colour bloom over Cas’s face as he pushed his finger into you. The heel of his hand was still pressing on your clit, and you ground down on it in a desperate search for friction as he added another finger, your own fingers digging into his shoulders and your breath coming in short gasps. 

“Am I…” he started, then swallowed. “Is this good?” 

“So fucking good,” you replied. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” It was ridiculous, unfair. Most dudes who’d tried had lamely poked at you until you’d given up trying to show them and just moaned loudly, leaving them to grin smugly, convinced they’d made you cum. Cas, however, was well on his way to conjuring the real thing. 

He looked away for a moment, a small satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Good, you thought. He should be satisfied, he was fucking phenomenal. “I’m not sure,” he said. 

It was your turn to smile. “Well you are,” you said simply. Then he moved his hand again and all you could think was fuck, because he really was incredible. He was kissing your neck, sucking at the spot where it met your shoulder, his other hand resting on your hip as you rocked against him, his own soft moans mixing with yours.

And God, you wanted him to fuck you. 

“Hold on,” you panted. Much as his fingers were doing it for you, you couldn’t fight the shiver the thought of his cock buried inside you sent down your spine. 

Cas froze immediately. 

“No, no, it’s ok,” you assured him quickly. “I wanna try something else.” 

“Is this not–” 

“You’re doing great,” you interrupted. “I promise. But…” As before, you slid your hand gently down to palm at the already half-formed erection sitting between his legs. 

Cas frowned.

“Would you like to fuck me?” you asked tentatively. You hated how unsure you sounded, how small. 

His eyebrows shot halfway up his face. 

“Only if you want to,” you added quickly. But from the way his dick had visibly hardened at your words, you guessed he probably did. So, you continued, “I’d like it if you did.” 

Again, his tongue darted out over his lips. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I’d like it too.” 

“Ok, what are we waiting for?” You smiled, shuffling backwards and easing yourself back on the bed. When you saw that Cas wasn’t following, you reached over and took his hand, dragging him down on top of you. “Come on,” you encouraged. 

He gave a little “oof” as he crashed against you, quickly propping himself up above you. It looked uncomfortable. 

“Relax,” you said, wriggling into the mattress and running your hands over his arms and shoulders. “It’s alright.” 

“I don’t want to squash you.” 

You smiled, pulling at him to come closer. “You won’t, don’t worry.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do. Besides, I wouldn’t mind.” 

He snorted indignantly. “I would. Then whose lemonade would I steal?” 

You laughed at that. Castiel, former divine soldier of God, joking about stealing your lemonade while he was about to fuck you. If you’d gone back and told yourself from a year ago, she’d have slapped you in the loony bin. “You could just order your own,” you pointed out. 

“I could,” he conceded. “But I will not.” 

“Ok, I don’t mind.” You stretched up, capturing his lips with your own and drawing him down towards you. What you’d said was true, he really didn’t need to worry about squashing you. You liked the warm weight of him, the firmness and certainty that his body pressed against yours brought, his arms caging you to the bed. 

You smiled as his tongue slid along your bottom lip, opening your mouth almost immediately. Yeah, he knew what he was doing now. You hooked your leg over his, pulling his hips hard against your own. You were still tingling, still electrified with want and need from having deprived yourself of his fingers just minutes before, and almost without your conscious awareness you ground against him.

You swallowed the little moan that slipped from his mouth, rubbing your wetness over his hard cock. 

“(Y/N),” he gasped, breaking the kiss, his hips moving in time with yours. 

“Cas,” you echoed, equally as breathless. “Please?” 

He swallowed, his eyes dark. 

“I want you inside me,” you continued. “Please, Cas, I need you inside me. Now.” 

He cursed softly, so softly the only thing you caught was the tone. You wondered what angels cursed by. Not God, surely. But it didn’t matter, because he was taking himself in hand and lining up at your entrance, looking at you for permission. “Here?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Gently, so gently, he pushed inside you. You gave a little whimper that might have been embarrassing in any other situation at the stretch, the delicious feeling of being filled up completely by him. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t even breathing, just staring at the place where your body swallowed his, his eyes wide. 

“Hey,” you said softly, smiling at him when his eyes met yours. “You alright down there?�� 

“Yes,” he whispered, running a hand reverently over your stomach. His fingers brushed over your scars, some silver, some a newer pale pink. Your earlier doubts fluttered to the front of your mind, but you determinedly pushed them away. Now was not the time. 

“You can move,” you told him, rocking your hips gently against his by way of demonstration. Then, “Please?” 

He nodded, one hand resting on your hip as he pulled out a little, sliding smoothly back in. He hummed quietly, did it again, then again and again and again, finding his rhythm. It was good, it was as gentle as everything else, firm enough to pull at that special place deep in your belly, steady and decisive. Most of all, it was Cas. Cas fucking you, Cas’s cock sending spasms of heat through your body, Cas’s hand steadying himself and you, Cas’s lovely gravelly voice mumuring your name. 

He leant further over you, bending his head to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the cut-free side of your collar bone, following it with another, more forceful one, then more until you were sure you looked like someone had spilt wine over your chest. You supposed it was only fair, given how many love bites you’d showered him with.  

“Shit, Cas,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair. You’d always wanted to fix it, stroke it down, maybe make it worse. When you’d first met him you’d gone so far as to tell him to his face that it was “un-angelic”. He’d been amused by that. 

Now, he groaned against your skin. You smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“I’m so close,” you whispered, and you were. The tightness was building in your stomach, coiling and swirling into a dense knot of pleasure. Every movement Cas made had his pelvis hitting your clit, the bedhead hitting the wall behind it – you briefly felt bad for the next room’s residents – and Cas’s cock hitting deep inside you. The only sounds were the squeaking of the mattress – again, you felt bad – and the wet slap of skin on skin, peppered with your combined moans and sighs. 

“Fuck, Cas,” you gasped, your voice rising in pitch as you spiralled closer, closer… “Oh, shit, fuck, oh my God, Cas, Cas, I’m gonna cum, holy shit I’m gonna– Castiel!” 

You let go, your eyes screwed tightly shut, spine arching off the bed as the bomb inside you exploded. Sparks fizzed through your veins, every muscle in your body clenching as stars speckled your vision and you cried Cas’s name over and over like some kind of mantra. 

He hadn’t stopped, in fact he’d sped up, and when your mind finally crashed back into your body his hips were stuttering, his face buried in your neck. He spilled inside you, hot and thick as it had been in your mouth, a deep groan thrumming through you from where his lips still rested on your chest. He stilled after a moment, still holding most of his weight off you despite your arms wrapped around his back, whispering your name like it was a prayer. 

You wriggled sideways, smiling as he went limp and flopped down beside you. Well, sort of beside you. His head and the better part of his shoulders still rested over your chest, his lips ghosting over you in feather light kisses, his hand running up and down your arm. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you whispered after a moment. 

“Hm?” 

“Clean up,” you repeated. “We’re all sticky.” 

“Oh,” was all he said. Then, “alright then.” 

You extricated yourself, squeezing his shoulder gently as you rose and headed for the bathroom. You debated pulling him into the shower with you, but as your eyes settled on the folded washcloth by the sink you scrapped that idea. This would be quicker and easier, and you were tired, dammit. There’d be other opportunities — at least you hoped there would be. 

You wiped yourself down, turning to find Cas standing in the doorway. The flickering yellow neon strip of illumination above the mirror cast weird shadows over his body, still shining with exertion. Beautiful, even with the medley of hickeys on his neck and the mess of his and your cum around his crotch. 

You beckoned him closer, spongeing away the sweat and other spunk coating his skin. Occasionally you’d look up, without fail meeting his eyes. The usual interest had been replaced with something more; something whole and warm and just for you. The thought made your heart skip a beat. 

When you were finished, you stretched up and kissed him again, just once. Then you took his hand, heading back towards the bed. 

He hesitated, and you turned. He was looking at the couch, indecision marring his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I assumed you’d want the bed to yourself,” he shrugged. “You usually don’t share”

Oh, ok. “Usually, yeah,” you replied, as casually as you could. “But I wanna share with you.” You looked down at your still joined hands, pulling gently. “Stay?” 

After a moment, he nodded. 

It took longer than it should have to sort out the stupidly layered sheets and blankets, but finally you were both finished wriggling and shifting around, comfortably facing each other. You smiled at him, taking his hand again. 

“I wondered what it would feel like to lie beside you, while you slept. You looked so… at peace.” He leaned forward the few inches between you, his lips cool against your forehead. “Beautiful.” 

Your voice was quieter than you’d meant it to be, and breathier. “You watch me sleep?” 

“It’s hard not to.” It may have been your imagination, but he sounded a little guilty. 

You laughed, leaning forward to whisper, “That’s a little creepy, Cas.” 

“Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind,” you said after a pause, “but maybe try not to mention things like that. Most people would find it weird.” 

“You don’t?”

You shook your head. “Not when it’s you.” The hand that had been holding his was free now, sliding up to cup his face almost of its own volition. You pressed your lips to his, softly and slowly, sweet as syrup. You shifted closer still, draping your arm over him. 

“Because I’m important to you, too?” he asked when you drew back. His eyes searched yours in the dimness, sincere and open. God, he was just… so much. 

You smiled. “Yeah, Cas, you sure are.”

You woke to a hand running over your shoulder, the rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek and the steady beating of a heart. Cas’s heart, Cas’s chest, Cas’s hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, sitting up. His hand ceased its movements, his lips curling into a gentle smile. 

“Hello.” 

You dipped down, kissing him softly, your finger tracing the outline of his lips when you drew away. “Sleep well?”

He sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze found yours again. “Better than I ever have before. Thank you, (Y/N).” 

“That’s alright.” You looked away, heat rushing to your face. “It was my pleasure.”

“I can see why you – humans – like it so much.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Hm?” 

“Sex,” he explained. “I think I get it now.” 

“Oh,” you laughed. “Well, that was pretty good sex. For someone who’s never done it before, you were amazing.” 

“Really?” He leaned back, surveying your face carefully. 

You nodded. “And anyway,” you went on, “it usually feels better when it’s someone who’s…” 

He waited, watching you stumble over your words. 

“You know…” You paused, swallowing, half wishing you’d just left it at telling him he was good. “Someone who’s special to you,” you finished lamely. 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “then I’m glad it was you.” 

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just smiled and kissed him again. It was slow and lazy, his bare chest silken under your own, nothing but the soft rush of breath and tiny hum he gave, the rustle of the sheets, the ticking of the motel room clock. Then your phone rang. 

“Fucking hell,” you muttered as you broke away, giving Cas a final apologetic peck before making your way to the table where you’d dumped it. Sam’s name flashed on the screen. 

“What do you want?” you growled. 

“Breakfast,” he answered. “What’s up your ass?” 

“I was sleeping” you answered smoothly, then, “I don’t like being woken up.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, alright. Meet us outside in, say, twenty minutes?” 

You glanced at Cas, who was now sitting up and, you guessed it, watching you. You squished the phone to your chest. “Breakfast in twenty?” you asked. 

He nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You couldn’t help staring just a little as he went about getting dressed, drinking in every rapidly disappearing inch of skin like some kind of sexually repressed Victorian maiden. 

“Sure,” you said to Sam, then hung up. The problem that you hadn’t thought through last night was the hickeys. You had a scarf, you could button your shirt over your chest, and thankfully Cas had shown more restraint than you had. The most problematic mark sat right in the hollow under his jaw, two love bites blending together. It wasn’t even hickey-shaped, really, but you didn’t think that’d fool Dean and Sam. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, fastening the final button on his shirt. 

“Nothing,” you sighed. “But Dean’s gonna give us endless – and I mean endless – shit.” 

“You’ve killed demons, (Y/N),” he smiled. “And you still can’t deal with Dean’s endless shit?”  

“Oi! I can, I just don’t want to.” You crossed the room, poking him square in the chest. “And you’re gonna be dealing with it too, so don’t get cocky.” 

“We’ll deal with it together.” It was tentative, almost a question. 

You smiled, taking his hands. “Castiel and (Y/N) vs Dean Winchester’s endless shit. I can work with that.”

Things were a little strange over breakfast. Sam and Dean kept glancing at each other, having their annoying silent conversations that consisted of raised eyebrows and side-eyes, the occasional jerk of the head or twist of the mouth. Self consciously, you re-adjusted your scarf, pointedly not meeting anyeone’s eyes. You’d almost made the call not to sit next to Cas, but then he’d looked up at you from his spot by the window and you didn’t stand a chance. You were grateful for your decision when the food came, it made sharing with him a lot easier. 

“Dude,” Sam said suddenly, twisting to face his brother and nearly taking out his glass of water. The eyebrow raising and eye-widening had gotten more intense in the last minute, and clearly they’d hit a boiling point. 

“It’s not a hickey!” Dean protested. “It’s not even hickey-shaped!” 

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“What?” Cas voiced your thoughts, frowning over the cup of coffee he was nursing. 

Sam sighed. “Cas, look out the window for a second.” 

“Hey–” you started, but you were too late. Both Sam and Dean’s eyebrows shot halfway up their foreheads, and Cas was dutifully peering through the glass. Why did he choose now of all times to listen to Sam? 

“That’s a hickey,” the younger man was claiming triumphantly, nodding to the stain on Cas’s neck. 

Dean whistled softly. “That’s two hickeys. It’s like… a Siamese hickey.” 

“Gross, Dean,” you muttered, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. 

He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful, natural act, (Y/N), lighten up. Congratulations, Cas. Who’s the lucky girl?” 

Sam made a noise like he was choking. You studied your hands on the table in front of you. Dean grinned. Cas didn’t say anything. 

“Was it that waitress?” Dean asked, leaning forwards. “She was cute, man, I’d have tapped that.” 

“No, it wasn’t the waitress.” 

Dean frowned, then his eyes widened. “The hotel receptionist?” he whispered. “Dude, she was a milf. Nice one.” 

“Dean…” Sam started, looking between you and Cas. You glared. 

“What? He deserves a pat on the back. I gotta say, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” 

Sam sighed. “I don’t think it was the hotel receptionist.” 

“No? Who else?” 

Again, he glanced at you. You hadn’t moved, stiff as a statue and bracing for impact. You were so close to just spitting it out right there, biting the bullet and getting it over with. But you hadn’t discussed that with Cas, and you couldn’t exactly do so now. 

Dean was looking expectantly at Sam, who was shaking his head in disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. Then, as if in slow motion, Dean’s face fell and realisation dawned in his eyes.  

“No,” he said softly. “No, you didn’t.” 

It was your turn to shrug. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little bit of a kick out of Dean’s absolutely horrified expression. Endless shit that was about to rain down on you and all. 

“You slept together? You,” he looked at you, “and you?” He looked at Cas. 

“Yes,” the former angel said stiffly. “It was nicer than the couch.” 

“No, I mean–” 

You raised a hand, stopping him. “Yes, Dean,” you sighed. “Just… get it out now.” 

“Aw, man.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “That was you guys?” 

“I told you,” Sam shrugged, looking all too smug. 

Cas frowned. “Told him what?” 

“We could hear you,” Dean muttered, his cheeks going a deep red. “I didn’t think we were sharing a wall, Sam did. Drew me a diagram of the motel layout and everything. I didn’t wanna believe it, I didn’t wanna know that… Aw, man!” 

Sam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand across the table. “Pay up.” 

“Pay up?” You glared at him, incredulous. “What the fuck do you mean, pay up?” 

“I mean he owes me fifty. Thanks for that, by the way.” With this, he nodded to Cas. 

You gaped. “Please don’t tell me you bet on me and Cas sleeping together. And please don’t tell me you bet for it.” 

“What can I say? I knew it’d happen eventually, the way you drool over each other. Not my fault Dean actually took me up on it.” 

You groaned, twisting to bury your face in Cas’s trench coat. Absently, he patted your hair. “Why can’t you guys just be normal about one single thing?” you lamented. “Who the hell bets on their friends sleeping together?” 

“Actually,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon, “it’s a very normal thing to do.” 

“Mhm, back at Stanford–” 

“Back at Stanford,” you mimicked, cutting him off. “I can’t believe you two.” 

Dean held his hands up as if surrendering. “Hey, sorry, but I didn’t think either of you would have the balls to ever make a move. And it was fifty dollars, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t take that.” 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit in the car all day with you.” 

“Me too,” Cas added solemnly. 

You sighed, taking his hand under the table and laying it between you, squeezing in full view of Sam and Dean. Cas squeezed back. 

“You’re not allowed to… do anything in the back of my car.” Dean said after a moment. “Especially not with me or Sam there too.” 

Defiantly, you shifted closer to Cas, fingers still entwined with his, firmly meeting Dean’s eyes. “Don’t bet on it.”

#cas x reader #fem!reader #smut #supernatural #castiel #cas #castiel spn #castiel x reader #castiel x you #cas x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #spn #shameless smut #castiel smut #pwp fic #friends to lovers #only one bed #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #female reader

[atinywhore]

stuffed

pairing: jongho x (fem) reader

word count: 2250

genre: spicy spice :)

warnings: soft dom jongho, biting, lots of praise, fingering, size kink, sorry not sorry, but yo can't convince me that jongho doesn't have a thick cock so, low-key breeding but he just likes to fuck her raw idk what kinda kink you call that (psa: use a fucking condom bitches), uber romantic to lol I feel like he's such a softy, gets off when you come, I think that's all.

an: this is the first fanfic I wrote since returning from my hiatus so it took me a little to get back into the writing and rediscover my own writing style! So I hope you enjoy and please interact and give this lots of love! Happy Turkey day whores ;)

taglist: @mingigoo @ravenjoongie @wickeddarkness-place @whatudowhennooneseesyou @teezers99 @mirror-juliet

The boys love to celebrate American holidays with you. Every year you have fireworks and hot dogs on July 4th, and you always host a thanksgiving day meal. This year is no different. It’s a three day prep event for you and you can’t forget the cooking still needed the day of! Just to say it, it's a stressful but very rewarding day to be able to have a nice meal with the people you love most in the world. They always try to schedule events and showcases around the actual day of thanksgiving so they can celebrate with you. Last year they couldn’t and it really made you upset. It was the first time in three years that you weren’t able to celebrate your favorite holiday with anyone. They saw how upset it made you and they were determined to make it up to you this year, especially your boyfriend Jongho. He took the days leading up to the holiday off of practice for their next comeback to help you prepare the food. 

It was the day of thanksgiving now and despite the help from Jongho, you still were behind. You appreciated his help so much and you knew why he was doing it, but you had to go back and fix the stuff that you assigned him. Most of the time he just sat on the other side of the island and just watched as you moved around the kitchen. 

“Baby can you help me with the turkey.” You asked without looking up from the stuffing you were preparing. 

“Mmm” he replied standing up. You looked up to give him a smile to show your appreciation, but when you looked up you paused all your movements. This happens often. Ever since you two started dating. Jongho’s presence is so big. His shoulders are twice the size as your own and his biceps are almost as big as your head. From the moment you saw him you were attracted instantly. He loves to remind you how big he is and how small you are, especially in the bedroom. Sex with Jongho is very romantic and tender, with a hint of kink. He loves being on top, entrapping you beneath his thick, muscular body. He’ll lean down and speak hot things into my ear to make my orgasm that more intense. You can feel your face warm and your pussy grows slick with excitement. You try to look away before Jongho can see, but I know he knows what I'm thinking about. We haven’t had sex in over a week because his schedule has been keeping him in the studio all day and late into the night, and there was  a huge project that you needed to get done before you could start the thanksgiving prep. 

“What do you need me to do baby?” Jongho says as he steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and places a quick kiss on my neck. You can't help but giggle and instinctively push your ass into his groin. He lets out a little moan into your neck. Before you can get swept up into what's about to happen you kinda push him off of and turn to face him.

“Can you please turkey from the other counter. It’s too heavy for me to lift baby.” He nods and you give him a quick kiss on the lips as a thanks. Turning back to the counter you remember the potatoes that have been on the mixer and rush over to turn the machine off. Lifting the top of the mixer up and removing the mixing attachment you lick some of the potatoes off to make sure the seasonings are right. The butter and salt coats your tongue and you can’t help but moan a little at the taste. You feel a familiar presence behind you once more. 

“Taste good?” Jongho whispers in your ear. His voice sends a shiver down your spine and jolts of electricity straight to your pussy. Your knees go wobbly but his grip on your waist keeps you grounded. 

“Jongho..” You attempt to protest, but it’s weak. 

“Yes, baby?” He says peppering kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hands smooth up your torso and one stops at your breast to tease your nipple beneath the dress and apron you are wearing. His other hand moves up to your neck moving your head to rest on his shoulder so he can have better access to your weak spot. 

“I need to f-finish.” You manage to get out as he sucks on the sensitive part of your neck

“Oh yeah baby? Finish what?” 

“The m-meal. The turkey n-needs to be st-tuffed.” 

“I think you need to be stuffed, not the turkey baby.”

You can’t help but give in to him. Your body continues to sink into his embrace and before you know it you feel your ass rubbing against his thick cock straining beneath his jeans. He continues to suck and leave marks all along your neck and when you reach back and caress his cock, he growls and bites your neck at the contact. You can’t help but let out a gasp. 

“Fuck baby. I need you now.” He says, as he turns you around and throws you over his shoulder. He easily walks the two of you toward the bedroom. In this position the skirt of your dress is bunched up slightly toward your hips exposing your pussy to the cold air of the room, you shiver at the sensation. You start to squirm in anticipation. While keeping your locked on his shoulder Jongho flips your dress the rest of the way up and uses his thumb to tease your entrance. 

“Someone is wet for me.” He says continuing to play around with your pussy. Jongho shifts his head to the closest part of your thigh and bites it hard. You squeal and moan at the pain. He kisses your new mark before tossing you onto your bed. “The things i’m going to do to you (y/n).” He stands at the end of the bed looking down on you and the only thought that is going through your mind is, big. His wide form casts a shadow over you and you can’t help but shiver at the form before you. He lets out a frustrated sigh before he grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it off in one smooth move. He pauses with the sleeves of the hoodie still on his forearms, the material gathered at his middle covering his bare stomach. His broad and muscular chest is now exposed revealing the deep heaving breaths, you realize your own breathing matches his. He is pointing daggers at you with his stare, it's so intense and pointed that you swear your heart skips a beat. His eyes shut slightly as his head tilts left and right, the movement accompanied with the popping of his neck joints. He lets out a moan and his usually big eyes, now half lidded, are pointed at me once more. He removes his arms from his hoodie sleeves and his full torso is now bare. He doesn’t have a full set of abs, but the area is muscular nonetheless. His hands now reach for the button of his jeans but he makes no move to unbutton himself.

“Why is my girl still dressed?” He asks with a shit eating grin lighting up his heated features. He extends his strong hands to help you to your knees. Your shaky hands make a move to undo the bow tying the apron to your figure, but you can’t seem to get the thin straps to budge. You look back up at him to see his arms crossed, making his shoulders look that much broader and stronger than he already does. 

“Need some help baby?” You nod still not able to find your voice, lost in the fog of arousal. He pulls you to your feet, keeping one arm around your waist and the other makes quick work of ripping the fabric off your body, leaving you in your favorite black dress. He turns you around and slowly unzips you from the dress. As the fabric slides from your body you are hit with another rush of arousal. The dress hits the floor and Jongho makes quick work of your undergarments. His hands explore your body, your moans echoing you in the room. His thumbs tease your nipples the way you like as he leaves kisses and hickies on the untouched side of your neck. Once he has you melting in his hands he moves one down over your stomach stopping at your pussy. 

“I bet you are going to be so wet for me baby.” He slides two fingers between your folds, groaning at the state of your pussy. He sinks his teeth into your neck again as he rubs circles around your clit. Your breath hitches and your moans get louder.

“That’s it baby. Sing for me.” He coos as he continues his motions. Kissing and moaning into your neck as he rubs your clit. The build up is coming at you fast, your breathing becomes more erratic and you find yourself swearing Jongho’s name. 

“Fuck- Jongho! I’m-m gonna cu-m.” His thumb takes over for his two fingers so they can slide into your pussy. You gasp and the new sensation sends you over the edge. Your eyes shut and your entire body goes fuzzy with your orgasm. 

You don’t really feel it, but somewhere in your comedown Jongho moves on to the bed. He positions himself between your legs and resumes pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. His back is bent showing off the strong muscles to your hazed eyes as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Pleasure erupts from you again. He moves to your other breast and he hooks his fingers inside, skimming his fingertips over your g-spot. He releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ and removes his fingers from your pussy. You start to whine but stop when you see Jongho take his fingers and suck them clean of your juices. 

“You taste so good, baby.” He smiles and leans in to kiss you. Your lips move against each other like a dance. He takes off his pants and underwear and repositions himself at your entrance. 

“You ready for me baby?” You nod and he doesn’t move.

“I need to hear you baby.” He gives you a longing look, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes baby. Please.” He smiles and pushes himself into you. You hiss at his size as he stretches you. He moans as he slides his full eight inches inside you. He slowly pulls himself back out, repeating the movement. The pain slowly turns to pleasure and you begin to feel the slow build of another orgasm rise inside you.

“Fuck (y/n), your pussy is so good.” He pants. He flexes his hips harder and harder slamming his cock deep inside you.

 “Oh baby, I can never get enough of you.” The mix of your moans and curses fill the room and create a beautiful symphony. He continues to moan sickly sweet confessions into your ear, making your building orgasm hurdle faster toward release. 

“Baby, I’m so close.” You whimper into his general direction, unable to focus your eyes due to the overload of pleasure fogging your vision. You run your hands up his arms dragging your nails along his smooth tanned skin until you reach his shoulders where you sink your nails. He growls and pounds harder into you hitting that special spot causing your moans to grow louder and more intense. 

“Fuck, come for me baby. Come for me (y/n).” He leans down to kiss you, claiming your mouth as he fucks you. The pressure continues to build until you come again. He follows after you shortly, filling your pussy with his load. After a few moments he slowly pulls his dick out of you and watches as his cum spills from your entrance. 

“So much better than that turkey.” You can't help but burst out laughing. He looks at me confused, but after a minute he understands the joke. 

“It sounded like you fucked the turkey then me.” You say sitting up on your elbows, your smiling face looking at his now rosy one. He grabs both of your cheeks and plants a big kiss on your lips. 

“Seriously, I have to finish the turkey. The boys will be here in 6 hours!” You jump up from the bed, forgetting your boyfriend's cum spilling out of your pussy and running down your legs. He laughs as you run from the room and into the bathroom to go get yourself re-ready for the party tonight. 

—------

Hours Later:

Everyone is gathered at your dining room table and starting to dig into the meal you have spent days preparing. Yunho and Hongjoon are talking about the latest comeback and how the dance routine is going to go with the new title song, Wooyoung is basically flirting with San and the former is pretending not to love it. 

“This turkey is delicious (y/n)!” Yeosang praised.

“Thanks Yeo!” I raise my drink toward him.

“The secret is in the stuffing.” Jongho added. You kicked him under the table and gave him a dirty look, He just smiled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

#ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho x reader #smut #atinywhore #jongho

[f-t-e]

I started watching SUPERNATURAL in November 2020. I know, I know. My partner and I had been isolating alone since March. The timing felt right. I went though a wild amount of upheaval and trauma over the next year and SPN was there for me through it all. It was THE show at THE time and it kept me afloat when I needed it the most. Since November 2021 I've written just about 110,000 words of SPN fanfic, a number that seems unbelievable to me, and that too has been a real blessing to my creative life, no matter what haters say. (why didn't I write my own novels in that time? Because I have a hobby, Karen, and I love it.) And I've read about 500000x that much fanfic, which has been the biggest blessing of all. (ETA: oh right, if you want to read my fic, you can find my stuff here, I wrote a fic where Dean reads books. Lots of books.)

I know I'm a nobody in this fandom but I thought on this, our #DestielDay, I would submit my own humble rec list. I've curated this very deliberately: every fic here has just about 4000 hits or less (most under 3000) and all were published in 2020 or after. So, sort of a rec list for some lesser known and newer fics, something you maybe haven't stumbled on yet. Especially thank you to @jewishcharliebradbury, her rec lists gave me a place to start back in the day and I have tried to model the depth and quality they brought to their lists. I tried to link to everyone's tumblr, but if I missed one, let me know.

Most of all, thank you to everyone who has EVER created something for this fandom, from 2005 to 2023. I am so thankful and, honestly, honored to be among your number. You're not supposed to be cringe and say a show saved your life...but SUPERNATURAL saved me, it really did. See y'all when the movie/reboot drops, to quote Ryan Gosling in The Notebook: IT WASN'T OVER, IT STILL ISN'T OVER. And I'm glad.

-----

Finale Fix-It & S15 and Beyond

What The Moon Was Saying by Amiril (@runawaymarbles)

This is hands-down one of the coolest “Dean Rescues Cas from the Empty” fics I have ever read and the concept is brilliantly structured to mirror the literal and metaphorical things Dean needs to give up and let go to get free. Every scenario is very satisfying and they make sense, is there any better feeling? Dean is very open in this, but in a believable way that still has edges. And, oh, the reunion is so good. Plus all the family stuff. Just excellent, exactly what you want in a fic like this: lovely, well-written, smart, fulfilling, all the pieces clicking, the show but better.

Awake and Annoying by skycruise

I love the use and passage of time in this one, it has some real impact, and I love the way Dean gets into the Empty (so smart, fits just right) and what I REALLY love in this one is the way it lets Dean be really clear-eyed and honest about his relationship with Sam, both the strengths and the weaknesses. And the last line, very clever and moving inverse of one of fandom’s favorite things. 

Living the life you chose by allthismusic

THEEEEE post finale Sam Winchester-Outsider-POV this fandom needs. Sam is absolutely awesome in this, the most believable, loving, realistic mix of “I knew all along” and “I had no idea” versions of Sam, landing somewhere I think that’s really true and in character. It fills in and develops so many gaps and silences in what the show let Sam know in the absolute best way. Best Brother Sam is a weakness of mine and he really shines here, there for Dean in the best ways but also coming into his own, I love it so very much. (this author also has a very great 2022 Big Bang fic, hugely recommend that one too.)

your ear to the wound that whispers by EmandFandems (@lazarusemma)

Who doesn’t love a HANDPRINT FIC?!? And boy this is such a good one. It follows Dean and his thoughts on the handprint from the first touch all the way to fixing the finale and it simply buzzes with longing and desire, tenderness and rawness. It’s great insight in lot of ways into Dean’s journey. It’s short but fulfilling and oh that very perfect last line. (this author also has a lot of great Jupernatural content.)  

Somewhere Off in the Dark by magickastiel 

Another awesome fic that traces Dean’s shifting/growing feelings for Cas from when he shows up in his hotel rooms to a HEA fix it after canon. Dean, again, is handled so deftly in this one, his confusion and sorrow at all the times Cas is slipping away from him all the way through the things he won’t let himself know. He feels really true in this one, sharp and tender in the best Dean ways. Also it has an agonizingly romantic end, you love to end up there.

Pins and Feathers by theskywasblue (@buttherewasnogod)

This author has so many freaking good SPN fics, omg it was almost impossible to pick just one to include on this list. Go treat yourself with their entire list because there’s so much good stuff there! But this one, oh I am a sucker for a finale fix-it that lets Dean be this tender. While I LOVE fics where he just jumps right into Cas’s arms (and write them lol) I also feel like this is so true to Dean too: that “maybe I misunderstood, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t still –” And on top of all that, it’s a “they go the beach” fic and it gets the details of it so right, sand in your toes and all. Tender, amazing slow-burn, real, hot, full of heart and longing and everything unspoken and just waiting. Very satisfying!

i loved you first by kalmialatifolia

A set of four short fics that create an entire world of feeling and emotion. These feel like little whispered stories told under the covers, very atmospheric. There’s one very sexy one, a haircutting one (so good) and they’re just intimate. All together a great set and did I mention they’re in the “Cas saves himself” genre which is mmmm an underrated treasure.

no other faith is light enough for this place by anonymous 

A fix-it fic that has a particularly unique and beautiful visual of both how and why Cas comes back. The mechanics behind it are fairly standard but the way this author creates the visual of it, the sheer emotion and force behind it and how it happens, it really stood out to me and stuck with me. It’s Dean being brave enough to really feel and the way that just blossoms – lovely, aching, full-tilt wonderful.

 no proof, one touch by TakeThisWaltz (@watchinghimrakeleaves)

One thing I absolutely cannot get enough of is fic where Cas is hiding out from Dean in heaven. It just hits. And the only thing better is Dean chasing him down and the WAY he does it in this fic, methodically and – well the method (sobs) it is so endearing and OBVIOUS and gives Dean a chance to shout in all the best ways. This one is just real sweet and kind of goofy and if they have to be in heaven, I want them to still be these same two dorks.

Stay by redbrickrose

This is a post S15x18 from Cas’s POV and I think it’s very true to where he would be in the moment of getting yanked out of the Empty: resigned, hesitant about what he has in front of him, still a little in shock. And then. And then. Sweet and simple and Dean gets a chance to say, say, say it. This author has a good post series AU and a lovely little spate of S15 codas, all good. And then wrote this in real-time in the week after 15x18 Despair and right before 15x19 Inherit the Earth aired (could you just sob over the possibilities?!) and then hasn’t wrote anything since and that’s a shame but, like, yeah I get it.

like a one-two punch by Muir_Wolf (@muirmarie)

Don’t you love a short fic that feels like it’s a whole novel? This goes AU after 14x20 Moriah but it is a truly delightful twist on how Chuck could’ve reacted there and it makes Dean sharp as a knife, which is one really resonant image woven through this fic. Great imagery here and so many clever solutions for the lazy plotting of S15, including simply one of my all-time favorites in any fic ever solutions to Cas’s deal (genius) and getting rid of Chuck. Brilliant like a puzzle box yet still full of so much fucking joy.

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes)

The fact that this was written in October 2023 and is so agonizingly good fills my heart with joy and tells me Destiel will never die lol. Cas, in particular, is great in this – he’s having a hard time adjusting to being in a body and with all the fuzz of the world. I love fics where Cas struggles with coming back from the Empty and this uses a really unique approach to it: Cas facing sensory overload and not knowing how to feel but wanting it all. Lovely, hot, Dean is just right in this too.

Earlier Canon (pre S15)

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame)

Many might say I am biased because Renu has beta’ed everything I have written in the SPN fandom and they can read my brain and make everything I write better. But it’s not just that. Renu has done something beautiful and delicate in this fic, which is about Dean and Cas getting trapped in a net together (forced proximity trope, yes please) and weaves a web of its own; pulling you in just as they are pulled together. This is set mostly in early S14 (before fixing the finale in the most heart-healing way) and captures that feeling so well. There’s so much that’s unsaid between them yet still conveyed and Renu absolutely nails that, along with the tender longing that was always there. This is a fic to relish.

you may tire of me (as our december sun is setting) by deludedfantasy

You know how the show just sometimes is like “uh so anyway uh then Cas…uh…left.” and it just doesn’t make one lick of sense? FINALLY FINALLY a fic where Dean says “I’ll go with you,” and then goes because he actually would do that. This is a post Tombstone fic so it is exactly where/when he WOULD go and it is tender and hesitant and aching in just all the ways it would be between the two of them at this time. It’s about needing to keep someone in sight, it’s about having another chance to say something so important, it’s slow and soft and just right for the characters in this place. I could read this one about 100 times.

the anatomy of flightless birds by cowlovely (@dollhousemary)

This fic is basically the way you feel when you get all cozy and snug underneath your favorite blanket. This is a domestic-life-in-the Bunker S9 fic where everyone behaves like they are in character and not just like they have to get Cas off screen because the writers panicked. You’ll just want to curl up in this fic and savor it the way you wrap your fingers around a hot beverage on a very cold day, there’s no better way to describe it.

virtue by JenTheSweetie

I think I’ve read this about 100 times and it still gets me everytime? It’s a five things fic about Dean and Cas hooking up and it’s all you’ve ever wished for. This is set in an amorphous S8 and it is not just agonizingly hot but also romantic and very funny. It feels really in character! Sam is hilarious, Dean is clueless but bowled over and letting himself be swept up, Cas is delighting in every second and smarter than he lets on and it ALL feels fated and lovely and sexy and just splendid. (this author only has 3 SPN fics but they are all so good and if you try sometimes, well you just might find is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of Dean learning the differences between “needing” and “wanting.”)

Romance at the Motel 6 by shelia_amour 

This fic makes me feel like Stefon from SNL. This fic has everything: Cas and Sam pretending to be married, just the right amount of jealous Dean, Dean randomly pretending to be married to Cas, Dean realizing maybe this isn’t so fake after all, motel vibes, Cas in Dean’s clothes, Cas getting bee slippers. If you are not sold on this already, we are very different people. So good, aches just right. (set in a kind of “whenever” of canon, but I like to put it somewhere in S8.)

que sera sera by Purple_Starflower (@hauntedpearl)

The epitome of how fanfic unfolds for us all the things that COULD happen. You can’t PROVE to me Dean and Cas never snuck off to snuggle and feed Dean’s touch-starvation early in S13. I had to check when I finished because I just couldn’t believe this fic was under 4000 words because it feels so full of touch, longing, the things unspoken, and all the ways Dean was reaching, reaching, reaching. The best kind of ache, and everything by this author is lovely. 

the hard edge that you’re settling for by lesspopped (@trekkiedean)

This is some S10 Demon!Dean that made my stomach hurt and my heart ache and I absolutely loved it and I absolutely hated it and it all felt so REAL with who Demon!Dean was and could have been. There’s a TW for mildly dubious consent in this, but to me, Cas was so agonizingly true to who he was/where he was at this point in canon too. This fic is gloriously, claustrophobically intimate. I say unbearable because as a reader you know that this closeness, this intimacy, is what Dean wants/craves/deserves but can only give himself as a demon and the author does an exquisite job at getting all that across. Hurts so good! 

four of swords by sundryvillians (eurythmix) (@perenial)

Can the world ever have enough post 12x12 fic? The answer is, of course, no. Dean and Cas bake bread and in the soft space of creating something with their own hands, get so close to the words Cas said. It’s about healing and anger and making something just because you are so tired of everything breaking. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you, let me also throw in this is another one of those “possible off-screen moments in canon” that gives them something honest and tender and raw and it feels so very possible. 

Fifteen Prayers From the Faithless by koyas_cat

Short, achy, that sweet sting. A set of prayers for Cas from the beginning to the end, full of all the things Dean doesn’t let himself say outloud and just reflecting the changes in their connection over alllll the years. So good.

#spn #spn fanfic #destiel fic #fic recs #destiel day #deancas fic recs #supernatural #destiel #happy anniversary #don't forget you're here forever

[i-isa-i]

I think it’s so interesting how much authority is awarded “the author” in different fandoms. You always here people scream “Death of the Author” but still hold up authorship as an authoritative concept.

Like, when Buffy had bad storylines the consensus was something like ‘trust Joss Whedon” who btw turned out to be a horrible person.

Similarly, Kripke was kind of deified by the fandom (and also kind of by the show) during early seasons spn.

Even disclaimers on fanfics show this dynamic. Why did we write stuff like ‘these characters belong to JKR’?!? Like no shit, I didn’t create Sirius Black but the character still doesn’t belong to that woman?

It’s so interesting to look at the stark difference between gomens and spn fan discourse at the moment. I’m not saying one way is the right way, just that the dynamics are interesting.

Neil says something and most people respect it, some even see it as their duty to act as his apostle and spread his word. People are in his asks to try and get his opinion on certain fan theory bc they consider him the ultimate authority over canon.

And then you have spn fans, especially destiel fans. Not only do they not care what kripke/ dabb or most of the show runners say, they actively oppose the “authors”’ perceived interpretations of the characters and routinely make fun of them. Dabb says he wrote a finale that is only meant to satisfy 30% of the fans and the rest of the fandom decides to strike it from canon and collectively produce enough fix-it fic to fill a library.

Can you imagine what would have happened if Dabb or Kripke or whoever had asked the fandom to keep a spoiler or leak like the gomens one a secret?!? It would have become a meme in 5 seconds and it would have trended above a historic election.

#Fandom meta #fandom culture #spn #gomens #death of the author #supernatural #destiel #fanfic and authorship #neil gaiman #andrew dabb #eric kripke #buffy #i do not support jkr #gomens s2 #gomens leak #good omens #good omens discourse

[lifeiskentastic]

Sebastian plays a lullaby on the piano for the gn!Reader

Gif by @lionsgate-uk

A/N: Why. There. No. Fanfics. About. Sebastian. Wilder. I will fix it rn. (Okay, actually, there are a few fanfics with him, but here's one more from me);

Summary: Just a routine night between gn!Reader and Seb, where he plays you a lullaby on the piano;

Word count: 506 words;

Music i recommended: I wrote it under Mia & Sebastian's theme and I think it fit well.

Good reading!

Sebastian played the piano for you every night. Sure, you got into trouble with the neighbors from time to time because of it, but in the end, they all had to put up with it, because there was no way Seb would turn down the opportunity to play you his best tunes before bed. He called it "a mandatory ritual, the consequence of not performing which is the inevitable appearance of sleepy demons." It seems that some neighbors even believed it!

So at the end of each day, no matter how difficult, tiring, or all together, Sebastian always found time to sit down at his piano and play soothing music for your peaceful sleep. And today was no exception.

"How about your favorite?"

Even though this song was your favorite, it was a kind of torture for the neighbors, but you couldn't deny Seb's conspiratorial smile.

"I will not refuse."

And even if you have a lot of trouble, it will still be the most perfect evening created just for the two of you.

Sebastian, out of habit, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and you watched with admiration as he gracefully raised his hands over the keys.

Amazing music instantly poured out of the musical instrument. You had heard it countless times, but it still took your breath away. You stared in undisguised fascination at Seb's long fingers, moving quickly from key to key.

"Hey, I'm playing so you can sleep better, not the other way around."

Sebastian still continued to play, smiling gently.

He has no idea how difficult it is to fall asleep when Sebastian Wilder himself is playing the piano for you. Still, you agree with him and laid down on the bed, letting the soft sounds of the piano flow unhindered to your ears. At times like these, you had an overwhelming urge to get up and dance to the sweet tune, but you knew that if you did that right now, Seb would have to force you into bed. Not that you minded, just… You didn't want to interrupt those sounds.

The relaxed chords lulling you to sleep, but you keep looking at the skillful hands of your talented boyfriend, at his satisfied face when he hit every right key. You couldn't put into words how happy you were to see Sebastian so passionate about his work.

You feel your eyelids slowly droop, but there was nothing you could do about it. The lullaby relaxed you and now you were ready to give in to it and fall into a deep calm sleep created by Seb.

As your eyes finally closed, the melody came to an end. Through your sleep, you could still hear the soft creaking of the floor under Sebastian's steps and the sound of the mattress as he lay next to you.

The last thing you heard before falling completely asleep was a soft whisper in your ear:

"Sweet dreams."

And a gentle kiss on the cheek, after which this dream promised to be simply wonderful.

#ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling #sebastian wilder #sebastian wilder x reader #gn reader #sebastian wilder x you #la la land #fanfiction #fluff #my fic #fluff fic #ryan gosling fanfiction #lalaland

[non-stop-imagines]

Red Braids

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Black Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: A cute moment between new couple Charles and Y/N out of the public eye.

Warnings: A lot of fluff, slightly unrealistic Ferrari hopes, Carlos lowkey rooting for you two, it probably being terribly obvious it's been a while since my last time writing

A/N: Hi! To those who were following me before, I have missed all of you, and to newcomers welcome!!💖💛 While I am not new to fanfic writing, I am new to writing Formula 1 stuff. I have previously written a lot of MCU stuff, but Formula 1 has been my new obsession for nearly a year now, so I decided it was time to put my daydreams to use. Now, as a new American F1 fan, it truly feels like I'm starting on the backfoot here when it comes to truly producing good F1 fics, so advice is highly appreciated! I hope you all like this short little blurb I literally thought up and wrote in a day. I hope to be writing more in the future. Requests are open, so send me things to write, and let me know if you want to be added to a tag list or something of the sort! Love you all!💖💛🩷

Masterlist

You finish tapping out a text as you take a glance at the nearest TV facing you at the back of the Ferrari garage. You dab a bead of sweat threatening to drop onto your eye lash. Even with fans blasting on you, cooling you from the Brazilian heat, your sweat was working overtime to cool you down. A 1:14.8 lap time brings Charles up to third on the leaderboard during the second practice session of the weekend with approximately 5 minutes left in the session. Carlos’ time blinks up next. A 1:14.75 that causes his name to move up the board and land right between his teammates and Sergio Perez. You shake your head as the session comes to a close and you watch as Max’s name stays unmovingly at the top of the leaderboard.

   “Go and head towards Carlos’ side of the garage to prep for the press pit.” Your supervisor instructs in her thick Italian accent. As a new member of the Ferrari communications team, you’re being given trials in different positions to see where you best fit. Currently you’re in a rotation on Carlo’s media and communications team, specifically in charge of voice recording interviews and getting pictures and video of him for the Ferrari instagram, and have been doing pretty good if you do say so yourself. Very simple yet enjoyable work.

   “If I hear one more thing about ‘improving but not quite matching Red Bull’s pace’ I am going to rip out my braids.” You mumble as you wait for Carlo’s to finish exiting his car.

   “Now you know Charles would hate that. He likes your braids.” Carlo’s voice makes you finally  look up from your phone and give a small grin, surprised he heard you over all of the garage noise. Carlos looks up from putting his gloves in his helmet and smiles back at you, chuckling a bit. After a short driving debrief from his race engineer, you and Carlos found yourselves headed to the press pit, following behind your supervisor while fielding fans.

   “I am going to be taking some of my braids out tonight, though.” You comment, as a young fan comes up to get his hat signed.

   “Oh, really. Why?” Carlos does so then stops to pose for a selfie before continuing to walking.

   “Just to refresh a few. I’m getting my hair done after this weekend anyway, so I decided there's no harm. I’m gonna put a little red in these braids.” You finally reach the press pit and allow Carlos to enter first before following him in.

   “Creative. Can’t wait to see it.” He smiles as he looks back at you, does a quick hand shake with his teammate who somehow made it there before him and is currently waiting to do his second interview, then continues toward his own interview. You grin at Charles as you approach him, giving him a quick peck on the lips and fixing a small piece of his hair that was out of place before quickly moving over to where Carlos was ready to begin his first interview of the afternoon.

   After a good 30 minutes somewhere outside of your hotel room, Charles finally returns, food in one hand, and a couple of large waters in the other. “Joris says hello. He also brought some pasta carbonara.” Charles drops the bag with the food and the waters on the small room table and then turns to look at you sitting crisscrossed at the front of the bed, focusing on cutting the end of the braid in your hand so you can begin to unravel it. 

   “Aww, that’s sweet. Why didn’t he come up?” Your focus was still on the braid in front of your face while Charles watched your movements as your fingers expertly undid the braid, red painted fingernails dancing through the hair like the most intricate ballet.

   “He was busy. Had to go meet somebody.” He moved to the bed and laid behind you, watching as your moves speed up the closer you got to the root of the braid and how your focus has now shifted to the TV screen that was streaming the first practice session which you didn’t get to watch. “You’re getting you’re hair done next week, no?” Charles asks, now a little closer to you, watching you repeat the actions from the previous braid on one last braid before you begin rebranding process.

   “Yeah, Tuesday. Taking advantage of my day off during the non-race week.” Though your focus was on the screen in front of you, you could feel Charles eyes burrowing in the back of your head, knowing that his curiosity was getting the best of him. “You want to try? I guess this is the first time you’ve really seen me do my hair.” You look back and giggle at his off-guard expression and the small shuffle he makes so that he’s next to you so he can get to the partially unraveled braid framing your face.

   “Okay. What do I do?” He lifts his hands, but is obviously unsure of what to do with them.

   “So, when it comes to undoing the braid, it’s basically lie helping the braid unravel itself. So what I do is pick one side of the braid, and then gently pluck the strand out on that side and the other two pieces should undo as well.” You demonstrate the motion once as you explain it to him and are met with probably the most confused expression you have ever seen on his face. “I am so sorry. I’m really bad explaining. Just try it and I’ll help. I promise, it’s simple.” You hand off the braid and try to stifle your laughter as Charles clumsily but carefully completes the task. “Breath, you’re undoing a braid, not diffusing a bomb.” Your now uncontained laughter melts the through the concentration that Charles held as he finished undoing the braid. He provides his own laughter to regain the playful air that  usually surrounds you two.

   “It wasn’t that bad! I have no idea why I was so nervous!” His breathy chuckle brings butterflies to your stomach as you get up to grab the braiding hair from your suitcase.

   “It’s fine. I just think I’m gonna wait to teach you how to braid.” You giggle as you gather a few more items up then jump back onto the bed.

   “It is probably for the best.” Charles breaths out in amusment, but keeps the spot next to you as you start your braiding prep. You both go back to watching the practice as you wet your hair and add just enough leave-in conditioner to moisturize the exposed hair, making small comments about the action you missed due to debriefing and being given your assignment that day and eating the food Charles’ friend so graciously brought to you two. It didn’t take long for you to begin braiding, but by that time the stream of the practice session was done, so you tossed the remote over to Charles for him to turn something on. You begin to pull out a section of the long braiding hair that starts off black but then gradients to a deep red. Charles doesn’t notice until you begin to braid, causing him to stop his channel surfing and watch as you swiftly produce the first braid. 

   “You like it?” You shift your attention to him as you finish off the braid, keeping the huge, cheesy smile that wanted to be on your face to a grin that was obviously hiding something bigger.

   “Absolutely! You are really getting into the Ferrari thing, with the nails and the hair. I love it.” His motions were highly enthusiastic as he acknowledged the, albeit unnecessary, effort that you put into showing team spirit in your new position that you are now almost 2 months into.

   “Thank you.” Your words were quiet as you received the compliment from the guy that took the risk and asked you on a date 2 weeks into knowing you. He knew the risks that came with dating anyone inside the team, along with the extensive paperwork, but knew that he would go through any lengths or red tape to spend more time with you. Find out your interests, what makes you laugh, what makes you talk non-stop, what makes you smile the brightest and everything in between. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you continued braiding and Charles decides on watching some sports channel showing soccer highlights. 

   As you begin your last braid you look at the bedside clock to see that the time has encroached uncomfortably close to 1 o’clock in the morning. Charles has now laid back on your bed again, scrolling and occasionally tapping something out on his phone.

   “Do you have anything to do in the morning?” You ask sheepishly, trying to hint at the time.

   “Nothing until 7:30, but I probably should head back to my room, huh?” He chuckles and grabs his jacket, his partially filled water, roughly checks to make sure he didn't leave anything, then begins to slip on his shoes. Once he's ready to leave, though, he lingers for a moment, coming to stand with you at the long mirror that's hung on the wall near the door while you admired the finished product.

   “Oh, okay.” You pause for a moment, obviously trying to remember the simple question you wanted to ask much earlier but completly forgot to. “Do you think Ferrari will have any luck in qualifying tomorrow?”

   “I guess we will see, won’t we?” He continues to follow you as you dig through your luggage for a small BIC lighter, and you look up to see the same confused look from the earlier unbraiding experience plastered on Charles’ face. 

   “It’s for the braids. But that information is for the next hair lesson. Now go.” You shoo him towards the door, following behind him. He begins to open the door to leave, but not before turning to give you a short, sweet kiss on your lips.

   “I can’t wait." His eyes scan your face briefly before finally beginning to exit. "See you in the morning…well I guess…you know what I mean. Want me to bring you something for breakfast tomorrow?” He now had a foot out of the door.

   “Could you? I’m always jealous of the pastries you have in the morning on quali days.” You smile at him, absentmindedly messing with a newly done braid.

   “Absolutely.” He starts to walk away but quickly sticks his foot back in the door. “I really like your hair, by the way. I don't really think I said that.”

   “Thank you, Charles. Now get out of here.” Your response was sappy and motherly, causing him to flash you one last bright, childlike smile before leaving. All you could do was walk back to your bed, a goofy looking grin pasted on your face.

#f1 x black!reader #black reader #black fem!reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x black!reader #carlos sainz

[rocket-our-baby]

No Dreams were prettier

a/n: ₊✧˚﹕︶︶︶﹕૮₍ ⸝⸝´ ꒳ `⸝⸝ ₎ა﹕︶︶︶﹕ ˚✧₊

You can find out more about me & pls read my disclaimers here.

Masterlist here

Rocket x fem!reader oneshot

Can be interpreted romantically or platonically (personally I like the one where they’re in-between and figuring it out before confessing; please feel free to read it the way you want.)

Just a fluffy oneshot to hopefully brighten up your day or soothe any of your acute/chronic/pms pain <3

Yes I wrote this when I was very very sick lmao like literally when I was cold sweating from the pain but nonetheless no particular warnings apart from mentioning of pain, except for extra pointless fluffs ahead behold

The title of this is kinda foreshadowing to what I hid at the end of the fic, and it works both ways ✵彡

English is not my native language (I just read tons of fanfics to keep on truckin’ and now here I am, still alive)

Ok the foreword wouldn’t necessarily be any longer in my future posts it’s just, this is like my first official fic posted here on this blog over the past decade since I deliberately avoided SNS so, kindly bear with my oversharing and thank you for stumbling upon here!

Hope you enjoy <3

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

𝒩ℴ 𝒹𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓌ℯ𝓇ℯ 𝓅𝓇ℯ𝓉𝓉𝒾ℯ𝓇

info: rocket/f!reader, 3.1k words, 99%pure fluff, sfw, oneshot

summary: You’re sick, and Rocket is worried. He tries not to show it by acting rationally, but it’s very obvious.

note: is possibly one of the chapters in the domestic fluff slice of life series between rocket, the best pilot in the galaxy and the best captain any Terran girl can ask for in space; and the reader, a Terran from Terra living her not-so-normal life in space, with a talking raccoon.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

banner edited by me ✵彡

“Hey,, Rocket… I could use some help… I guess”

Without turning around, Rocket glances up at his back and raises an eyebrow in curiosity, his paws still automatically tinkering with whatever new tools he’s fixing.

“Yeah? What's goin' on, doll? You sounded… weird.”

…only to find you in extreme pain and distress.

“And looked weird.”

Your face in agony, pearls of sweats forming on your forehead, your eyes barely focusing on him, nor are they on anything frankly.

“I’m feeling… bad… like a stomachache bad…”

You sound weak and breathy, but you slowly approach him in small and stumbling steps, both of your arms hugging yourself tightly applying pressure to your stomach, your fingertips digging deep into your soft flesh, bearing the pain and preventing yourself from screaming. Cold sweats all over your body, your voice weak, lips and face pale, as you sit — more like fall — down near him all of a sudden.

Rocket's eyes widen in shock, quickly setting his stuff down and rushes over to help you.

“Whoa, hey, hey, doll, y’alright?”

He gently places his paws on your shoulders to support you enough to sit up, as you give in to his embrace, finally feeling a sense of relief. Looking at you up and down, he nervously assesses your condition and instinctively sniffs for any blood, checking if you’ve had any wounds.

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

He certainly doesn’t sound like his usual self. That snarky, sarcastic, smartass cocky bastard.

“Around half an hour I guess… there’s no one on the ship right now and I’ve been shivering uncontrollably,,”

You let out a weak chuckle and smile bitterly at your own reply.

“I didn’t want to bother you cuz it’s your free time as well, but it’s becoming unbearable… as if my stomach is burning like hell and twisting… like there’s an alien inside ready to burst o-”

“Uh-huh, yeah I know I know.”

Rocket cuts your reference there and sighs in concern as he takes your forehead in his paw to check your temperature. He’s heard this before. From Stark from a kid from Terra called Parker, or something. He doesn’t care right now. All he can focus on at the moment is you, and your well-being.

“But girl, this is definitely not just some minor thingie. How's your appetite? Any vomiting?”

He furrows his brows, trying to figure out what's wrong.

“Not so great…I’ve just been drinking some water. A constant urge to vomit but nothing.”

As Rocket checks up on you closely, he notices your brows furrow in affliction, your lips pale white, your hands slightly shaking and your body shivering but also sweating due to the discomfort. He tries to avert his worrying gaze by turning to examine your body, but it doesn’t escape your Terran instincts.

“Okay... ‘kay, alright. How's your breathing? Any chest pains, difficulty catching your breath?”

He presses his ear near your chest to check your breathing rate and your heartbeat, his paw moves to your abdomen, pulling your shirt upwards to feel your skin and applying some pressure to gauge your sensitivity and any possible organ ruptures in that area.

“Yes, other than feeling like my stomach has become your bomb storage and they’ve all been exploding simultaneously this whole time, it’s alright… still alive I guess.”

You let out a slight sigh feeling Rocket‘s touch on your belly, half-chuckle at your half-joking reply despite struggling to merely keep your eyes open.

Rocket chuckles a bit at your snarky remarks, but then his face turns serious again as he continues observing your condition. Not saying anything, he grabs you by your waist and supports you to walk to a nearby sofa and gently helps you lie down. That’s an order, he said, just for you to chuckle weakly. Not that you’re gonna complain about any of it tho.

“Hmm, okay... this certainly doesn't sound good... d’you have a history of stomach problems? Anything that I’m unaware of?”

He shifts his body to the side, feeling for your liver with his left paw, and keeps applying slight pressure to your abdomen with his right.

You breathe weakly, as you continue to shiver feeling the endless twisting of your organs, but you seem to look a bit better now that Rocket is rubbing gentle circles on your stomach. Your breathing is slowly stabilising compared to a few moments before.

“Yeah I guess… since I was small, I’d often experienced stomachaches whenever I was nervous… or stressed. But this is not supposed to happen when I’m now an adult. I mean, I haven’t been that nervous for quite a long time. Not even when fighting monstrous aliens alongside you guys, y’know.”

“With us, you mean.”

You chuckle softly and weakly as he said that sternly.

The sudden flush of torturing pain causes your brows to furrow tightly again, sweats forming in the creeks of your frown, your eyes on the verge of tears.

“But my stomach has always been weak, to be honest… there’s no Terran food out here, y’know.”

You tell him the honest truth but still insist on playing around a bit in spite of how much your body aches, hoping to ease the atmosphere and not to worry the raccoon too much, given your current state.

It pains him even more to see you like this — always saying you’re okay, joking around to lift your crew up, pretending to be fine.

Rocket’s facial expression softens as he nods in acknowledgement, still monitoring your condition and applying slight pressure on you hoping to make you feel better, his fingers lingers through your soft skin and tracing gentle circles, careful not to hurt you even more.

“Huh... doll, don’t die on me just yet tho, this could be anything from an infection to an organ rupture, but it’d better just be one of your nervous stomachaches. Well, maybe when you see me.”

He smirks and turns to grin at you playfully, all the while continuing to feel for your spleen, and then shifts up to your chest to feel your lungs and heart.

His gaze remains locked on you, watching for any changes in your breathing patterns or expressions.

“Let's just hope it's nothing too serious. Hey, any drinking these days? And how have your bowel movements been lately? When’s your last ‘code red’?”

You blush slightly when his left paw reaches you chest to feel your heartbeat, his claw in your cleavage. You can’t help but smile softly at how serious he looks and sounds when checking up on you.

“Hey Rocky…I didn’t know you’re also a medical doctor apart from being an awesome mechanic and the best pilot in the entire galaxy.”

You grin playfully, looking at his beautiful bright brown ambers. As if they make you forget the pain - for just one second, you thought you’re gonna lost in his hazel eyes which has seen a lot in the universe, maybe more pain that you do, than you’ll ever do, maybe more than you can ever fathom.

For a second, the physical pain you’re experiencing becomes nothing more than noticeable, as your heart aches so much it drops just from the mere thought of what he has endured.

Rocket chuckles softly and lightly taps your forehead with his free paw, just to make sure your mind isn't wandering off too far from the situation.

“‘kay doll, let's not get carried away. I'm not anywhere close to a medical doctor, I'm just here to make sure you don't keel over in the next few minutes. Now stay still and answer my question, will ya? That’s another order.”

“Yes, capt’in.”

You giggle softly, can’t help but smile at him and reassure him there’s (prolly) nothing wrong with your cycles nor daily intakes. Since when did your period elevates to code red btw? Or is it just the colour..?

You don’t even have the energy to wander around anymore in your mind and decide to close your eyes again. Despite the constant distractions…of… his paws.

He continues to feel your chest and your abdomen, occasionally glancing down at your bare stomach to see if the pressure is bothering you or not. You notice how his ears perk up at any noise from your stomach and his whiskers twitches when he’s sensing any discomfort from you. You can’t help but indulge in the feeling of his touches, the smooth motions of his paws, keep thinking how cute he is and admiring how attractive he looks when he’s working on something seriously. Especially when that something is now you.

As the burning of your stomach brings you back to the reality, you chuckle softly at his snarky response, one thing again that you secretly love him for.

“Well… and here I’m just buttering you up to be my teddy bear for the day.”

You smile weakly and sweetly despite your very pale lips.

“And I also love the feeling of your soft paw on my chest.”

You giggle softly, and flash him a wan smile before another flush of pain comes in.

Rocket smirks and chuckles at your flirty comment, but only briefly before continuing his examination.

“Yeah, okay, that was cute and all, but you're the one with an excruciating stomachache, so let's stick to the task at hand, shall we?”

He presses down slightly harder on your abdomen and then listens to your gut for any signs of trouble.

“I just wish I had a stethoscope handy right now...”

He sighs and then leans down to place his ear over your abdomen, listening for any noises that might indicate something suspicious.

You smile at his seriousness and chuckles softly when the soft fur of his and his whiskers touch your now exposed skin, tickling you a bit but also soothing your pain. Maybe it’s just a diversion, or maybe it’s just you craving the feeling of hugging a teddy, or maybe you just wanna hug him… so much.

“It’s alright, Rocket… You’ve helped me a lot already.”

You just can’t resist the urge, as you slowly reach your hand to scratch his head and the spots behind his ears, smiling lovingly at him.

“And y’know, I think… this could help.” You gesture the current action of his by your chin, clearly indicating that you’re feeling better when Rocket is lying on your tummy.

It takes all of Rocket's willpower to stop himself from giving into the urge of just burying his face in your soft, warm chest, instead he remains sitting upright while listening to your gut. After a few seconds, he raises his head and looks at you.

“Yeah, I think it definitely helps. Your stomach's not roaring as loud as before, so that's a good thing. And that slight pressure seems to make you feel better as well.”

He looks down at you, the hint of a grin on his face, still holding back the desire to just bury his face in your neck. He’s got some more serious observations to do, as he pulls away and sits up.

You fake a playful frown.

“Hey, and there I was buttering you up to be my cuddly teddy bear for my not-feeling-so-well day! Ouch-!”

You chuckle softly at your own half-joking reply. But you do mean what you said.

“More like nearly-dying-from-no-missions day to be frank, dollface.”

He lets out a sarcastic chuckle and shakes his head.

“Come on, do you expect me to actually jump on your chest and snuggle up with you?”

He glances down at your stomach again, pressing down slightly. He should be focusing on this right now. Yes, this, not that.

“Still feel okay? You still in pain?”

His voice is a bit softer and quieter now, and you know he is still concerned about your wellness.

“Hmmmm… yes, if you’re not lying on top of me and if you still don’t snuggle with me and be my fluffy cuddly teddy bear/ heat pad for the day right here right now, then yes, very painful.”

You fake a playful pout, and chuckle softly at your own “childish” response, more like at the audacity of yourself to say it out loud to Rocket knowing that he’d not snap you back as harsh when you’re in this state, before smiling and opening your arms for him.

Rocket chuckles, but then rolls his eyes and groans as you gesture for him to come over and cuddle and heat you up.

“Seriously?”

He fakes another eye roll, and sees your almost teary puppy eyes — both from the real pain and from your mischievous idea of planning to cuddle with him.

“Okay fine, alright, if it'll make you feel better...”

He grumbles for a moment before sighing softly. Then he moves to the side, scooting a little closer to you, and then carefully lays on top of you, making sure not to move around too much in case he hurts your stomach.

“Happy now, princess?”

“Very, capt’in!”

You giggle when your wish is granted and then happily wrap both of your arms around the raccoon, feeling his rough but fluffy fur and his warm body.

“Thanks… Rocket.”

You gently pat his back with one of your hands and scratch the back of his head with another, smiling lovingly at his ears tickling the crook of your neck as his head is buried in your soft chest.

Rocket looks up at you for a sec before turning away. Your expression shows that you’re still bothered by the pain, but your face now has a shade of pink to it. Rocket wonders if it’s due to his body heat warming you up or any other reasons.

“You surely are a manipulative one when you’re not feeling well, aren’t ya?”

Sighs Rocket, as he chuckles and replies with a sly remark, regardless, he is smiling softly lying on your chest. His eyes looking at somewhere far away, as if he’s cherishing the moment and pondering… something else.

You giggle softly.

“It’s good to have someone to take care of me for once, y’know. I’m usually the one doing the caretaking… not that I don’t enjoy it tho. It’s just,, it’s a nice change of pace.”

You smile warmly while rubbing gentle circles on his back, and cuddling him a bit more, feeling his heartbeat and his fur coating your bare stomach.

Rocket chuckles softly and scoots in a bit closer, pressing his head against your neck, and allowing himself to relax on top of you.

“Yeah, no kiddin’. You're like the unofficial mom of the group, y’know.”

He seems to enjoy the moment, laying peacefully on your chest, feeling your soft arms wrap around him and your fingers playing with his fur. He smiles contentedly, letting out a deep and calming exhale of breath that he hasn’t had in more than a while.

“Y’know, doll... there's not many people I'd feel comfortable relaxing like this with.”

“Well, that’s my pleasure.”

You let out a giggle and smile lovingly at him, as you keep gently scratching his ears and massaging his neck, but careful enough not to hurt him by gently rubbing the knots around the implants and metals on his body. His muscles feel tight and tense. He surely needs a proper massage some day, you thought and note that to yourself.

“It’s really good to have you around, Rocket… really.”

Rocket shifts slightly to better allow you to reach his ears and massage his neck, not wishing to risk messing up the comfort at the moment.

He closes his eyes and presses his head further into your chest, sighing contentedly.

“...Y’know, for someone who's got a stomachache and is in torturing pain, you seem to be enjoying this quite a bit.”

You giggle softly, your hands keep patting him gently in a relaxing pace, resembling that of your own heartbeat. With him in your arms, your body is no longer quivering, you’re breathing now at a much calmer rate. You smile contentedly with your now less pale lips upon hearing him.

“Well,, for someone so rough and tough and fierce and snarky outside you surely are a lil’ soft ball for me.”

You let him bury his face into your crook, and giggle playfully but sweetly to him.

Rocket chuckles at your remark, but his gaze softens a little as you continue to pat him, still allowing him to lie on top of you as your soft body and your arms wrap around him, his body heat warming you up.

“I'd say it goes both ways.”

For once in who knows how long, he feels his tensed up body relax completely. Turning his head slightly to the side to give you access to his cheek and neck, his eyelids drift shut as you keep patting him gently, allowing himself to relax even further. You notice how the tension of his body loosen up and how his breathing has slowed down.

“I say… you should fall asleep on me like this today. You’re my personal teddy bear for the day, remember?”

He snickers at your comment playfully but then closes his eyes again, feeling safe and comfortable in the warmth and softness of your body and arms. After a moment of silence, he whispers into your chest, his voice sounding tired and relaxed.

“Yeah yeah, yeah, you win, doll. Anything for my girl.”

He lets out a slight sigh as things have eventually gone along your plan. Not that he’d complain though.

Feeling his warmth, you wonder if he’s a literal ray of sunshine. It’s as if all the pain has been drifted away by the river of warmth he radiates. To you, now, and you only.

“...I'm not gonna lie, I'm enjoying this...”

He closes his eyes and savours the moment, taking in the feeling of your gentle touch and your sweet, calming voice.

“…a lot.”

He whispered in an almost inaudible voice as he turns to you after a while, but notices how your eyes are now closed, your facial expression relaxed, your breathing has already slowed and he feels your tummy rising slightly up and down in a steady and relaxing pattern. Your lips now a lot pinker, curving in a contented smile.

He smiles to himself and sighs contentedly, as he lets himself relax on you and slowly drifts off into a dream that you two share in the incredible vastness of the galaxy, into the blooming stardust of the short-lived meteor shower shined upon the darkness of space, into the inevitability of the ever-lasting infinite universe, one that you two will be exploring together in the years to come.

“Sweet dreams, doll.”

𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐍𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐭.

fin.

♡︎s, comments and rbs are appreciated..!

hope you enjoyed it, and have a lovely day ₊✧˚﹕︶︶︶﹕૮₍ ⸝⸝´ ꒳ `⸝⸝ ₎ა﹕︶︶︶﹕ ˚✧₊

#rocket raccoon #rocket x reader #rocket raccoon x reader #rocket x you #rocket raccoon x you #rocket gotg #gotg rocket #gotg fanfiction #gotg imagine #rocket the raccoon #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon x y/n

[nicosraf]

You inspire me…. Any advice for writing books ?

!! I'm honored u get a little inspiration from me! That's very sweet of you.

I struggle with advice because I've only written about 5 books and published... two-ish. (An old fanfic and ABM, which as you know is basically fanfic). But I think I have some specific advice since I'm revising right now and have a lot of thoughts... Here is what works for me (!):

Outline. I know it sucks but... please try it. (Or you'll end up like GRRM).

Draft without going back to read what you wrote, or at least don't read your unfinished manuscript in full. You will want to edit it. Don't edit it. Yes it sounds bad; yes you used the same word 8 times in a paragraph by accident; yes you can see a major plot hole. Don't fix it yet, maybe write it down somewhere so you don't forget to fix it later. You need to avoid editing while drafting or you will never finish the draft. This is the biggest advice I can give anyone, especially if you haven't written your first book yet.

Give each character a strong backstory, even if it never shows up in the plot. Sounds obvious but sometimes I have to remind myself of this.

Give your characters friendships, not just romantic relationships. Include tender scenes with friends.

A lot of writing is tedious and boring. Drafting is hard, editing is hard. You have to be disciplined. But finding motivation is also hard. Don't motivate yourself using the dream of a fanbase or the dream of becoming famous. You're setting yourself up to be hurt. (Not because any of that is impossible but because achieving it in the way that you dream is virtually impossible.) Motivate yourself using something more personal, if you can.

Re-do your outline after you draft. Why? Because you probably changed things while you drafted, you probably made some stuff up on the spot, character dynamics changed, etc. A new outline is good because you can see the story you actually wrote, which is helpful for editing for plot cohesion, moving scenes, adding and removing stuff.

Your draft is going to be bad. Don't freak out. Drafts are always bad. You're going to want to analyze the hell out of it though. What did you plan, what did you write, what worked, what didnt work, what themes are on the page, what themes should you remove, what themes should you amplify.

When editing a scene isn't working, rewrite it entirely. Yes it's more work. You'll be much happier though, I promise.

The first to second revisions should be for plot and characters and pacing; these should take the longest and be the most difficult. The last third to fourth revision should be about prose. Don't focus on prose when you're trying to fix the plot.

Let characters fuck up unforgivably.

Consider your audience heavily when you edit, but don't consider them when you draft.

I've given this advice before but when it comes to plot devices/objects, you want to give each device a moment of introduction, a moment where it's recalled, and a moment of use. (Ex. A knife is introduced in chapter 1, its mentioned again casually in chapter 7, then it's used to kill someone in chapter 14.) This is mostly to give each object its own arc that feels satisfactory but ur the boss about what works best.

Kill all your characters, but not physically (unless you want to). Make them change so much that, by the end, they would barely recognize who they were at the start.

This is book advice for the type of books that I've written. Things are very different if you're writing, say, contemporary romance, but I think this list is pretty general !! I hope it helps. Good luck!!

#mine #ask #writing

[writingquestionsanswered]

hello, do you perhaps wrote some tips on how to do self-proofreading? i mainly write fanfic for fun, but even so i want to give my best so i can look back at my writing and think that i've done all i can. i feel like i have to proofread my writing to achive that. but the thing is, i have a hard time staying objective. im afraid it will only worsen my draft. however, i can't also afford proofreading service. if you have written that topic before, please let me know. thank you! have a pleasant day.

Proofreading

It's important not to confuse proofreading and editing. In editing, you're finding and fixing big picture items like conceptual problems, structural issues, plot holes, loose threads, loose world building, weak character development, thematic incoherence, meandering narrative arc, wonky pacing and flow, etc.

Proofreading is about finding and correcting errors, such as typos, misspelled words, incorrect grammar, bad or missing punctuation, formatting errors, eliminating crutch words, improving consistency and clarity, cutting back on repeat words, limiting use of passive voice, and minimizing overuse of dialogue tags.

While editing is often subjective--what one persons considers to be a problem may seem fine to another person--proofreading is rarely subjective. Incorrect grammar is incorrect grammar. A typo is a typo. A spelling error is a spelling error.

Whether you're talking about editing, proofreading, or both, there are lots of free checklists for both that you can find online. These checklists provide an item-by-item list of things to watch out for. These can be really helpful when you're editing and when you're proofreading. With editing especially, it can help you stay a little more objective about things that need objectivity, like problems with pace and structure. They can also give you confidence that you've done everything you can in self-editing/self-proofreading. You can find these lists by Googling terms like "fiction editing checklist" or "fiction proofreading checklist."

Happy editing/polishing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

[maya-chirps]

It's a little funny and a bit odd to me that there are some people who still don't take fanfiction seriously regardless of its content or even understand what it is. I could point out that there's a lot of literary classics that could be considered as fanfic, but honestly I'd rather just talk about how my dad uses them to teach his students.

My dad is a college professor that teaches legal writing for pre-law school students and one of the things he often does is assign classical books to students to read to get them used to reading English because not everyone here is that good at that. Reading is a good way to familiarize yourself with how a language works especially in formal settings and let's you learn words that you may not be familiar with.

Okay, you improved reading ability, that doesn't really improve writing and not everyone wants to start writing long documents in legalese. My father decided that an easy way to get people invested is to use what they learned from he stories and have his students make their own continuations or plotlines — he makes them write fanfiction. He didn't call it that until we brought up that it sounds like fanfiction and we've been calling it that since. He makes his students write what are essentially alternate endings, fix-it fics, and continuations and at times, even RPF.

One of his students, who was once my sister's classmate at high school so that's why he brought him up, wrote an RPF story where he was a general in the war and my dad was once a lower ranked officer who got killed in action and then submitted that for an assignment like that's objectively funny that my dad just accepted a fic where he dies written by this 19-year-old.

Writing these stories may seem silly but they genuinely improve your writing ability and especially if you were not that familiar with writing in the language you're writing for.

He's not even the only teacher that uses fanfic to engage with students since I myself had had teachers that essentially made us do the same thing. Hell, I had a writing teacher in art school that made money off of Wattpad before too and was very open to fanfic.

It cannot be understated how something as silly as fanfic has genuinely helped so many people learn how to write even professionally and especially for people who may not be that used to a the secondary language they needed to write in.

#mayaposts #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic writing #writing #real people fiction #rpf

[davnittbraes]

Affirmations - Part One

Part of the I’m Here universe.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this part but the next one 😉)

Word Count: 2750

Warnings etc: anxiety, lots of negative self-talk, a lil bit of dissociation, LOVE YOURSELVES BABES, Marcus being a danger to my ovaries, brief reference to previous sexytimes

Reader-insert physical descriptors: none here but in Part Two hair long enough to comb fingers through

Notes: takes place a week after I’m Here but you don’t necessarily have to read it before this. Marcus and reader are in a newish relationship, their last time being intimate they pushed some boundaries, and reader confirmed she’s got a thing for letting her partner take control. Wink wink nudge nudge. Aka this relationship is heading in the BDSM direction.

I wrote this for @shirks-all-responsibilities, who rants about I’m Here Marcus so much I thought it damn well time he show her some love in return. I mean I also very much wrote it for me, too, like what is fanfic if not absolute self-indulgence 😂

Oh my god, it’s so late. 

You pull into Marcus’ driveway, immediately cutting the engine, paranoid that the sound is too loud in the thick quiet of night covering the suburb. 

It’s too late, really.

But he had said he wanted to see you, no matter how late you finished work. That a week was too long without seeing your beautiful smile.

So incredibly sweet - and so very Marcus. 

Your gaze flicks to the illuminated clock on the car dash. 

Still…

Okay, well, he had replied to your text not long ago, when you told him you were leaving work, reassuring you that he still wanted you to come over, stay for the weekend. 

That had been the plan all week, you’d been looking forward to two whole days with him - the man who had rewritten your definition of romance. 

No, not just romance - relationships in general. What it means to be with somebody. 

To trust someone else implicitly. 

To put your soul in their hands and know they’ll treat it like the greatest treasure. 

And how that trust could lead to not only a depth of intimacy you’d never known possible, but also incredible, mind-blowing sex. 

Last weekend, he’d shown you that. Took control, pulled you out of your own head, stripped away every worry and concern and anxiety and made you come so hard you’d fallen apart in his arms after. 

Then, true to Marcus form, he didn’t push it. Didn’t force you to talk about it, just took care of you with his usual sweet gentleness.

But once the pleasure haze had faded and your thoughts came back together, anxiety had immediately started to gnaw at your throat. 

What exactly had happened? How had he made you give up control like that, become so immersed in the desire to feel good and make him feel good that everything else fell away?

That was so unlike you, always present, always aware.

Though, it had felt incredible - it had been good for you.

A release that went deeper than an orgasm. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it. Just that… it was…

Well, you never could stop analyzing every single thing that was brought to your attention. It’s not surprising that this was making you go around in circles trying to figure it out. 

Your heavy sigh breaks the silence.

Some instinct tells you Marcus knows. 

There had been moments, during that night, when you’d seen it in his warm brown gaze. 

An understanding. A knowledge of what you were thinking, feeling, that surpassed even your own. 

You need to talk to him. 

So you’d been looking forward to this all week, to seeing him again. Struggling to fight back the anxiety that keeps trying to pull you into a spiral about that night, reminding yourself constantly that it’s okay, you can talk to Marcus about it, he’s safe. 

You can trust him. 

But all that was before you knew that your Friday was going to blow up in your face. 

Before problem after problem was dumped on you and despite your every effort you couldn’t fix them all before they inevitably got worse. 

And now you’re sitting here, long after you were supposed to be at his place. 

The anxiety is gone, now, you’d caved to it hours ago, unable to keep it at bay. It had been replaced by something you can’t identify buzzing with an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach. 

You peer at his house through the windshield, chewing your thumbnail thoughtfully, teeth biting into the quick with a tiny jab of pain that distracts you enough to think through the situation. 

The porch light is on, and so is the living room light, glowing through the curtains in the big picture window. 

Okay, so he’s still up. 

And his texts throughout the night were his usual, sweet and caring and light -

But what if you were misreading them?

What if he’s actually upset with you for being so late?

What if he’s playing it off like it’s fine but he’s actually pissed, frustrated that you strung him along all day, that you prioritized work over him, that you had the audacity to show up at this hour and expect him to drop everything to entertain you. 

Your stomach turns, rolls, slow and sickly, emotion hot in the back of your throat. 

I should just go home, there’s no point in bothering him at this -

A sudden burst of light startles you out of your spiral. 

Your phone, in the cupholder, screen bright with a new text notification. 

Marcus

Can’t wait to see you, beautiful 

Tension bleeds from your shoulders, stomach righting itself with a little flip of anticipation. 

Trust. 

You trust Marcus. He’s never given you any reason to do otherwise. 

And if he says he wants you to come over, despite it being so late, then he means it. 

But -

No, this is too much, you can’t just sit here and think anymore -

The need to move shoves you into action, and you throw open the door and get out of the car, grabbing your bag from the backseat. 

You’re only three steps to the front door when it swings open, light bathing the walkway. 

Marcus meets you before you even reach the door, dimpled smile glowing in the dim light. “Hey. Heard the car pull in.”

Your own smile is an inherent reaction, heartbeat skipping just a bit as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, one hand slipping around your waist to smooth over the small of your back. 

The exhaustion in your muscles leaches out, body swaying toward his, and he pulls back enough to look at you, concern in his warm brown gaze. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

He’s already taking your bag, long fingers slipping through yours, hand on your back gently guiding you to the door and that unknown weight in the pit of your stomach shifts, edges sharp, bringing tears to your eyes. 

What is it? Why does it hurt so much?

It’s a little unsettling, not knowing what you’re feeling, especially when it’s something so strong.

What’s wrong with you that you can’t even identify this emotion that feels like it’s boring a hole straight through you?

You’re moving automatically, only vaguely aware of the door shutting behind you, the pleasant smile pasted on your face. Going through the motions, taking off your shoes, jacket, straightening your clothes.

Suddenly, large hands cup your face and a jolt runs through you, so startling it pushes a gasp from your lungs.

Brown eyes fill your vision, blurred by the threat of tears. 

Soft words seep through the buzzing in your head - when had that started?

“Are you okay?” 

Shit -

You haven’t said anything, haven’t spoken to him since you pulled in. Frustration skips along your pulse. Get it together. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” The practiced phrase comes out as usual, light and dismissive.

Marcus steps closer, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. “Look at me.”

Oh -

It’s just a hint, a whisper of the command his voice can carry - that command that guided you to heights of pleasure you’d never experienced before him. It’s enough to snap through the buzz in your head. 

Your vision clears and finally you can really see him. Really look at him. 

He’s watching you, intent, frown forming between his brows. There’s only a pause, his expression unreadable - is he angry - no stop it shut up - then he’s sliding an arm around your shoulders and turning you toward the living room. 

“Come on, come sit down.”

Relief washes cool down your back. 

Yes, good, let him guide you. 

A quiet reassurance coats your thoughts, muffling the noise. 

Trust him. 

He sits you down on the plush sofa, tucked into the corner, and settles in closely next to you. His hands never leave you, drifting down your arms to clasp yours gently, hold them in your lap. Your joined hands rest on your thighs, a counterweight to the one in your stomach. 

Grounding. Centring. 

Marcus. 

He squeezes lightly, draws your gaze to his. “Are you comfortable talking to me right now?”

Embarrassment flushes hot on your skin - it’s so unnerving, how he can see everything about you - but you force yourself not to look away, to keep your gaze on his. Trust. “A lot happened today. Just. A lot.”

Fuck, that’s not very helpful, he asked you a question and you give him this vague -

“That’s okay.”

The buzz flickers, the soft tone of his words scattering. 

“What?” You can hear the confusion in your own voice. 

A dozen emotions flash across his expression, but the warmth in his eyes doesn’t change, persistent. “It’s okay that today was a lot. You can talk about it, all of it or parts of it, if you want. Or if you’d rather not, that’s fine, too.”

You glance away, unable to look at him, his ceaseless compassion too much to handle right now. 

He lifts your clasped hands to his lips, brushes a kiss over your knuckles, that intent gaze still locked on yours. “I can reheat supper, if you’re hungry. Draw you a bath if you want to unwind. Take you to bed and hold you if you’re too tired for any of that. And during, after or in-between any of that, I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me about today.”

The weight in your stomach shifts again, presses up against your ribcage and it hurts to breathe but you manage to nod in acknowledgment.

His gaze tracks the shakiness of the movement, crease between his brows deepening, voice firm. “And if you don’t want to talk tonight, that’s fine. But it’s not healthy to keep things bottled up. Whatever happened, it seems like it’s really affecting you. So you will have to talk about it at some point, either with me or someone else. When you’re ready.”

You nod again - try to, but the movement is too awkward, it feels strange. As if it’s not you making it, it’s not your body, not your hands in his and not your lungs straining for air and not -

Suddenly you can’t see, everything is blurry, everything is gone nothing is real why -

Strong arms pull you against a broad chest and you crumple, limbs folding into yourself, weight in your stomach dragging you down down down -

Desperate, you grasp at the warmth that breaks your fall, hands clutching at fabric over solid strength, thoughts latching onto murmured words against your hair. 

Your subconscious instinctively threading into the profound presence that surrounds you, holding fast. 

It’s a lifeline. A linchpin that centres your focus, pulls you back into awareness. 

Marcus is tucking you firmer into the crook of his arm, shifting your legs across his lap until you’re fully seated there. One large hand cups your head, holds your temple to his lips, while the other passes gentle strokes to your arm, your back, your thigh. 

He’s talking, soft and muffled words but clear enough, a steady stream that brushes over your skin. 

“Breathe for me, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay, let it out. I’m here.”

I’m here. 

Marcus is always here. For you. 

Trust. 

The weight in your stomach bursts and everything pours out of you in tear-soaked words. 

“I’m so sorry I’m so late, I’m sorry I disappointed you and I didn’t want to ever do that because you’re so amazing Marcus and it’s not fair for me to treat you like this - “ your voice hiccups and you have to push through it - “I should have cancelled tonight, I knew I was going to be late, but I was selfish and still wanted to see you and I made you wait around for me and that was wrong and I’m so so sorry -“

“Stop.” 

His voice is quiet but firm, enough to silence the mess of thoughts pouring from your lips. 

You wait, heart pounding, lungs tight, muscles tensed and ready for his judgement. 

No, not judgement - this is Marcus, he cares about you, he’s here for you. 

But it’s all still there, the buzzing in your head and the weight pulling you down and it’s too much, too confusing and conflicting and you can’t handle everything. 

A whimper squeezes past your throat before you can stop it. Your eyes are closed so tight against it all that you see stars. 

He gently eases you away, his arm supporting your back where it bands across your shoulders. “Open your eyes, baby. Please.”

Trust. 

It takes everything you have to do so, blinking as his face comes into focus.

The concern that worried his brow is gone. Those warm, brown eyes are steady, but more serious than you’ve ever seen them. 

He takes a deep breath, chest shifting where you’re pressed to him. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but you were hurting yourself and I couldn’t let that continue.”

“H-hurting myself?” Your voice catches on the well of confusion squeezing your throat. 

A barely-there nod as his thumb swipes through the tear tracks on your cheek. “Listening to those negative thoughts. Letting them speak for you.”

You stare at him. Mind blank. Buzzing thoughts silent. 

He cups your cheek, his broad palm soothing on your too-hot skin. “You have your own voice. No one, not even yourself, can take that away. It will always be there.”

There’s no epiphany or flash of understanding. Just a gentle swell, rising and pulling you in, the understanding of his words. They just seep into the fibre of your being and you know. 

You know they’re true. 

You understand what he’s saying. Those buzzing thoughts, sharp and intrusive, weaselling their way to the forefront until you couldn’t hear anything else. 

That heavy weight in the pit of your stomach. A blend of guilt and shame and frustration. 

At yourself. 

For being weak, for being unable to stop the anxious turmoil from bleeding into this part of your life, your relationship with Marcus, the part that you wanted so badly to be clean of it. 

Then there’s disappointment at your inability to control it. 

No. Not just disappointment. 

Anger. 

Because despite trying, so hard, telling yourself that Marcus was good and right and you can trust him - it did nothing. 

Those negative thoughts still won out and tainted your perception. 

Then there’s despair. Cold and creeping into your bones.

You’re failing yourself.

So many times, you’ve been silent when you wanted to speak, or to shout or laugh or scream or sing. 

You’d let others keep you quiet for so long, that even when they were no longer in your life, the habit apparently remained. 

A habit you thought you’d already broken after countless therapy sessions, only for it to overtake and control you once again. 

Well. At least now you know it’s not right, not fair to you. 

Now you know you deserve to be happy.

It had taken a long time, but you’d come to acknowledge and accept that as a fact. 

But that didn’t stop you from trying to self-sabotage, apparently. 

No, stop. That’s the negative voice again.

Telling you you’re not enough.

That you’ll always fail.

Trust trust trust

Those words beat steadily within your own pulse. 

Closing your eyes - not to shut things out, this time, but to let yourself look inward - you lean into the weight of his palm, breathe deep, and trust. 

“I think that…” Your words are soft, cracked with hesitation as they come to you slowly. “I know that I do, have my own voice. I know those thoughts will only hurt me, and I have the ability to ignore them. But sometimes it…” 

You look at Marcus then, some part of you needing to see him. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, to hear the difference between the good thoughts and the bad ones. Especially on days when everything else is so loud.”

He’s watching you, expression so soft it pricks tears in the corners of your eyes. There’s no pity, or uncertainty, or doubt, in his face. Just an overwhelming tender emotion, a comprehension that can only come from hearing that same buzzing noise blurring the good and bad. 

One of your hands untangles from where your fingers are curled into his shirt, rises to rest over his on your cheek. 

Of course he understands. A toxic marriage, a broken engagement, so many other wounds that cut deep and left scars. 

Marcus has fought to break habits, too. 

He leans in, kisses you softly, your lips then your forehead. “Will you…” he pulls back to look at you, tongue dipping against his lower lip. “Will you let me help you? With the noise?”

Your heart beats steadily. 

You know what he means.

The memory of sinking deep into that haze of pleasure, letting go of your ceaseless thoughts. Allowing him to take control of the noise and silence it.

Giving yourself over to him, wholly and completely.

Trust trust trust

There’s no hesitation in your thoughts, in your voice.

“Yes.”

*****

Next: Part Two

Previous: I’m Here

#the mentalist fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #reader insert #no y/n

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ jake struggled to decide whether you were a blessing or a curse to the system—his personal feelings about you didn’t matter. they never had. ⤏ until they suddenly did, that is. ⤏ now he had to fix the mess he caused before he ruined everything for the two he’s trying to protect most as well as you. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 15.6k a/n ☽ ⤏ this chapter was certainly a challenge to write! I have such a particular interpretation of jake in my head influenced by such lovely headcanons and fanfics in the mk community that I had a bit of stage-fright trying to portray him with justice to my vision of him. having very little on-screen material from which to go off of certainly doesn’t help—steven and marc’s voices are so clear to me, but jake’s is a little more subtle and stepping out to develop it on my own was a little nerve-wracking because I wanted so badly to do him justice! ⤏ I also apologize that this chapter came late—I had a busy weekend on top of homework and I was wrestling with jake’s characterization. but here he is, now! let me know if y’all like how I wrote him! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾   ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake met you, it was an inevitability.

Steven and Marc were wrapped around each of your pinky fingers. Completely enamored with you. Nearly worshiped the ground that you walked on. You had lodged yourself inextricably into their gravitational pull, orbiting them as though you’d always been fixed to their collective side—present almost as often as Jake was.

Jake found it inconvenient at best. Dangerous at worst.

Because despite his near slip-up, fumbling just a bit at the suddenness of stepping in that fateful night Marc had decided to swoop in and rescue you (not that you’d really needed rescuing—you were owed credit for holding your own better than most women with whom they’d ever interacted in such scenarios), the two had not been particularly watchful for him.

Sure, they discussed it more—never around you, of course, worried that you would worry about their unease, being unable to properly identify the source of their combined blackouts. The outlier. But they were doing little else than that, and Jake had almost been concerned about them trying to draw him out by force. Biding their time, maybe. But that was fine—Jake was patient. He waited them out every other time he slipped to the front while they were unaware, save during emergencies, and this would be no different—eventually they’d drop their guard, start to doubt their suspicions, and put the idea to the back of their mind where he dwelt and he could comfortably resume his work.

…That was, provided you were removed from the equation altogether.

London loomed in the height of winter, several months later. They had gotten over themselves long enough to enter full and individual romantic relationships with you, and Jake had to admit that he had never felt either of them as happy as they were around you. Marc had loved Layla dearly, still did, and Jake knew she had been integral to keeping him steady and for some of his healing—but you were different. You were an unknown variable, and yet Marc was putting in his every effort to make it work, not looking to repeat his past mistakes in order to ensure your mutual and assured trust: you knowing the brutal nature of Marc’s past and Marc entrusting you with the intimate knowledge of it.

It had taken time, of course (an excruciatingly long period of it, in fact), but you hadn’t flinched once even when he’d told you of the blood staining his hands, both innocent and villainous, during his time as a soldier and mercenary. You had stayed, hadn’t run, hadn’t treated him like the killer he’d always convinced himself that he was. Marc had been relieved.

Jake had only grown frustrated. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.

Because Steven’s infatuation with you was one thing. He’d had a few crushes here and there, had been laboring in the dating scene for weeks by the time Marc had inadvertently revealed himself to his alter, and Jake had even tried to help the pobrecito* catch a break once. (Jake couldn’t lie—he’d almost hoped that he could’ve caught a break, too, since Marc had left Layla high and dry and Jake had been pent up with all the mounting stress Marc had only been internalizing instead of dealing with in a somewhat healthy manner—but Steven had deserved to be doted on by a pretty woman at least once in his oblivious, lonely life, and Dylan the tour guide was a very pretty woman.) Steven was a romantic at heart, had sought a meaningful relationship more than anything for the longest, so it was to be expected that he’d eventually fall in with some unwitting little thing ignorant to the myriad problems riddling the inner depths of his psyche—that, Jake could have dealt with, hypothetically, if things had escalated to that point. A quick misunderstanding carefully orchestrated leading to a break-up would have been a simple solution, and while it would have hurt Steven greatly for a while, it would have been ultimately necessary for both the long-term safety of the system and for the security of Jake’s continued, secretive role as Khonshu’s fantoche*.

But Marc getting involved threw an entirely new wrench into the gears of Jake’s plans. Because Marc Spector operated in black or white. All or nothing. Always had and always would. Either he didn’t trust you as far as he could throw you or he’d carry you through the depths of hell barefooted on red-hot coals and have the nerve to apologize to you for stumbling on his bleeding blisters.

Marc’s trust came two-fold, also, now that he was in full cohesion with Steven—he still didn’t readily trust anyone, but if Steven did? He was sold soon after just on the principle of the matter. Steven’s judgment of character was, admittedly, as keen as any telepath’s, despite his naïveté and optimism—and Marc trusted Steven more than he trusted anyone else in the world. Even Layla. Even you.

Even Jake, though it had been entirely subconscious up until very recently.

Because he’d fought Jake the last time he’d forced himself to the front to save his life (and yours, by extension, loathe as Jake was to admit it), whereas before Jake had always managed to blindside him. It was a close call—one that Jake could not afford to make again.

And it would be so much fucking easier if you weren’t around so damn often.

Any bit of spare time the boys had that happened to coincide with yours, they were trying to see you: from snack breaks between your classes or on your shared lunch breaks to movie nights featuring home cooked meals and set tables and lit candles because you were just as much of a romantic as Steven was (God help them). You dried one bloom from every bouquet of flowers they ever brought you, keeping them all in a pitcher you used as a centerpiece more than once. You had even started packing them lunches, for Christ’s sake, with plentiful options that either Steven or Marc would enjoy depending on who ended up fronting. Even when either (or both) of you were too tired to go out on the town for a date (which happened so often Jake wondered how Marc hadn’t depleted his bank account already), the long evenings you weren’t obligated to work or study were spent cuddled up on the couch in your apartment or theirs, oblivious to the outside world as you indulged in each other’s company.

The winter brought worsening weather with it, which meant that you were spending more time at home with them. You’d even started spending the night, which was treading on Jake’s very last nerve—his one assured bastion of being able to take the body surreptitiously without Marc or Steven realizing it was put into jeopardy because while you were a heavy sleeper (almost like a fucking corpse, really—he’d had to check to make sure you were even breathing, once), you hadn’t yet gotten used to sharing a bed with someone, which resulted in you rousing slightly any time the body so much as shifted. Marc still had night terrors occasionally, and you’d never fail to comfort him back to sleep, even at the cost of your own rest.

Jake should be thankful, really, if he thought about it for too long. Marc had managed to keep sober long before he met you, but his cravings had dissipated almost entirely since you’d gently steered him towards sodas instead of beer—meaning no more black-out drunk episodes from which Jake had to nurse the body back from the brink. The body rested better with you there to anchor their unsteady mind at the times it decided to bring back the bad memories. You were feeding them better than they’d eaten since living with Layla, hearty and savory dishes that had packed a few pounds onto their lean frame, helping to negate Marc and Steven’s combined forgetfulness towards even the most basic practices of self-care. You had even started buying them groceries in thanks for the dinners they bought you, keeping their fridge and cabinets full and their personal products stocked up throughout the apartment.

You were doing the brunt of his job for him—making sure the body was taken care of and that neither of them spiraled nor regressed. He should be happy that he didn’t have to pull so much weight anymore, that he got to kick back and relax.

So why did it all piss him off so damn much?

You were pretty, he supposed. Not the most stunning bird he’d ever seen, but you were a decent pull on Steven’s part. You got along with the little nerd, and you got along with Marc—which was a feat in and of itself. You had an incredibly dry sense of humor on top of a quick tongue that drew inadvertent chuckles from even the surliest of Marc’s moods. You kept up with Steven’s intellect effortlessly, and the pair of you could talk hours upon hours on the most mundane of topics—oftentimes earning a scolding from Marc whenever the conversation would carry on past midnight (which would only make you both giggle and apologize sheepishly and rarely actually curbed your shared enthusiasm). You mediated their occasional disagreements with utmost diplomacy, always playing devil’s advocate even on their most childish of squabbles, never played favorites even when they’d playfully compete for your affections—you stood resolute in your stance of loving them equally in their own unique relationships with you.

You made them completely, perfectly, incandescently happy. That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Because Jake was getting…distracted.

He’d always been strictly about business—the sole reason he existed. He protected the body, no matter the cost. Now he had Khonshu to answer to, and that was difficult enough, trying to balance enough time at night to do the old bird’s bidding while Marc and Steven slept—blissfully unaware thanks to Jake’s skill in repressing them both to the work he’d been doing the last several months trying to cull out the vestiges of Harrow’s cult. 

Because of course that bastard hadn’t taken all his people with him to Cairo to hunt for Ammit’s tomb. Of course he’d left pockets of his followers scattered all over London—assured by his own success, he’d planted them there in order to divide and conquer the city once he’d freed Ammit. And of course they had to be skilled enough at hiding to require him to painstakingly construct an elaborate underground network of people keeping their ears to the ground for any signs. That’s what was taking so long to eradicate them all, and it irritated Khonshu to no end, having to sit and wait when he constantly hounded Jake to ‘execute his justice’. Jake was patient. The god of the moon was most certainly not.

Now add the stress of keeping you unaware of his goings-on? With your infuriatingly saccharine smile and fawn-like fluttering lashes and easy affection that haunted the back of his mind when he did find precious little time to front? He could hardly concentrate on prowling the streets anymore when your detergent of choice had wormed its way into the clothes he kept packed away in the back of Marc’s closet, well away from view (because you even did their laundry for them sometimes when Steven ended up working late on inventory—like a little housewife or something), the scent trapped under Khonshu’s armor nearly smothering him.

Jake knew, deep down though he’d done his best to ignore it, that his ruse would come to a head eventually—Marc was keen on his interiority now that he was no longer in denial of his issues; and Steven was, too, since Marc had let him in on all of it. Jake just didn’t anticipate having to deal with you and your unnervingly observant perception on top of it.

Ultimately it was of little surprise that the scouts for the rest of Harrow’s carroñeros* had put a flag on you, since Jake’s alters spent so much time with you in plain public view. At the very least, it had allowed for that one slippery bastard to finally be put away after somehow surviving Jake’s wrath with him ever having realized it, even if it had put you in danger. The hijo de puta* had played a calculated risk to come after you, trying to cover it up as a robbery rather than a hit to get back at the spectre picking them all off one by one—one that hadn’t paid off in the slightest. He was lucky that Jake hadn’t had the time nor privacy to do exactly what he’d wanted to—a fractured temple via blunt force trauma, hopefully with an added concussion, would have to suffice for the time being. He’d better pray that he wasn’t released anytime soon.

Especially since he’d had the audacity and the gall (and the balls) to target you. Jake wasn’t cruel enough to wish you any harm, don’t get him wrong. You hadn’t done anything wrong, necessarily, just…frustrated him to no end. They were lucky that you’d had the foresight to text them, or else that would’ve been the last that Marc or Steven would’ve ever seen of you.

Jake knew that would only have resulted in disaster.

You had crossed over the threshold of being a danger to the system to being a necessity for their safety and sanity—because if something happened to you now, Jake doubted sincerely that he would ever be able to pick up the pieces of Marc or Steven’s hearts and minds. And so Jake was forced to resolve himself to add one more individual to his list. For the betterment of the system.

Joder, pues claro.*

…It wasn’t as if he didn’t like you. He had to admit that much to himself, at least. You were pleasant enough to be around. You did tell good jokes, well thought out ones that made Jake have to think about them a little while before he got them. He appreciated how rational you were about things, rarely letting your emotions impact otherwise simple miscommunications or misunderstandings over which most women would have a conniption, choosing to talk out your problems while also being honest about how you felt rather than giving them the silent treatment or some shit—it was a necessary balance to Marc’s precarious internalizations of his own complicated feelings and his ever-present struggles to express them in a concise and healthy manner. Jake didn’t mind listening in on your tangents all that much, even if the topics didn’t interest him in the slightest—your passion and thought process kept him hooked enough, as did the dimples bordering your smile and the creases crinkling the corners of your glittering eyes. You were a damn good cook, to boot—Jake had snuck your leftovers on those late nights more often than he’d ever readily admit out loud. Neither still were you hard on the eyes.

So…yeah. If Jake found himself co-fronting, lingering in the back of the headspace well away from Marc and Steven’s reach, as Marc watched you gape at the street performer juggling flaming swords while balancing on a unicycle…that was between him and the soft smile tugging at the corners of their host’s mouth that Jake would likely have reflected despite himself.

The early evening had plunged the city into a nose-numbing one—but you’d been itching to revel in the cold, misty air and to venture out into London’s brimming nightlife with the bolstering safety you’d confessed to feeling while in their presence. The entire plaza was thrumming with music and noise and laughter, light and fire mixing to highlight the angles, curves, and planes of your disbelieving face. You were bundled up to the nines to fight the cold, still unaccustomed to the weather in contrast to the south US’ comparatively mild winters, but you refused to tuck one hand into your pocket in favor of clasping Marc’s firmly. Seated on a bench wedged so closely together that even Jake could feel the tremors in your limbs, you remained glued to his side as though to sap the warmth from the body—evidently, it wasn’t working, because you let out a shuddering breath as your teeth chattered when the performer paused to take a break. Another stepped up to take his place, and the loosely gathered crowd clapped to welcome him.

“You’re going to freeze if you don’t let me take you home,” Marc rumbled into your ear, covered by the toboggan he’d insisted you wear to spare yourself from frostbite.

“Just a little longer, honey?” you pleaded, turning your head to gaze up at him with those infuriatingly fawn-like eyes. “It’s supposed to ice over tonight and I just know I’m going to get cabin fever tomorrow.”

Marc huffed out a wry chuckle, unthreading your fingers to coil his arm around your shoulders and to tug you closer, keeping his mouth tucked close to your ear. “You’re a homebody, baby. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble staying inside cuddled up with us for the weekend than you normally do.”

You pouted at him playfully, jutting out your bottom lip, and Marc’s gaze was fixed on it until you smoothed your expression. “All right,” you bemoaned, tilting your head away in faux dejection, “I suppose I’ll allow you to coop me up for the next couple of days…” You fluttered your lashes at him. “...as long as you promise to keep me warm, that is. Won’t you, honey?”

“As if you even had to ask.” Marc dipped his head to skim his brow against yours, peering directly into your eyes. “But that’ll require thawing you out first. It’s not getting any warmer.”

“I can think of a few ways to solve that,” you murmured, half-lidded, and slanted your mouth over his—the breath’s breadth between your lips and his was quickly stolen by Marc with a low, knowing chuckle.

Jake rolled his eyes. Metaphorically, of course. He’d even facepalm if he could. You two were hopeless—and he’d thought Steven had it bad.

Can it, Casanova, remarked the Brit as though summoned by Jake’s internal musing, she’s still shakin’.

“I know, I know,” Marc mumbled, pulling away and shaking his head at your amused expression. It had taken a while for both of them to get comfortable enough to vocalize their seemingly one-sided conversations around you, but you treated it as normally as if you could hear the third party, too. Marc patted your hip and stood, grumbling under his breath at the stiffness of his muscles, courtesy of Jake’s last bloody brawl a few nights prior—unbeknownst to either of his alters, of course. “Come on, I bought hot chocolate. We’ll start with that, and then a hot shower.”

You gasped in delight, lurching up to your feet and latching onto his hand once more. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” you demanded, tugging eagerly at his arm toward the direction of the bus stop. “You could’ve gotten me home hours ago!”

“I wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying all this,” Marc returned, allowing you to guide him in the wrong direction only to see the excited sway of your hips. His eyes cut over the plaza on reflex, but locked onto a couple of guys lingering near the fountain that started to move in the same direction at the same time. His brow furrowed. “Let’s take a shortcut��don’t want to miss the bus.”

He folded your hand over the crook of his arm instead, winding his way through the crowd in an attempt to lose his tail. Jake could feel Marc’s mind crowding with alarm—who they could be, what they would be doing, which group he had once pissed off that now had decided to try to ruin his night—and he edged just a touch closer to the front to peer through Marc’s periphery.

Ah, yes. The bastard with the scar that had come after you had a handful of lackeys, and these cabrónes* were two of them. Twins, big and ginger and mean as hell. Marc was none the wiser to the reason why they were after the body, however—no recognition passed through his racing thoughts—and Jake inwardly cursed.

Steven noticed Marc’s growing apprehension, likewise. What’s wrong, Marc?

“Nothing,” he muttered, causing you to glance up at him questioningly.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, glancing around the thinning people as Marc herded you towards the end of the plaza where it was quiet and dark. He ushered you into a narrow alleyway that broke out onto the main street, and while your brow was furrowed, you followed him without resistance. “We haven’t gone this way before.”

“We’re being followed,” he muttered to you, glancing over his shoulder towards the retreating lights. “Remember what I’ve told you?”

Your expression morphed from shock to grave in an instant. It was a discussion Marc had reiterated multiple times—being in a relationship with a wanted man always entailed a certain amount of danger, and Marc had hammered emergency protocol into your head in the event that something like this ever happened. He had hoped that it wouldn’t, for your sake, and the fact that you were schooling any signs of fear in all but your eyes only reinforced the reason why Jake hadn’t wanted you involved at all in the first place.

Jake pressed in closer. Marc’s ears were straining in lieu of ample light, eyes trained on the end of the alleyway—which became shadowed as another pair of silhouettes hemmed the both of you in.

Marc, Steven breathed, tone tight with worry, what now?

“Fuck,” Marc hissed, jerking you against his chest. He whipped around to dart back out from whence you’d come, but the twins had caught up. Heart pounding, he cupped a hand around your head and whispered urgently, “I’m going to take these guys down first so you can run back to the plaza where it’s lit and there’s other people. Call the cops and stick with a group and do not go anywhere by yourself, all right? Not until I come get you.”

Your hands were vices around the collar of his jacket, eyes shining in the dim. Your voice quivered. “Marc, I am not leaving you here alone.”

His fingers tightened around your shoulders. Their footsteps were picking up in speed from both directions, echoing off the dampened brick. “We talked about this—you promised you’d listen to me,” he growled. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Us. We’ve faced worse odds.”

“What if—” you started, but didn’t have enough time to finish.

Marc shoved you behind him as the first giant reached out with mitts for hands towards you. Marc latched onto the bulky limb, twisting his wrist and pinning him onto the concrete in seconds. He pressed and jerked and the unfortunate soul’s arm popped out of place—a wet, skin-crawling pop that resonated far more loudly off the narrow walls than it should have. The man cried out in pain.

“Marc!” you gasped.

Jake leaned in as Marc took a blow to the side of the head—the other twin’s paw clapped against his ear and sent him careening into the wall, discombobulated as his hearing rang like a siren. His shaken equilibrium buckled his knees, but he pushed himself upright to land a series of resounding punches along the brute’s side and back, targeting the sensitive places sure to bruise at the very least. The ribs gave under the combination of Marc’s strength and expertise, and like a tree the second twin was felled with a well-timed hook to the chin.

“Go!” Marc snapped over the ringing in his ears, hooking a hand around your waist and shoving you in the direction of the exit between the two groaning gingers. “Get out of here!”

You turned back to look at him, utterly terrified. “But—!”

“Damn it, baby, please just—”

The latter pair of cultists didn’t give him as ample a warning as the former—and they were smart enough to pull the guns from their holsters rather than rely on their hands. The shot flashed like lightning, muffled by its silencer.

Marc staggered back, the burning in his side stealing the breath from his lungs. The tinnitus increased twofold, to the point that your startled shout was drowned out entirely. The pounding of their pulse roared in their ears, and Jake thought he heard Steven hollering over the din trapped in their head.

Marc’s control slipped in his shock and pain. Steven grappled for it in terror wholly driven to protect you. Jake seized the opportunity and yanked them both back into the headspace to block them off as he lunged forward—so suddenly that the body folded in half  from the strain. His knees buckled and his shoulder struck the brick, jarring him.

“This is the guy that’s been giving us so much trouble?” gloated one of them. “All it takes is one bullet?”

“We’ve shot this one more than a dozen times and it’s never stopped him before,” the other said warily. “Where’s all that get-up?”

Jake muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

“What’s that?” crooned the fool, gesturing lackadaisically towards him with the smoldering muzzle. “Have something to say before we rid the world of your chaos, asshole?”

“Sí.” The avatar raised his head, glowing eyes casting his assailants' suddenly wan, fallen countenances in a spectral hue. “Dije,” he growled as the familiar ragged bandages coiled around his limbs while he straightened to his full height, “te vas a arrepentir, pendejos.*”

The bullet clinked against the damp asphalt as he was fully enveloped in the armor.

“Ah, shit,” they said in unison.

The shock on their faces precluded the terror that followed his swift movement. The crescents whistled as he slung them in their direction—the cocky one caught it in the throat, plunging through his jugular. Blood splattered in a wide arc against the ground as he fell. The cautious one managed to tumble to the side to avoid it, however—just barely.

A heavy hand grabbed his padded shoulder and whirled Jake around—only to be struck across the temple with an errant piece of pipe. Mierda. The twins were back up on their feet, tag-teaming to make up for their missing mobility.

Jake jerked his head back to avoid another swing, summoning a truncheon from the small of his back and shattered the first’s wrist with a well-timed parry. Two more strikes upon the man’s solar plexus and skull sent him crumpling to the ground, totally unconscious at the very least. Two to go.

He didn’t have time to pause. The gunman fired thrice at his back, but the slugs passed right through him. Jake exchanged blows with the twin for a moment, finally propelling himself off the brick wall and swinging over the expanse of his mountainous shoulders to lock and twist his neck between his knees and bring the behemoth crashing down face-first. He didn’t move again even as Jake leapt back to his feet and pitched another array of darts at the gunman’s retreating back. Sliced flesh, a gurgled curse, and the clatter of metal preceded the heavy tumble of his body.

Jake stalked further into the shadows, tucking the truncheon back into its holster and flexing his fists. He grabbed the collar of the gunman’s jacket and hoisted him upright, pinning him to the wall with his forearm against his throat. Blood dribbled from the corners of the man’s mouth onto the woven gauntlet.

“Tell me where the rest of your amigos* are and I’ll consider letting you go,” he growled.

“Funny,” the man spat viciously onto Jake’s mask near his shielded eyes, “how you think I’ll talk after you murdered them!”

“Just like you attacked a bunch of innocent kids, yeah?” Jake snarled. “Said their scales wouldn’t balance just ‘cause they were picking on someone else? Even though your fucking goddess is dead and you don’t even have the power to read a single palm? Child murder isn’t going to get you where you’re wanting to end up, pendejo, and a little bullying isn’t enough to condone ritual execution!”

The gunman roared and tried to grapple with him, but Jake only pinned his wrists into the mortar with a dart over his head before jabbing him in the ribs. He only noticed the panic button clasped between his fingers once the indicator began to blink a rapid crimson.

“Mierda,” Jake hissed, clocking his elbow across the bastard’s face and snatching the device once he slumped over. He dropped and smashed it with his heel, grinding it into bits.

“...Baby?”

Jake stiffened, head whipping towards the sound of your small voice. You had cowered against the wall, plunged mostly in shadow, but your hunched shoulders and quick breaths fogging against the shafts of light that the street lamp at his back cast tipped off your apprehension. He didn’t have time to react, save to open his mouth, before the distant squeal of brakes, the heavy slam of vehicle doors, shouting, and rapid footsteps at the far end of the alley interrupted him. 

He marched over to you, the armor receding with every step. He glimpsed your eyes in the dark, round and anxious, even as he gripped your arm and tugged you in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he muttered gruffly. “Better scram.”

“What’s wrong?” you breathed instead, resisting him. You were sturdy, he had to give you that, even as the heels of your boots skidded against the rain-slickened pavement.

“Other than having a bunch of madmen with guns on our tails? Nothing at all.” He pulled a bit more forcefully this time. “Let’s go.”

Your protesting noise was drowned out by an ear-ringing report of a gun, and the air near Jake’s ear whistled with the near miss of a bullet. It ricocheted off the brick and had mortar showering the ground.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Jake hissed. “Corres, chaparrita!*”

He pulled you along behind him into a full sprint. The pair of you broke out of the alley towards the crowded plaza once more. You stumbled a couple of times on the uneven concrete due to the awkward mobility afforded by Jake’s unforgiving grip on your wrist, but he was not going to let you go for fear of you falling behind and getting snatched or worse. His scowl and speed drew bemused glances from the bystanders, but their expressions morphed into shock when their eyes passed over his shoulders.

So the bastards were pissed (or desperate) enough to give chase in broad moonlight. They had balls, he had to give them that—and while it made them stupid, it didn’t make them any less dangerous.

He headed towards the far side where the plaza merged onto the main road littered with vendors on the broad sidewalks. People buzzed along the blocked off street—for the entire event would last all weekend and force all the normal goers to circumnavigate the grounds—in tight throngs, along which he had no doubt he could lose the zealots. The tactic has served him well countless times before—and not just in London, or while under Khonshu’s directive. Merging and camouflaging with oblivious civilians and letting one’s hunters pass one by altogether often worked better than trying to outrun them or to hide outright.

The gateway was narrow, and Jake shoved a man twice his size out of his way to hook a sharp left. The man’s curses were drowned out by your profuse, breathless apologies, and Jake growled out a tense, “Callate!*” before narrowly dodging a street lamp since he’d cast a glare over his shoulder at you.

People’s attention only grew as the street funneled into a narrow crosswalk connecting to a broader street. Jake hooked a right that time, darting past families and couples as he went. You were keeping up with him surprisingly well, but your panting was getting too loud—your stamina would give out soon. He had to figure out a way to blend the both of you in without drawing attention so the zealots would go on and he could double back to lose them completely.

Another right at the end of the block revealed another market street, though the middle was undulating with dancing couples as a busking band was playing a lively, energetic tune.

“Mierda,” he growled, “las cosas que hago por vosotros, hermanos.*”

Jake hauled you to a brisk walk instead, melting into the ring of onlookers clapping along with raucous chatter and laughter. They would provide good enough cover, but Jake knew he could show neither of your faces or else the ruse would be for naught. That necessitated unbearably close proximity with the bane of his existence for the last few months—and you had clocked him instantly. It wouldn’t fly for long.

Jake broke through the wall of people nearest the booths, thankful for the partial shadow that would aid to your obscurement. He hastily tugged the collar of Marc’s jacket up, ruffled his fingers through their hair to conceal the majority of their upper features, and hooked an arm around the middle of your back to tug you against his chest. You scarcely caught yourself on his shoulders to keep your nose from bashing into his sternum. With his free hand he pulled the toboggan from your head and stuffed it into your pocket before tugging the back of your scarf up the back of your head and over your forehead, overlapping the tails to cover your chin and mouth—which opened as your brows furrowed in protest.

Jake ducked his head, pressing his lips against your covered ear. “If you want to live long enough to see the end of the night,” he hissed, hands slipping to your waist and beginning to sway you in time with the music, “you’ll do exactly as I do. Me entiendes?*”

You pursed your lips, but the indignant flare behind your eyes didn’t flicker once—even as exclamations of shock caught his attention. Jake pulled you further back into the shadows, but to his luck a couple of other dancers swung between the pair of you and the zealots squinting down the street for any sign. 

Jake began to match the others’ movements to appear more natural, the quick tempo dictating the shuffle of his feet—forward, scuffle, back, ad nauseam, faster than he could breathe. He could hardly concentrate on that as well at the moment, unfortunately, given he hadn’t danced in years.

You were hot under your clothes from the running spree, seeping through yours and his shared layers where the weight of your torso was pressed tightly against his. He kept his face tucked close to the sweep of your neck and shoulder, angling his broad shoulders towards them, winding carefully behind more and more couples while keeping careful rhythm. Your panting came harsh and high next to his ear, your breath warming his chilled shell and lobe. Your hands slipped from his shoulders to rest more convincingly on his chest, a firm press to keep your balance. 

Although you didn’t seem to know all the specific steps to this dance, you were obviously familiar with the form and rhythm of it. You were a natural, the shimmy of your hips almost smoother than his own—you didn’t stumble once, light on your feet as you (reluctantly) allowed him to guide you without a single glance behind you to confirm he wasn’t about to walk you into a wall or another person. No, your eyes stayed fixed on what you could see of his face the entire time, forehead perspiring and cheeks darkened from exertion, mouth slightly agape to pull in much-needed air. You were studying him, it seemed like, scanning his features as though dissecting every crease and stretch. 

Jake didn’t like it, not one bit. You already knew too much—the last thing he needed was you committing any of him to memory.

Instead of stopping, the band shifted into an entirely new song with a different beat altogether, but when Jake adapted to it, you did so, too—seamlessly, in fact, perfectly in tune to the body’s movements. (Ew. He didn’t need to think about that shit.) The two of you were so close that your knees would have knocked together if your feet weren’t offset. You were used to it, to him, even though you’d only learned the body while the others were using it. You knew him, even though he was a stranger.

Shit, shit, shit. He was so fucked.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Marc’s sweatshirt over his thrumming heart, anchoring yourself as the tension finally drained from your form—he felt it before he saw it, watching your shoulders loosen as you lost yourself to the music. You almost seemed to be enjoying it, and Jake almost lamented the fact that you were only able to indulge in it under these very dire circumstances. 

Almost.

“Are they gone?” you ventured breathlessly, chin brushing against his clavicle as you tilted your head forward so he’d hear your low tone that caused each hair on the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Jake blinked, then looked back up to the street corner with a deep-set frown. “Me distraiste jodidamente,*” he growled under his breath, shoving the visceral image of your chapped lips to the very back of his mind. “Yes, they’re gone.”

Your expression relaxed, then, into one of relief. The song tapered into an end, allowing both the dancers and the musicians a breather, and Jake finally peeled himself away from you as though your warmth had scorched him. He grasped your elbow again, tugging you through a narrow passage between booths to the mouth of a quiet side street with outdoor diners clustered around tables set out despite the weather.

He expected questions. He expected you to demand answers, like any other person in your situation would. ‘Who were they? Why were they trying to hurt me? Who the hell are you and why are you not Marc or Steven?’

He did not expect, however, for you to drop your gaze to his abdomen and to fish your hand under Marc’s jacket. He flinched back, but you’d already hooked a finger into the hole torn into the sticky, blood-soaked material of Marc’s shirt, fingertip grazing the smooth, whole flesh underneath and searing your fingerprint there in the process. He pushed your hand away, taking a half step back to distance himself from the mix of concern and confusion in your eyes.

“Are you hurt?” you asked him quietly, not venturing further into his personal space (to his relief).

Jake clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.

You hesitated. “What’s…what’s your name?”

Fuck his lack of luck, honestly. He half-turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

“...Thank you for saving me.”

He scoffed under his breath. “If you’d kept your promise to Marc in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Your tone instantly sharpened with indignation. “I know what I promised him, but he—you got fucking shot! I wasn’t about to leave you to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died. Just a scratch,” he groused, contorting and tugging the hem of the shirt up to show you the unblemished skin there, smeared with tacky blood against his knuckles. “See? Missed.”

“They did not miss,” you told him matter-of-factly. “I saw Marc fall. There’s fucking blood all over you—I’m not stupid. Do not lie to me.” You stepped closer, then, pointing that same bloodied finger at him and poking him in the sternum. He bared his teeth at you, cornered with the alley wall at his back. “All that back there was something that you’ve got going on, wasn’t it? Marc hasn’t told me about anything like this.”

You were too goddamn smart for your own fucking good. “There’s a lot that Marc hasn’t told you,” he growled, “and for good reason.”

Your eyes flashed. “And I bet you’re the authority on all of that, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“I’ve noticed them being vigilant lately, but they won’t tell me what’s bothering them. Lots of private conversations—and no, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t listen in on them—and they get anxious when they’re tired or spacey. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out why they’ve been walking on eggshells ever since you popped up in the coffee shop that night—”

Jake’s jaw dropped open. Things were rapidly escalating out of hand, faster than he could hold them together. “How on earth do you—?”

“Marc is many things,” you said lowly, “but he is not a man who glorifies in violence. It bothers him still to touch me on his bad days, much less brushing up against a stranger. He wouldn’t smirk when he knocks someone out cold—with the pommel of a knife, no less. Neither would Steven, for that matter.”

Jake squared his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest to brush your hand away, glowering down at you. “Why haven’t you said anything to them?”

“Because they haven’t brought it up. I don’t push them for answers that they don’t want to give me. I know it’s already hard enough for them to be open to communicating their thoughts and feelings between themselves—I don’t want to pressure them any more by adding myself to the mix.” You jutted your chin. “But if you’re going to keep putting them in danger, you need to let them know what’s going on so they don’t get caught off-guard again.”

“You need to keep your nose out of my business and let me do my goddamn job,” he ground out.

“It becomes my business when both of our lives get put on the line!” you returned. “And what exactly is your job, huh? Circus performer with a specialty in knives?” You tugged on the hem of the jacket, ignoring how he went rigid. “Where do you keep that costume so they don’t realize they’re wearing it, too, by the way? Because I know for a fact that Steven would’ve mentioned cosplaying as the fucking Mummy if he knew about—”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not a costume.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You raised a haughty brow. “Do they know you’re running around like an albino version of London’s Daredevil?”

He was not about to explain all of Khonshu’s business to you. You knew too much already, and if Marc and/or Steven even caught wind of the old bird still hanging around, Jake was done for. “They don’t know about me for a reason, chaparrita, and I’d like to keep it that way. They can’t know about me—it’s better for all of us in the long run—so if you’d very kindly just keep your trap shut—”

“You have to tell them about you,” you told him firmly, eyes blazing, “and about whatever vigilante shit you’ve got going on. It’s not fair to them—they think they’re free from Marc’s old merc work, and here you are using the body against their consent to do whatever it is that you please. Do you realize how much danger you’re putting them in carrying on with shit like this?”

“I am protecting them,” he bit back, a snarl building in the back of his throat.

“By getting them ambushed in a fucking alley?” you snapped. “Your involvement in this could’ve gotten all three of you killed!”

“That costume is the only thing that can keep them alive through anything!” Jake returned sharply. “They would’ve been fine!”

“And what about me?” you demanded. “What about my safety? I know I chose my lot once Marc told me about his past, but this is adding a whole new level to all this that I wasn’t prepared for! What if you hadn’t been there, lingering in the background, or—or however you knew to step in? Do I need to live my life looking over my shoulder just in case there’s someone tailing me, waiting to catch me off-guard long enough to hurt me to get to them thinking they’re you? How do you think they’d react if something happened to me out of the blue, just by my being around them and whoever it is you’re fighting, thinking you’re the same person because you share the same face? Even then, they’d try to get to the bottom of it, and they could get shot, or stabbed, or—or whatever, just by trying to clean up your fucking mess!”

“If you weren’t around being seen with our face in the first place, you wouldn’t be involved to start with,” he growled, “and I wouldn’t have to concern myself with keeping you out of harm’s way all the time! You’re a liability to them—if something happened to you, they’d lose their shit, and I can’t have that happen. You’re as much of a danger to their wellbeing as these fucking cabrónes are!”

You retreated then, hurt flashing across your features so fast he almost missed it, before you schooled your expression into something frigid enough that it sent a chill down Jake’s spine. You floundered for words, lips moving without a sound, and Jake’s fuse shortened by the second. You swallowed, then, and roughly tipped your chin up—in defiance, certainly, but Jake didn’t miss the shine of moisture welling along your lash line. “…Do they feel that way, since you do?” you finally ventured. “Somewhere deep down? That I’m just a burden to them?”

“No,” he sighed, tucking his head and scrubbing his hand down his face. “There’s not a thing in this fucking world that they wouldn’t do for you, chaparrita, or kill themselves by trying. That’s the problem. That’s what makes you so dangerous. They care about you far too much.”

“And you don’t, I take it?” you supposed tightly. “Is that your job? Not to care?”

Jake ground his jaw so tightly his temples throbbed. “Don’t put words in my fucking mouth.”

“Then tell me why, exactly, you’re so hellbent on hiding yourself from them when they’re already trying so goddamn hard to heal and work together? What gives you the right to opt out and do whatever you damn well please, spilling more blood on their hands at the same time they’re trying to wash them clean?”

“There’s nothing special about me,” he bit out, “and they don’t need me—because if they knew what I’ve had to do to keep them alive they’d never forgive themselves!” Your brows twitched up, and Jake snarled under his breath. “Mierda. Just stay out of my fucking business, will you? The less you know, the better. And do not tell them about this, or about me, me entiendes?”

“I am not going to lie to Marc or Steven, and it’s stupid of you to think that I would,” you told him resolutely. “Either you tell them, or I will.”

“Did you miss all of what I just fucking said?” he spat. “If they know about me, it’ll do far more harm than good. They have a hard enough time reconciling what they’ve gone through, I don’t need to add all my shit to it!”

“You’ve helped them survive what they’ve gone through,” you pointed out, and Jake’s breath stopped short. “I’m not stupid, despite what you may think. I can tell even now that your primary concern is their well-being. But don’t you think telling them that you’re here, and that you’re a—a what, a superhero?—wouldn’t that be better than keeping them in the dark?”

“I am not a hero, chaparrita,” he told you darkly.

“Well, you’re certainly not a villain,” you responded evenly—as if you were stating fact.

Jake scowled. “Did they tell you what happened in Egypt? What really happened?”

Your eyes flashed. “They don’t have to, it’s not really any of my business. I know it was hard on them and they don’t like to talk about—”

“We got shot. Twice. We died! And it was only that armor that brought us back!” Jake flashed his teeth. “Marc let the bastard that did it go, but I killed him. That’s the difference between Marc or Steven and I, chaparrita: I hurt those who deserve it and feel no remorse for it.”

You blinked, then, eyes rounded. Realization dawned behind your gaze, and when you looked sharply off to the side, a stray tear slipped over the curve of your cheek. Your expression tightened, and Jake could imagine that you were finally putting together all the fragments of what Steven and Marc had mentioned offhandedly about their time in Egypt.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, sinking against the wall and dropping his head back against the brick. He dragged a hand down his face with a harsh sigh. He’d completely fumbled this entire situation. “...Mira.* If something were to happen to you, mis hermanos* won’t take it well.” He looked down at you, eyes half-lidded—meeting fire with fire obviously didn’t work with you. Even when Marc was being surly, you only listened when he stopped and lowered his voice. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that you shut down when you were shouted at, based on the way you’d stared at him like a doe caught in headlights. “...Do you really care about them?”

Your head recoiled to stare at him critically. The vessels in your sclera were an agitated crimson. “Of course I do!”

“Then you’ll listen to me, all right?” He straightened and stepped closer, fingers flexing at his side while he repressed the urge to reach out to you. Seeing you upset was doing funny shit to him. (He didn’t like it. Not one bit.) “After what happened tonight, I can’t afford to wait any longer. I need to finish up my business as soon as possible—I spent too long investigating and biding my time to see when those guys would crawl out of their nest. They are dangerous, and I’m going to do my damnedest to tie up all those loose ends. All right? That means I can’t have you caught in the crossfire. And once I get done with that…” He shook his head, casting his eyes upwards briefly. “...then we’ll talk—you know, about…everything else. Do you understand?”

You glared at him for a long moment, lips pursed as you considered him. Finally, you nodded curtly, once.

He raised a brow. “Can you say it for me?”

Your temples flexed. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Buena nena.*” He peered around the corner just to ensure that the zealots hadn’t doubled back, then moved to the edge of the street and flagged down a cab. When they stopped, he gestured you over. You watched him warily all the while, glancing both ways. He reached for the door and grasped the handle, but you laid your hand over his. He froze.

“Please,” you murmured, pleading him with your gaze, “be careful. Keep taking care of them. Let me know if…if you need any help. If there’s anything I can do...” You squeezed his hand, then let it go. “I’d prefer you three to come back in one piece, you know.”

He swallowed roughly, then nodded. He opened the door, and as you stooped to climb inside, his hand curved around the back of your head. You glanced up at him in surprise, but once you were seated, he abruptly retracted his touch.

“I’m trusting you,” you told him. “I don’t want this to be the last time we meet.”

Jake gave you a rueful, wooden smile. “If you’re lucky, cariño*, you won’t ever have to see me again.”

He shut the door, waved off the driver, and shoved his hands into the pockets of Marc’s jacket. He watched the cab round the corner out of sight, closing his eyes briefly, and turned to start walking in the opposite direction.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #reader insert #steven grant #steven grant/reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant/you #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector/reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector/you #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfiction #jake lockley #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley/you #jake lockley x you #jake lockley fanfiction #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight system

[kingpreciouswrld]

was thinking about this reading the cara mia fanfic.

one shot when reader (that is quite infatuated with a certain tall principal), gets asked by weems to help with the Rave’N for student inclusion. reader says yes, but also incloses that she won’t be attending because the person she wants to go with is unavailable. larissa asks if the person is taken and reader gives a vague, mumbled answer in response. weems observes reader over a few days and realizes they’re talking about her, so the day of the dance weems shows up at readers door, asking if she could have this dance, or something along those lines. sorry for a long post, i just wanted to see this kind of fic cause i wanna project :D

project all you want, i'm here to support you :3

pairing: Larissa Weems x Reader

word count: 1k

a/n: I hope this does your request justice. I wrote the majority of this in between customers at work so it might not be coherent :')

After class you were pulled into Larissa’s office.

You were close with said Principle ever since Weems needed help with watching Wednesday. As the eldest Addams, you needed to watch over your sister and apparently she's been giving Larissa some hard times. You were there to be a moderator between the two, someone to listen to Larissa's rants, and just a supporter really.

Expecting to be met with a question about Wednesday, you beat Larissa to the punch, "Whatever she did, I'll fix it. I don't know what it is but I'll take care of it, don't worry."

The white haired headmistress raised a brow, "Wednesday didn't do anything this time Y/n."

"Oh."

Shaking her head, she motioned toward a small stack of papers on her desk, "I called you in here to see if you could help me with this year's Rave'N. Now I know you could be busy so I decided that you could count this toward your volunteering hours."

You thought about it. Getting volunteering hours by spending time with Larissa? That definitely beat volunteering with Wednesday. It probably won't feel like work at all.

"Sure but I'm not gonna go."

"Why not?" Larissa frowned, "you'll be putting it together, you can bear the fruit of your hard labor."

Shrugging, you looked at everything except blue eyes, "The person I want to go with is unavailable so…" 

"Is this person taken?" This was the first time Larissa has ever heard of you having an interest in someone and it didn't sit right with her for some reason.

The white haired woman loved to spend time with you although she'd never admit it. You brought her a sense of comfort that no one else could, made her feel things that no one else could, not even Gomez. She thought you two were close enough that you'd be comfortable enough to share this news about this…person of yours.

Was there something wrong between the two of you that she didn't know about?

"I don't think so? Ah…I mean she's just…she's just…busy that night and I don't want to take her away from her duties I guess." You answered her as you scratched the back of your head. "But it's totally fine, I'm fine with not going."

Larissa hummed, "Well, I'm sorry you won't be joining us Y/n, I would've loved your company as another pair of eyes to watch everyone." 

'A chaperone,' you thought, 'and this is why I'm not going.'

— — — — — — —

Over the next couple of weeks, Larissa kept a close eye on you.

She'd be more interested in your day, more so than usual, she'd be more lenient towards Wednesday's shenanigans just so you wouldn't stress out. The woman would ask if you were okay or if you needed anything while you studied, she'd bring you snacks as you worked on the Rave'N, she basically mothered you in hopes of making you feel comfortable enough to share more about this mystery person who apparently wouldn't go to the dance with you.

It stumped Larissa on who it could be. You said she would be busy that night, no one Larissa knew would work the night of the Rave'N. Unless– 

No.

No, you wouldn't be smitten with a normie.

Maybe it was the barista in town?

No, you still wouldn't date a normie, you absolutely despised them. But who else would be working the night of the Rave'N?

Well Larissa would be working–

Oh.

Oh.

But that wasn't possible that you would be talking about her though, right?

She's felt the lingering glances, she's seen the very end of them, when you'd look away after she caught you looking at her. But surely you didn't feel the same way that she did…did you?

It was the night of the Rave'N and true to your word, you weren't there. Larissa had been hoping that you were bluffing but when she arrived on the dance floor, she couldn't find you anywhere.

She quickly got Marilyn to watch over the party before she slipped out and headed towards Ophelia hall.

You were oblivious to Larissa's thoughts and actions these past few weeks. Although you did notice the older woman making herself a more prominent figure in your life, you didn't think much of it. She was the headmistress after all.

A part of you hoped Larissa would figure out your feelings for her but another part of you wanted her to forget everything you said about who you wanted to go to the dance with.

You were studying on your bed when there was a frantic knock on your door. Sighing, you got up from the bed, "Look, Bianca, I told you that I didn't want to go to the dance with you–"

You swung the door open only to be surprised by a goddess dressed in a simple yet stunning silver dress. A gloved hand was mid-air as if to knock again.

"Princi– Larissa? Is everything alright?"

Larissa thanked whatever deity that you had opened your door. She wasn't expecting you to be half dressed, which concerned her that you were going to open the door to Bianca in that but she was onto more important matters at hand.

"I might've overheard something where Thornhill could work the crowd for a bit so your mystery woman could spend time with you."

Confused, you shook your head, "I'm sorry?"

"What I meant was…would..would you go to the Rave'N with me Y/n?"

You couldn't believe it. Larissa just asked you to the dance. She finally figured it out. You didn't know whether you should cry or shout for joy.

"B-But I'm a student and you're–"

"–no one has to know. No one will know. But what I know is that I'd love it if you were by my side tonight." The older woman took a step forward and gently caressed your cheek, you leaned into the warmth.

You locked eyes with Larissa and she smiled gently, "Cara Mia…"

"Mon cher…"

#larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems fluff #larissa weems fanfic #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader

[phantom-playdough]

Red Son x GN!Reader: Happy Birthday!

My 20th birthday has passed and I wanted to celebrate with a fanfic. I promise I will work on the small list of requests I have piling up, but this red baby needed a fanfic. I guess this is my [very late] birthday gift…?

IF THERE ARE ANY PRONOUNS THAT ARE NOT GN FOR READER, LET ME KNOW AND I WILL FIX IT ASAP.

Red Son was sat at her desk with about a dozen crumbled up and/or torn up pieces of paper that were filled with scribbles flooding every surface around her.

She was trying to prepare for her significant other's birthday. However, the task of coming up with something to give Y/n was proving to be more difficult than Red Son accounted for.

After around two hours, Red Son decided to take a small nap...okay that's a lie. What actually happened is that Red Son passed out on her desk mid-scribble on her papers.

~~~~

"Red Son?" She just about shot up fin her seat, at first thinking that it was Y/n beside her. However, it luckily just appeared to be her father, DBK.

"F-father!? What are you doing in here? I-it's still early in the morning!" Red Son said, clearly confused as her father was FAR from a morning person.

At this, The Demon Bull King blinked once or twice. He clearly was confused as well. "Red Son, I came down here to tell you that it was time for dinner."

...

Silence for a beat or two.

After a moment or two of quiet, Red Son groaned loudly and face-planted onto her desk.

DBK felt a sweat drop, feeling around ten times more concerned for his hot-headed child.

"Nothing is GOOD ENOUGH!!" Red Son yelled, her hair igniting into flames.

Not sure of what to do, DBK patted Red Son's shoulder gently. "Uh, there there...?" He said, uncertainty leaking from every syllable.

Despite the crappy way to try and comfort someone, Red Son somehow felt it start to help as she slowly relaxed. This could be guessed because her flaming hair calmed itself, as well as how she peeled her face off of the table and her expression was just glum instead of full of rage, like before.

"Red Son, what is troubling you?" DBK asked, the effort he was making was strong and commendable despite how poorly it could be seen as.

Red Son sighed lightly. "Y/n's birthday is coming up in four days and I...I just CAN'T think of what a good gift for them could be! I swear this is more impossible than scheming to taking over the city!!"

DBK could empathize. "Well, Red Son, maybe you should stop trying to figure it out on your own and ask your mother for help. Or perhaps you could ask the noodle-boy and dragon-girl for advice." DBK chuckled. "I am afraid I will not be able to help much, though."

"Huh, why not?"

"I once gave your mother asparagus for our anniversary. I...am not sure I could help you if I wanted to." DBK explained, a little embarrassed at having to admit a blunder like that to Red Son. DBK patted her shoulder again.

"But, whatever you decide to give Y/n, make sure you put your heart into it." DBK then turned and left, leaving Red Son with her thoughts.

"Put your heart into it..." Red Son mumbled. She wrote those words down before deciding to ask around.

~~~~

Well, Red Son had asked everyone, and I mean EVERYONE she knew, about what to get Y/n. Some of the advice was good. Macaque mentioned to get them something that will always make them think of Red Son. Tang and Ne zha both said to get them something personal, but useful.

Some of the other advice Red Son received was not as constructive. Like, how Wukong had suggested a gift that would not and SHOULD not be said in front of a room full of children. MK and Mei were really random with their gift ideas, but almost everyone said something similar at the end of the day:

"Put your heart into it."

These words swirled around in Red Son's fiery head so much it felt like the world was spinning.

But finally, it was time.

Y/n was seated across from Red Son, enjoying a small dinner at their apartment that Red Son INSISTED on cooking.

"Um, Y/n, I-I have your gift." Red Son said, pulling on her collar nervously. "C-could you close your eyes for me, dear?"

Confused, but compliant, Y/n agreed and did as told. Red Son fumbled with getting the box out of her inner coat pocket, but got it out without tearing up the wrapping paper, luckily.

"Alright, open them."

Y/n did just that and was greeted with a bright red wrapped box. The bow of the box was a vibrant (Favorite color), the bow shining in the light. It was almost a shame to rip the wrapping off, but it needed to be done.

Y/n began to tear off the wrapping, revealing a box (red of course) that was velvety. With a confused glance at Red Son, Y/n opened the lid of the box and gasped as they saw a picture frame. It was a picture frame in the shape of a big heart, a small slideshow of photos Y/n and Red Son took together playing on a loop within the frame.

"I-I wasn't sure about what exactly to get you, but I just thought that I could...put my heart into it?" Red Son began to trail off as he saw Y/n was starting to tear up. "Y-Y/n? What's wrong? Is it not right? I-I just--!" Y/n cut Red Son off and launched themself into her arms.

"It's perfect. You're perfect, Red Son. I love it. I-I-I love you. Thank you." Y/n said softly as they fought back the tears. Red Son had to fight the sudden surge of emotion as the love of her life held onto her for dear life.

Red Son smiled and placed the picture frame on the coffee table next to the pair. The two of them then spent the longest time looking at the photos slide onto the frame, enjoying the memories and the moment with each other.

The End~~~!

#lmk x y/n #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk x reader #lmk red son x reader #lmk red son #lmk red son x y/n #lmk red boy #red son lego monkie kid #red son lmk #red son x reader #red son monkie kid #red son #it is 2am go easy on me plz #im ded #its july and my bday was in may lmao

[siennafrxst]

↳ busted 𖤐𓈒࣪₊˚

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader (ft. sam)

cw: slightly mature scene? (therefore cringe I am already warning you read at your own risk)

word count: 0.4k words

"Y/N, doll—as much as I love this, Sam can walk in on us anytime," Bucky mumbles cautiously in between the kisses.

The two were currently 3 weeks into their relationship and the couple was currently on a chair, having a make-out session with Y/N seated on him.

"Don't worry, I locked the door," she simply replies before leaning in to kiss him once more.

He hesitated to accept her kisses at first but soon melted into them and kissed her back. This went on for a couple of minutes before Bucky began to nibble on her lower lip, causing her to gasp in shock. This gave him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue and explore every place in her mouth. Y/N continues to moan softly into the kisses, which were only getting more intense. He began to slowly lift up her shirt when the door starts to creak open.

(even I have no idea what I just wrote by the way.)

Out of utter panic, Y/N pulls away and breaks the kiss, almost falling off the chair if it weren't for Bucky grabbing her by the waist. The couple turn towards the disturbance, only to spot the person who they had been dreading to see.

"Holy shit! You two?"

In that moment, Y/N instantly stood up from the chair and fixed herself up.

Bucky—who was still seated on the chair seemingly unbothered—rolls his eyes at Sam's amused expressions, letting out a heavy sigh. "Didn't your parents teach you how to knock?"

"Not for situations like these, no," he comments snarkily, the wide smile slowly forming into a sly smirk.

"Leave before I absolutely kick the shit out of you," Y/N grumbles, giving him a cold glare.

Sam chuckles at her unbelieveable threat. "You're not actually going to do that."

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him as she slowly steps closer towards him. "Do you wanna bet on that?" she questions menacingly.

Sam glares at her cautiously before giving in. "Okay okay, I'll leave you two alone. Go get some."

Bucky immediately stood up from the chair to run straight for Sam when Y/N blocks his path. Sam slightly flinches at the sudden movement and hastily closes the door behind him, mumbling a soft 'jeez' on the way out.

That was when Bucky and Y/N were left alone once more in the awkward silence.

"I locked the door, my ass."

"Oh shut up."

edit: this is literally my worst written (imo) published fanfic and yet this one got the most likes… y’all are down bad.

#bucky #bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky imagine #bucky fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #ff #short story #story #oneshot #one shot #bucky x reader #bucky x oc #bucky x female reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky smut #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #sam wilson #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader