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waterlilydrops · 2 days

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Fortune Favors the Ambitious (1/?) - Second Driver

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!driver!reader

summary: your first step into the F1 world: becoming the second driver for Mercedes. This is the part 1 of a female racer’s story, encompassing her victories, failures, pain, weaknesses, and love.

word count: 6k

warning: mentions of brocedes, mentions of sexism, descriptions of crash scenes, screw with some race results

note: this is my very first try of a series story, suggestions are appreciated! This fanfic contains a lot of roasts about drivers, cars and the sport itself, if it offends you, I apologize.

You joined Mercedes AMG in your first year to step into the seat unexpectedly vacated by Nico Rosberg, who had just staged a feud with Lewis Hamilton. After four years of intense and ruthless competition, Rosberg finally won his first and only WDC this year. Then he chose to retire and took a seat in the media box.

This passionate friendship story between a pair of childhood friends and prodigies did not end well in the end. Instead, it became another dismal footnote to F1’s primeval law: there are no true friends in the paddock, vividly proving that the best way for two drivers to remain good friends is to stay away from each other, to not become teammates.

After races, drivers from different teams could still complain to each other, saying things like “my poor understeercar” and “oh, don’t even mention it, my team took 13.4 seconds to pit”; They could console each other, saying, “Hey, it was tough for everyone, but I felt like if…, you would definitely make it to the podium, bro”, “Of course you would too, I knew you were awesome”and so on. Comforting each other with this kind of contradictory exchange, satisfyingly smoothing over any discomfort caused by competition, forgetting moments like “he almost hit me and caused me DNF” and reassuring themselves with “there’s a difference between on and off the track, it wasn’t his fault, I would have done the same thing”.

It was indeed hard to accept when two drivers, despite having the same performance cars and theoretically receiving equal support, one of them was harshly differentiated, forced to do the dirty work, give positions to their teammates, only to be simply comforted with phrases like “Oh, we treated them fairly, it was just that one performed a bit better”, “Drivers needed to establish team spirit and help each other”.

What? Why did it always seem like one was helping the other?

F1 was not essentially a team sport. 20 drivers competed for one championship.

However, it was really a team sport. A team of thousands of people surrounded the two drivers in the team to serve, not out of charity, but for real returns like money and impression. Therefore, it was inevitable that the team was eager to maximize the group’s interests. The necessary sacrifice spirit for the team and the endless selfish desire of the individual to win formed an eternal contradiction in the paddock.

This blunt competitive pressure, the often unfair team environment, and the resulting jealousy, anxiety, and uneasiness could make even a saint sitting in a cockpit at temperatures reaching 70 degrees explode mentally, hurtling at over 320 kilometers per hour towards their teammate's wheels, sidepods, or any other position. And then being retaliated against with the same hatred by the other party.

As the curtain fell on the drama, no matter what, Mercedes had to find a new recruit.

The opportunity to enter F1 is by no means easily within reach.

You were the lucky one. Not only were you naturally talented, but you also came from a rich family who could support your move to the UK for karting training. You had parents who unconditionally helped you chase your dreams, and in lower-level racing, you had hardly faced any financial difficulties. It was well known that kids from the slums could gather to play football made by newspapers, but the road for a racing driver was paved with gold. Thanks to your parents’ connections, the process of finding sponsorship for higher-level racing surprisingly went smoothly: half of the interested sponsors backed out the moment they saw you were a woman, while the other half chose to take a gamble.

You’re unlucky. Being female is your natural disadvantage in this male-dominated sport. When you started to shine in GP3 races, you felt deeply powerless knowing that as a woman, you had to do better than boys just to get the same opportunities — boys only need to showcase talent and skills to be considered by higher-level teams, while you get questioned about “whether emotions will affect your stability” and “will your period affect your performance”. It's absurd. You even couldn’t possibly get the same chances as boys in big team future programs. Let alone testing in old model F1 cars, you had very few opportunities to even test on F1 simulators. You chose to grab the lifeline thrown by Marussia and become their reserve driver.

From blockbuster rookie to seasoned driver, you dominated GP2 for two years. You and the boys used the same engine and the same frame,You didn’t have a driver dad, so there is no F1 team engineers to adjust the car for you. you relied solely on your talent and determination. You won 9 races, stood on the podium more than ten times, and became the champion with the highest points in the history of GP2.

A brilliant result that forced F1 teams to seriously consider their driver lineup.

“Who will fill the empty the seat at Mercedes?”

“Why Y/N Y/LN is the next big name?”

“Is she the first female F1 driver of 21 century?”

Indeed, why not? Why not have given a deserving female driver, who had already proven her mettle, a chance to shine on the world stage? Offer her a one-year contract — allow her to break barriers and challenge norms in a traditionally male-dominated sport. With her presence alone, she brought invaluable media exposure to the team, each stride she took destined to be immortalized in the annals of history alongside the illustrious name of her team.

After testing in simulator, you sat in front of Toto Wolff and several executives. Only you knew that there are six or seven GP2 drivers vying for this seat, not to mention F1 drivers who want to drive the Silver Arrows.

“If your teammate — I’m not specifically referring to Lewis Hamilton, this is just a hypothetical scenario — if your teammate, he is in the state of competing for the championship, and due to some accidents in a key game, he unfortunately falls behind you and another rival from another team, what would you do?” Toto asked, his gaze seeming to pierce through the soul.

You remained unexpectedly calm. Without hesitation, you answered, “I’ll push the first-place car away, allowing Hamilton, who’s in third, to directly take the lead and win the championship.”

After the interview, during the debrief with your team manager, she sighed at your answer. “You should have played it safe,” she said, “You should have said something conventional. Talk about helping him defend, giving him room, and if necessary, try to fight for the title yourself. That’s the standard answer. Don’t let them perceive your aggression and ambition.”

You couldn’t agree with that.

You knew Mercedes just want a driver for Lewis Hamilton who won’t tear the team relationship and the car to pieces.

But if winning hadn’t been your ultimate goal, you wouldn‘t have chosen the path of racing. You should go get an MBA to help with the family business, and from then on, your biggest connection to racing will be attending hometown races as a sponsor.

And the word “ambitious” described you perfectly. You certainly had an insatiable, oversized desire. In a paddock where victory had long been claimed by men, you boldly stepped forward to stake your claim, ready to seize what was once exclusively theirs and make it your own.

You might always remembered that cold autumn day in London.

The basement was filled with dry warm air and the smell of sweat, each breath feeling like burning hot coals in your lungs. Your sweat melded with the rough wooden floorboards. Your breath echoed in the empty room, accompanied by the dull thud of dumbbells hitting the ground, like a lonely symphony.

The phone rang just as you stepped onto ground.

You stared at the blinking name of your agent on the screen, your heartbeat quickening, your fingers trembling slightly. What would this call bring? Fifty-fifty, your confidence and self-doubt intertwined: you were the best young driver of your generation, bar none—if you didn’t get the seat, no one would. Yet, reality also coldly reminded you that perhaps no team would be willing to take a chance on a female driver, right?

You answered the phone, your agent's voice urgent on the other end, like a mother scolding a child who had caused worry: “Y/N, you finally picked up! I've called you twenty times! I thought something happened to you!”

“Sorry, I just finished training. What’s going on?” You tried to keep your voice calm, but inside, it felt like countless hands were squeezing you, making it almost impossible to breathe. Countless possibilities flashed through your mind, and you were even afraid to know the outcome, fearing it would shatter your hopes. If you missed the next season, you didn’t know if you’d ever have such a good opportunity again.

She took a deep breath, the one-second pause feeling like an eternity to you.

Thankfully, her voice regained excitement.

“Y/N, you’re driving in F1 next season.”

Despite the chaotic emotions swirling within, your voice was much calmer than expected. “So, which team decided to take the risk?” Just a week ago, you had met with Williams team, who had a precedent of accepting women as reserve drivers. You had tried so hard to control the slight trembling of your fingers due to nerves and sound nonchalant. Entering F1 had already been a dream come true, but the thought of driving for the Silver Arrows — waves of excitement surged through your mind, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your chest.

There was almost an uncontrollable smile in her voice as she responded, as if every word was pulsating with joy. “Mercedes. You’ll be the second driver for the team.” You could almost feel her excitement transmitting through the signal.

Your mind went blank for a moment, your heart racing, as if all the voices in the world had disappeared in that moment. Only that word echoed incessantly in your mind. Mercedes.

“Is this... is this real?” Your voice trembled slightly.

“Of course it is real!” Her laughter held a hint of pride. “Mercedes has already sent a draft contract, we discussed some details, and we could announce it before the awards ceremony.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your emotions. “Thank you, thank you for all your support and help.”

“You deserved this, Y/N. Go celebrate tonight.”

In just two minutes, the rain in London had soaked your hair, droplets sliding down your cheeks, blending with your clothes. But you didn’t feel uneasy about it; instead, you felt a sense of joy blending with nature. You even felt like this ordinary rain was celebrating for you, baptizing you for your mission.

You knew you were ready to face the storms and rainbows of the racing world.

“Mercedes AMG F1team: Y/N Y/LN will line up alongside Lewis Hamilton in 2017”

“There is no doubt about Y/N’s skill and determination. Although F1 is extremely demanding on physical strength, she has proved that she is fully capable of meeting challenges.”

“Can women truly compete with men in extreme sports like F1? I have my doubts. Is this just a gimmick by the teams to attract attention and sponsors? Can she really make results? While gender equality is a noble idea, F1 requires the best drivers, regardless of gender. Is she truly capable, or is she merely a symbolic choice?”

Perhaps your unnormal answer touched the executives, and you had been granted a one-year, highly demanding contract—although they may have been satisfied with your willingness to be a second driver, whether you could be a consistent and unwavering second driver, that was still a cruel, untested new question for the team.

The first winter break as an F1 driver was eventful, even more so than you imagined. You had countless forms to sign, filming videos for promotional content was a daily task, and there were endless meetings with engineers. You met your race engineer — a talented woman full of potential. You couldn’t wait to see how your performance together would unfold in real races. Meanwhile, the media swarmed, eager for exclusive interviews, and even Vogue wanted to feature you on their cover before you had ever sat in the W08.

Your first meeting with your teammate was for simulator testing. You’ve crossed paths with him on various occasions several times — during a race, at FIA awards ceremony — but this marks the first time you met Lewis Hamilton as his teammate.

You shouldn’t have been fixated on this, but you felt Lewis Hamilton had far more charm than any video or picture could capture.

You still remembered the moment he pulled you into a hug. His black eyes shimmered with warmth, and despite his muscular arms, his embrace made you feel comfortable and secure. It was hard not to gaze at the tattoos on his smooth skin as his voice, gentle yet magnetic, with a slight British accent, said, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello, Lewis. I’m so glad to be your teammate.”

“The honor is mine. Perfect GP2 season, huh? Highest-scoring champion.”

For some reason, you were glad he noticed your achievements — not as a female driver, but as a driver. Not with labels like the first female F1 driver of the 21st century.

“Thank you, Lewis.” You tried to remain as calm as possible, masking the subtle excitement within.

Lewis lightly patted your shoulder. “We’ll do a mega job together this season.”

You nodded. “We will, I’ll give it my all.”

You didn’t disappoint anyone.

On March 26th, your first race in your F1 career took place in Melbourne, Australia, and you smoothly made it onto the podium, not at all like a rookie. In the following four races, you secured three second places, making people to cry out about how damn fast the W08 was. Some even said that even the rocket car would seem reserved compared to a car could turn a rookie into a podium driver like that.

Of course, the fans who watched the race didn’t attribute your performance solely to the car’s speed.

You had abandoned your aggressive driving style, making your car flow smoothly like water along perfect lines, calmly following Lewis Hamilton. Anyone attempting to overtake you found themselves ensnared in your relentless defense.

Whether it was starts, tire saving, or long runs — things rookies often struggled with — you performed exceptionally well. Your only technical weakness seemed to be overtaking, but this flaw was completely offset by the W08’s superior performance. And to the team, being bad at overtaking was an advantage. After all, the only car usually ahead of you was Lewis’s. Why bother being good at overtaking?

Mercedes could only rejoice at your precise and forceful defense and your unwavering support in driving and escorting.

Lewis’s viewpoint evolved over time. At first, he might have entertained thoughts like “two more races and she will demand more chances”, but as he witnessed your performance on the track, his sentiment transformed to “damn, she’s really something special”. It was a gradual realization, punctuated by moments like when you quietly secured yet another victory for him.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Lewis finally broached the subject in cooling room. “You had fresher tires. Why didn’t you ever try to overtake me?”

“My contract states that without team orders, I can’t overtake you.” You couldn’t help but notice the slight embarrassment in Lewis’s expression.

“Besides,” you continued, offering a smile, “I’m not that good at overtaking anyway.”

Your first victory came in the first GP after the summer break, at your home race. With such an outstanding and eye-catching local rookie driver, it was undoubtedly the biggest event of the year for fans.

The stands were packed, every corner filled with enthusiastic supporters waving flags, cheering, and shouting encouragement for you. It was more than just a race; it was a celebration, with the entire city immersed in joy and pride.

Your path to victory, however, was full of surprises.

Initially, Mercedes executed back-to-back pitstop strategy perfectly. Kimi's second pitstop should have put him between you and Lewis or right behind you, where you could block him. But the Mercedes pit crew had an unusual difficulty; they struggled with the left front tyre, leaving Lewis in the pits for a staggering 11.4 seconds. By then, his chance for the win had disappeared. He dropped to 7th place and took 13 laps to fight back to fourth, eventually getting stuck battling Sebastian for third.

Meanwhile, you and Kimi were locked in a wheel-to-wheel duel for a full five minutes.

Since you entered the pits right after Kimi, you were behind him when you came out. Your tires were in exactly the same condition. Even though theoretically this year Mercedes’car had more advantages, you were not good at overtaking, and you were stuck in a stalemate despite your best efforts.

At this moment, your race engineer on the radio confirmed that Lewis had no chance of winning and encouraged you to push for the win.

You bit your lower lip as you looked at Kimi ahead of you.

For the first time all season, a burning emotion surfaced clearly and definitively in your mind: you felt you could do it. Not with your usual rational judgment, but with an adrenaline-fueled belief. You could prove that you were not just a reliable team driver but one of the best in the sport. This time, you were destined to stand on the top podium and become a champion.

Your fierce competition elicited constant gasps from commentators and audiences.

“Y/LN is now the sharpest blade of the Silver Arrows — just two laps to go! Turn 2!

Räikkönen cuts inside perfectly! It’s useless! Y/LN remains calm, anticipating as if living in his mind!”

You knew your home track inside out —Turns 1 to 3 is a combination of gradually tightening corners, and Turn 15 at the end of the back straight connected the highest speed on the circuit to the slowest turn — ideal for overtaking.

Your head ached as if a blood vessel might burst, but your mind was excited. You tried to breathe calmly, reporting speed, tire condition, balance to the team with a steady voice. On the final straight, you and Kimi both opened the DRS, crossing the line under the checkered flag.

The next thing you remembered was the fireworks whistling through the sky. Lewis pulled you out of the car, hugging you excitedly, jumping up and down with congratulations — finish line footage and speed checks had confirmed you won, just 0.05 seconds.

The crowd erupted, celebrating the first home championship in history. You sat on top your car, waving to the fans and staffs.

Waiting, stepping onto the podium, spraying champagne.….. Kimi and Lewis both aimed their first sprays at your face. You closed your eyes, letting the champagne flow down your cheeks as if they were your own tears. The crowd’s celebration roared through the night, with every face radiating pride and excitement because of you. Your rookie season, your home race, your first victory. It felt like no moment could ever be more perfect.

“Y/N Y/LN to Make Herstory as First F1 Female Race Winner”

“From Rookie to Champion: Y/N Y/LN’s Epic Battle with Kimi Räikkönen for Victory”

“Yes, it’s been a rollercoaster ride. We made mistakes but did a great job of fixing them and finished with 1-3 podium.

The duel with Kimi was intense; I have to give him credit for pushing me to my limits.

I want to thank the fans who came out today and those who sat in front of their TVs to support me. Winning in home means a lot to me.

No, I won’t overemphasize the meaning of this winning. It’s just one of many in my F1 career. Soon, everyone will get used to a female driver winning races. I believe that.”

Your performance gradually stabilized in the following races. Even if you didn't become a race winner again, you consistently finished in the points. While your peers were still vying to be the team’s core, you miraculously silenced the haters by winning third place in the WDC, earning a three-year, higher-paying contract with Mercedes.

In such a friendly atmosphere, it was hard for your relationship with Lewis not to warm up.

On the track, he would wholeheartedly defend you when he was behind, and off the track, he acted as your mentor, helping you get rid of the bad mood caused by self-doubt. He always skillfully handled awkward questions from journalists for you and knew the best restaurants in every race city.

After you declined Lewis’s invitation to go skydiving during the winter break, he invited you to his home. There, you met his family, who gave you warm hugs just like his. His nephew brought out a bunch of your merch for you to autograph, saying he supported you in every race.

In the 2018 season, although Mercedes maintained a dominant position, they encountered formidable competition from other teams, most notably Ferrari. This rivalry intensified throughout the season, reaching a climax at the German Grand Prix, where fans were treated to a spectacular and dramatic spectacle.

Mercedes’ race strategy was essentially centered around you — Lewis’s car had a mechanical failure in qualifying, starting from 14th in Hockenheimring.

Even though the W09 was fast enough, starting from the back made it easy to get caught in traffic jams. Lewis needed to overtake as many cars as possible before the rain starts, and you needed to push hard to challenge Seb, aiming for the win if possible. At the very least, avoided crashing into the barriers. This increased your pressure, as Mercedes was 20 points behind Ferrari in the Constructors‘ Championship, and today’s points would likely depend mainly on your performance.

Started in the front, you found yourself locked in a tense battle with Sebastian’s Ferrari, the red car a formidable obstacle in your quest for victory. Today Ferrari was incredibly fast on Seb's home track.

In between two prancing horse, you feel quite passive, all you could do was patiently wait for their mistakes. The good news was that Lewis was climbing up, and there were soon two Mercedes among the front runners.

The sky started to rain, making the track slippery and driving more difficult, leading to a flurry of activity in the pit lane as teams scrambled to switch to wet tires. You weren’t particularly good in the rain, now was also not a good pit stop window for you. So you had to move the brake bias during the race to deal with the tricky conditions, keeping your W09 on the race line.

“I got a bit of a tankslapper on, but I managed to get it back.” The race was a bit challenging for your soft tyre.

“Good job, Y/N.”

However, when the rain got worse and more widespread, Seb lost control at Turn 11 and crashed into the barriers — the turning point. The safety car was deployed.

The team radio crackled to life, the voice of your race engineer guiding you through the chaos. “Y/N, Box, box, box.” you made pit stop for new tires under team orders during the safety car period, while Lewis decided to stay out on track at the last moment.

What a genius decision. During the 20 seconds the pit crew was searching for the tires, your only thought was being glad that Lewis didn’t came into the pits, with a mix of sadness and relief. Otherwise, a double podium would have turned into a double disaster.

Thankfully Kimi pitted on the following lap. Amidst the chaos of the race, there was a dramatic and rapid reversal of fortune. As the rain shower began, what initially looked like a dominant 1-2 finish for Ferrari was swiftly transformed into a commanding 1-2 lead for Mercedes.

“Now Lewis Hamilton is back in his faithful P1, Y/N Y/LN has exited the pit. Let’s see if she will challenge her teammate with those fresh tires—”

“What position am I?”

“P2, Lewis is ahead, Kimi is behind.”

“Copy. Tell Lewis I am backing Kimi; he can pull out the gap.”

In the post-race media pen, it was no surprise that Natalie Pinkham asked you about not attacking Hamilton in the final stages of the race.

“Y/N, congrats on your P2,” she began, “today’s race was very exciting, especially your performance in the rain. But I have a straightforward question—why didn’t you try to attack Hamilton in the last stint? Your tires were much fresher, and you could have won the race. From aiming for the win to defending for Hamilton, do you feel any disappointment?”

“Thank you for asking what every fan wants to know,” the surrounding journalists chuckled in unison. “Firstly, I’d like to say all decisions were in the best interest of the team.”

You paused for a moment and continued, “The track was still very slippery at that time, and I think under those conditions, only Ferrari fans would want to see me attacking Lewis.”

You emphasized, “I didn’t want to risk the team’s success for my personal victory. We were 20 points behind Ferrari before the race; now we’re leading by 23 points. That’s the best outcome.”

Before interviewing the next driver, Natalie turned off the microphone and gave you a hug. “Y/N, you did great. You are too good to be a second driver.”

Even Lewis came to talk to you after the race.

Mercedes rented an entire club to celebrate the 1-2 finish. You could enjoy free from the worry of tomorrow’s potential gossip about your dance partners. It was a relatively relaxed atmosphere until Lewis approached you.

You repeatedly assured him that his win was his own achievement — P14 to P1, mega job. Even if you hadn’t defended Kimi in the last few laps, he would have won because Seb had already retired. No matter how stupid Ferrari might be, they wouldn’t risk a double DNFs.

Lewis might not have been so careful in the past, but perhaps the constant arguments with Rosberg and the millions of euros in car damage over the past few years have taught him something.

A common misconception people had was, with the team’s favoritism, good cars, and a second driver assisting, even a dog could win WDC with such treatment. The flaw in this logic was, why would a team favor a backmarker?

A driver’s success was not solely based on team strategy or car performance. While these elements were crucial, the driver’s skill, determination, and ability to execute under pressure are what truly made the difference.

While theoretically any racer driving a Silver Arrows rocket had a chance at the title, but Mercedes didn’t pour over 400 million euros into the F1 team each year to nurture rookie drivers. Champion drivers didn't win because of good treatment; they earned the best treatment by first becoming champions. Lewis performed exceptionally well, so the team rallied around him.

Of course you understood it.

You had so much to improve, you had to wait patiently, knowing that opportunities might be scarce for a long time. You needed the most resilient determination, the keenest judgment and insight — neither slipping into inertia and fatigue due to the former, nor becoming anxious and impatient due to the latter. Like a leopard in hiding, you had to wait for the right moment to strike, with the sharpest claws and the fiercest gaze.

After the German Grand Prix, the chatter among fans about Mercedes’ unshakable dominance and the remarkably close bond between you and Lewis became the talk of the internet. The media eagerly fueled the flames, dubbing you both the paddock’s “power couple”while some fans affectionately joked that you were Lewis’s housewife on the track, who helped him clean up opponents on the track. It was certainly preferable to the spiteful remarks from haters who accused you of being nothing more than Lewis’s doormat.

As you shared the amusing sarcastic comments from fans at Lewis’s home in Monaco, your “son” Roscoe circled your feet, while your “husband” was casually dressed with his hair down, making fresh juice, trying to persuade you to move to Monte-Carlo.

“My husband definitely wouldn't be your type.”

Lewis paused his work, ready to hear your grand declaration. “I need a trophy husband — beautiful, hot, who loves me wholeheartedly but isn’t too needy. The season is long, and I'm very busy. But when I need him, he has to show up at the paddock immediately, so he can’t have a job or be in school.”

A hearty laugh escaped Lewis’s lips, “When I retire, I might meet those standards.”

“No way, I’m not letting you retire. I’m a knight defending your WDC titles.”

He was nearly crying with laughter, “So, I’m Princess Lewis now?”

You thought Roscoe barked in agreement.

Obviously even the most seemingly perfect couples have their arguments.

As the red lights went out, Lewis Hamilton, fueled by his desire to win and yesterday’s pole position, launched into the lead, dominating the track.

Starting from 4th, you made a smooth start and stealthily slid into third, effectively sandwiching Max Verstappen between the two Mercedes.

The Australian Grand Prix was nothing short of spectacular. In the final three laps, Max relying on Red Bull’s brilliant strategy decisions, continued to close the gap to Lewis. No one could tell if he would overtake at the last moment.

“Hamilton is still leading, but the tire wear is too fast. If nothing changed, he might be caught in the last lap and a half.”

Mercedes’ strategy team was in overdrive, their headsets buzzing with a cacophony of contrasting tones.

On one side, Lewis was calmly asking, “How many seconds is Max behind me?” On the other, you were rambled concerns, “These tyres are dead at the rear, and please give me Max’s speed—”

Alternating between the two drivers, it was enough to make the engineers’ brains, which had been operating at high speed for over an hour, overheat and crash.

Bono was heavily reporting to Lewis about the worsen tire conditions, preparing him mentally to be overtaken, while on your end, you received information about the lap times of Charles Leclerc, who was closely chasing behind. You were also comforted with an assurance that you should hold on and most likely secure third place.

You didn’t understand: “Hey girl, I didn’t ask about Leclerc.”

Then, he must be fourth. With three laps to go, was the team giving up on the champion? You felt this wasn’t right.

“Please tell me Max and Lewis’ lap times,” you calmly inquired again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, you won’t overtake Verstappen, the tires—”

“Lap time.” you forcefully interrupted. Because with the tires heavily worn, it was unlikely for you to overtake Verstappen and take second place, but causing trouble for him and allowing Lewis to get to first place was a different story.

Let’s hope you wouldn’t fly off the track.

But the racetrack wasn’t exactly God’s territory, as most drivers’ prayers rarely got answered. So, the worst-case scenario happened.

In the second-to-last lap, you were side by side with Verstappen in Turn 4, and two seconds later of wheel-to-wheel competition, your left rear tire finally couldn’t hold on, causing the car to lose balance and fly off the track at over 300km/h, dragging the Red Bull alongside it.

Charles Leclerc, miraculously jumping from fourth to second, was startled, sliding on the track and looking in disbelief at the disappearing Mercedes of Lewis Hamilton, reporting in shock over the radio, “They’re both out! Are they okay?”

“Plan B, Plan B!” The engineer screamed frantically, signaling Leclerc to focus and cross the finish line. Suddenly aware of his miraculous rise to second place, Monegasque sweetheart quickly stepped on the pedal, preventing Magnussen from overtaking him from behind.

In the grandstands, team pits, and commentator boxes, screams of excitement erupted uncontrollably. But amidst the sand and stones where Max and your cars had sunk, you felt like even the air was quiet, as if the thundering engine sounds couldn’t penetrate the helmets and cockpits.

Your only thought was that you had indeed fulfilled the promise you made in the interview, to push Lewis’s competitor out.

Lewis celebrated for five minutes before realizing what had happened behind him. Then, the joy of victory disappeared completely.

He remained silent, his expression turning cold, after confirming that the podium ceremony wouldn’t start for some time, he returned to the garage.

You slouched on the couch, a soft pillow under your head, but you still couldn’t control the dizziness, nausea, and urge to vomit. Fortunately, you could still count fingers and remember everything, so it was probably just a mild concussion.

You felt a little sad. Maybe this was where you differed from male drivers. You couldn’t train the most aesthetically pleasing thick necks admired in the paddock, so your ability to resist g forces was weaker that you got a concussion with just a slight bump.

You raised your head and saw Lewis’ stormy expression. His anger was evident, with a cold face and tightly pursed lips.

“Listen, Y/N, I don’t need you to do this, I can—”

“Please give us a few minutes alone, please,”you looked at the staff in the room, and they tactfully left, leaving the room quiet again.

He continued to shout at you loudly, “I can win on my own, and if I can’t win, it’s my own damn fault. I don’t want to use these methods, and I don’t t care about how your f*cking second driver contract—”

You looked quietly at his excited face, patiently listening to his volcanic eruption. When he finally stopped, you extended a hand to signal that you also wanted to say something.

He crouched in front of you, you wanted to touch his shoulder, but your hand trembled and ended up on his neck. Well, damn. You were too weak to resist.

So you gently touched Lewis’ neck and jaw, softly saying like petting Roscoe, “I swear to you, Lewis, this was really an accident. I didn’t mean to crash, just wanted to buy some time... but the tire still blew. You know, these things happen all the time, it’s just this time... it’s a bit dramatic.”

You could see Lewis was uncomfortable with your hand. After a few seconds, he also apologized in your gentle touch, “Hey, you make me feel guilty. I probably couldn’t win anyway, which is annoying —but I can win next time. I don’t want you to get a concussion just because I want to win.”

“So are we good?” you tried to force a smile,

“Only you promise me you won’t do anything dangerous next time.”

You nodded, locking eyes with him.

“Pinky promise?”

You raised your trembling hand, a physiological reaction from your brain losing control. But soon Lewis’ hand came over, giving your hand something to lean on, so it stopped shaking.

Contracts written in black and white often protect the cost of betrayal, while Ineffective childish promises always encourage true feelings and trust. You stared quietly at each other for a moment, then Lewis held your hand and gently kissed it.

His voice was a little hoarse, “Just trust me a little more, okay?”

to be continued

#lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine

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immamapletreekid · 30 days

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work anxiety starting before work itself hahahahaahahahahahahhhaha

#IM BAKCIJ THE FUCKIGN BUIDLIGN .AGAIN. AUSUSUXHEHWHGLHKF #im grateful i have an internship for this summer with the way the job market is like currently.#im grateful that i have the opportunity to lessen the burden on my parents shoulders. im grateful that this job can pay rent and groceries #and tuition for a few terms im grateful i get to gain experience while still in school that will hekp me in the future #IM GRATEFUL FOR ALL THIS!!!!! BUT STILL I FUCLING HATE EVERYTHJGN #i hate being unable to eat anything ir sleep at night bc all i can think about is shit i have work tomorrow i have to email this guy and #finish these tasks and impress my manager and be approachable and enthusiastic and eager to learn and not make any mistakes #and not fail anything bc im getting graded on this its alwags grades its always the fucking grades #isnt it. it was the grades that had me crying on walks home from school when i was 9 and it was grades that made me waste away 9th grade #it was grades that made me unable to stomach anything during weeks with tests and it was and is still grades that #dictate every single fucking part of my life #and even tho the ppl who used to yell at me for getting a B in math in 5th grade are no longer yelling at me for getting 60s in linear algeb #ra and stats and calculus and cs #haha.ha when ur university is famous for its.. horribly high suicdie rates #i find that the yelling comes from me now. ive replaced the adults who would sit beside me at the dinner table #yelling bc yea guess what 8 year old me didnt understand division at first #god i hate this school so much. i hate what im studying im gratefula nd am so privileged to be ahle to further my educarion and receive #all these experiences mot everyone can have but god everytime i return to the city where the school is #i feel like throwing up and sobbing and just never ipening my eyes again #haha yea. i hope i csn get a job to support myself in the future #i hope i can still have time for hobbies #why si everyone at school so good at everything #ive met more people who have passed their rcm 10 and arct exams for piano than those who havent #i have classes with people who have already published research papers with professors in the states #my classmates can breeze through a cs assignment while still playing fir varisty teams. working out everyday. goijg ti parties.#eating and cooking balsnced meals each week. having a social life..the whole combo #meanwhile i get overwhelmed because i have to respond to an email and finish an assignment in one day #how do i become like them #why was this about work anxiety at first and why is it about the eternal imposter syndrome and lack of self confidence #i just want money man... i dont give a shit about snything anymore

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hisui-dreamer · 9 months

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Hi, congratulations on 1k followers! I love your writing a lot and I was hoping you could do Villainess AUs with Malleus? Like isekai manhwa style? Thank you!!

the gazelle's sweet briar

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x f!reader

Synopsis: your first objective was to avoid the main characters, but it's not easy when you only have the memories of your friend's ramblings to work off of

Tags: cliché isekai plot, reincarnation, fluff, arranged marriage, tw (mentioned): bad parenting, patriarchal society, death

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: @coralinnii has an amazing series based on isekai villainesses, so i definitely recommend you check out her work too! im so in love with it (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Masterlist

Once upon a time, there lived a villainess of exceptional allure, her visage as enchanting as a moonlit night. However, this bewitching beauty concealed a heart blackened by a singular obsession with appearances.

From the earliest days of her upbringing, her mother, a woman who had managed to step into aristocracy by charming a noble, had instilled in her a cruel belief: that those who were not blessed with physical perfection were destined for lives of relentless mockery and eternal solitude. This twisted ideology consumed the villainess' every thought, blinding her to the virtues of education and morality. She became nothing more than a porcelain doll, admired solely for her aesthetic charm.

The King arranged a marriage between her and Duke Draconia, the enigmatic descendant of the dragons who ruled the northern lands, believing that such a striking bride would surely please the reclusive Duke.

However, the King remained oblivious to the swirling rumours that pervaded the courtly circles. Whispers spoke of the Duke as a hideous man who had never once revealed his face, perpetually concealed behind a forbidding black mask. When the rumours reached the villainess' ears, she threw tantrum after tantrum, vehemently refusing to wed a man whose appearance couldn't possibly match her own.

Yet, a royal decree could not be denied. Reluctantly, the villainess embarked on her journey to the northern realm in bitter acceptance. It had rained the moment she arrived, the castle dark and uninviting, with thorns crawling onto the obsidian walls. The Duke, an oblivious and shy man, did not greet her at the grand entrance. Instead, she was met by the Duke's advisor, a man with a curiously boyish features.

Humiliation welled up within the villainess' heart, for she felt as if she were being played the fool by the entire duchy. On the eve of her arrival, anxiety gnawed at her like a relentless spectre.

As night descended, the Duke, mustering his courage, attempted to approach the vexed lady.

But when the villainess beheld his masked face, terror seized her like a vice. "Stay back! You hideous beast!" she cried out, her voice trembling with fear, and she recoiled, her steps faltering as she retreated from him.

The Duke, wounded by her cruel words, attempted to console her, his outstretched hand beseeching understanding. Yet, her irrational dread overcame her, and she continued her backward retreat until, with a heart-stopping scream, she slipped from an open window.

That was how the villainess' life ended.

you hadn't actually read the book, but it wasn't difficult identifying who you got reincarnated as

especially with how your best friend obsessed over this villainess because, and i quote, "if pretty, why evil, huh???"

you woke up a week before the villainess would depart for the North, but that week alone was enough to make you understand the way she acted

every day, you were fed portions fitting of a child, had your skin rubbed raw as you were bathed, and not a moment of your mother's nitpicking about a sudden imperfection she found in you

in truth, you were more than glad to leave for the North, even if that's where your life would be on the line

the survival plan was simple: maintain an amicable relationship with the duchy until the night the heroine stumbles in to ask for a night of shelter, to which the heroine would heal the emotional wounds of the Duke, and share with him the beauty of love, bringing warmth into his heart

and so, you arrived at the estate, the castle tall and intimidating with the clouds dark and foreboding

still, you stepped out of your carriage (with wobbly legs) and met the advisor (your friend's favourite character, in fact)

the advisor, lilia, though seemed young, was actually the very man who raised the duke in the absence of his parents

he welcomed you as the lady of the duchy, and led you to your quarters

by nightfall, you were quite comfortable with living in the estate

everyone was polite, the food was delicious (and properly sized), and you had no doubt you'd settle nicely here

as a precaution to the death sequence, you decided to take a stroll in the rose garden after dinner

if you were already on the ground floor, you couldn't fall to your death, right?

but unexpectedly, you encountered a lone figure in the centre of the garden

he was incredibly tall, dressed simply, his emerald eyes fixated on the estate

upon closer inspection, you noticed he had long horns as well, perhaps he was a gazelle beastman?

either way, you were curious about what it was that held his attention so strongly that he couldn't notice your presence

"Excuse me, sir? May I ask what is so interesting about the building?" you timidly break the silence of the night.

The man turns to you, his eyes widening in surprise. "... Do you not know who I am?"

You blinked in confusion at his words. His words filled you with a sense of foreboding. You wondered if this person matched any of the characters your friend had so fervently described, but all you could recall was the beautiful villainess and the enigmatic advisor to the Duke.

"My apologies, I'm afraid I do not... May I know your name, sir?"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he considered your question. "No... If that is the case, you may call me whatever you wish."

Perplexed by his response, you tried to come up with a suitable name. "Then... May I call you Mr. Gazelle?"

Upon hearing your words, he burst out in laughter. "Hahaha! What an interesting choice. Very well, I accept the name," he said. "In response to your first question, I was observing the gargoyles of the building."

on that night, not only did you learn more about the fascinating functions gargoyles serve, you also made your first friend in this life

strangely enough, you didn't meet the duke at all unlike the novel, which though strange, you greatly welcomed

if you didn't have any ties with him, then it'd be so much easier to just divorce him, get the money, and live a comfortable luxurious life far away from the main characters

though as you say that, you find yourself wanting to spend more and more time with "Mr Gazelle"

despite his intimidating appearance, he turned out to be a very generous person, frequently gifting you little trinkets he's made or bouquets he's arranged

he's started calling you "Briar", after the roses in the garden where he met you

you greatly appreciated the nickname, it felt better to be called that than the name of the villainess, that you could just be yourself and not play the role of a villainess avoiding ruin

you also find that whatever musings you've mentioned to him, they somehow manifest themselves

oh? you wish you could learn about embroidery? the next day there's a basket full of the highest quality threads and fabrics, with a gentle tutor to help you learn

(you still remember how cute "Mr Gazelle" looked when you gave him your first finished product, a handkerchief with an embroidered gargoyle)

what's this? you'd like to try more desserts from the capital you were never allowed to try? say no more! the next day the chef presents you with 10 different choices!

so you assumed he was an advisor of sorts to the Duke, because how else could your requests be granted so easily?

but one day, around two months after you started living in the duchy, "Mr Gazelle" asked you questions about the duke, whether you were afraid of him, would you prefer to meet him, curious questions like that

though surprised by the topic, you answered honestly, saying you don't really believe in the rumours (because you know from your friend he's an ethereal beauty) and yes, you would like to meet your husband

and what do you know? lilia informs you the duke wants to share dinner with you. what a coincidence!! :)

Nervousness held you in its grasp as you stepped into the room. Your gaze remained fixed on the carpet beneath your feet, and your knees bent gracefully as you executed the perfect curtsey.

"Your Grace."

You could hear sounds of shuffling, and then a pair of black boots entered your field of vision. Familiar hands found yours, guiding you to rise and stand upright. "Rise, my Briar," he murmured gently.

With hesitant anticipation, you finally looked up, taking in the obsidian mask that concealed his face. That voice, that nickname, and those enchanting eyes—it was all too familiar.

"Mr Gazelle..." you whispered in disbelief.

His eyes narrowed in mirth as he chuckled. "Although I hold great fondness for that name, I do wish you could call your husband by his name," he said as he began to remove his mask.

"Malleus..." you breathed.

A tender smile graced his lips, and his eyes sparkled with affection as he delicately brushed a stray lock of hair from your face—a gesture he had done countless times before. "My sweet Briar, I implore you to forgive me for deceiving you. I wished nothing more but to know you," he pleaded.

Oh, with how loud your heart was pounding in your chest, you realized that you were irrevocably and hopelessly ensnared in a love story that had deviated far from the original story.

But you didn't feel a single ounce of regret.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#bts of writing this #malleus fell so hard on the first night #he gave gifts as a form of courting #cuz dragon instincts #also lilia the whole time was like “young people and their love issues”#✧1k! another life✦#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus

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villainousauthor · 2 months

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hi! i love your writing!!!! would you like to write about a hero who went undercover at the villain’s base and they fell in love? maybe they’re afraid that the villain will torture them for information after finding out their identity, but in reality the villain is still in love and possessive of them?

Hero's hands twitch at their sides, a sweat starting to bead on their face. They try swallowing, anxiety making their mouth dry. Villain has been quiet for several minutes now, brow pinched together.

Staring at the evidence that exposes Hero's betrayal, the proof of their undercover mission, their face is unreadable. Finally, after what seems an eternity, they speak.

"You've been working against me this whole time." Villain's voice is tight, like a cord ready to snap.

Hero's heart lurches, pulse drumming in their ears and fear making their knees wobble. What would come next, now that their secret was revealed? Torture? Imagining all the ways Villain could inflict pain upon them, making them spill their secrets made Hero shake even more. Death is certainty. Villain would not forgive this.

"I- this isn't- I wasn't..." Hero fails to find the right words, floundering now as they try and steady their voice.

Villain looks them directly on now, and Hero finds the pain in their face, the anger, to be more cutting than they ever imagined.

"Was the...was the way you looked at me fake too? The way you spoke with me, the way you'd let your touch, your gaze linger." Villain speaks with a fire in their voice now, eyes steel, "Was that all fake? Apart of your mission? To make me think you felt something for me."

Flushing hot at the accusation, Hero is quick to defend themselves, throwing their hands up as they try to reason.

"No! Of course not! That...that wasn't part of my mission." Hero speaks now with less fear, emboldened as they speak only the truth.

"I wasn't supposed to develop feelings...but I did." They find Villain's eyes watching them with an indiscernible emotion as they continue. "I won't lie and pretend I wasn't undercover, but how I felt about you wasn't fake."

Hero's cheeks feel warm, as they realize they're admitting their feelings now. To a villain who's likely to torture them any minute now, no less.

Stepping closer now, backing them up against the wall, Villain is silent for several moments. They reach up, grabbing Hero's wrists as they exam their face for any falsehoods.

"You truly have feelings towards me?" Villain finally asks. Hero nods mutely, not breaking eye contact. They feel their heart racing as Villain steps closer.

Villain pulls them by the wrists, reaching for their own belt and quickly binding their arms with a pair of cuffs. Hero has no time to react, and immediately feels their panic rising. Oh no, this must be where the torture starts. The roaring of their own heart is so loud in their ears they almost miss what Villain says next.

"You obviously can't be trusted around secret information anymore, or the weapons room, for that matter. I'll have to keep you in one of my rooms." Villain muses, as they pull Hero along now, not letting them drag their feet.

"...What?" They don't understand what they mean by this. Villain snorts, rolling their eyes.

"Well I'm not letting you go, obviously. Even if wasn't worried about you taking secret info back to the enemy side, I want to keep you here." Villain's voice is lighter now than from when they first discovered their betrayal.

Hero gulps, looking back up at them. "You're not going to torture me?" They ask hesitantly.

Villain barks out a laugh. It's a rough and warm sound, and it makes Hero feel even more weak.

"Of course not. I'm going to keep you here, I'll make sure you're comfortable, but I'll be damned if I'll let you leave me now."

"I don't understand...why?"

Villain pulls them closer by their bound wrists, their chests nearly pressed together now. Hero can feel their breath across their cheek, lips inches away.

"I'll let you in on another secret, my lovely little spy," Villain begins, voice barely above a whisper now. "I've come to love you, too."

#hero x villain #prompts #dialogue prompt #original writing #hero #hero prompt #villain #villain prompt #villain x hero #superhero #writing prompts #writing prompt #writers on tumblr #writeblr #asks

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 4 months

Note

can you make a fic about yan!fboyjk and yan!cheaterjk for me? i don’t have a specific plot in my mind so you can do anything to your liking :))

Pairing | cheater!fboy!yan!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 4.242

Warnings | +18, talk about marriage and cheating, smut, dubcon, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), Jungkook is sweet but also scary, angst, forced relationship, manipulation

Yandere genre is very strong, if you don't like it, don't read. If you are not of age, don't read. I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You want to leave Jungkook, but he is not of the same opinion, It doesn't matter if he did wrong, you are his.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Thank you for the request! I hope you like the story, please ask me for more stories, I am happy to write for you 🥰

You and Jungkook have been always sure about your future, you would get married and live happily ever after like in the most beautiful fairy tale. So why are you crying? Why do you refuse to take your eyes off that scene? Your brain refuses to recognize those angelic features that had caught you in a dense network of colorful, sparkling dreams as a child. That cannot be the same man who swore to you in front of all your relatives eternal love, with a ring in his hand and a wonderful, sweet smile drawn on his lips. Yet who can it be but Jungkook, the man who at that moment holds in his arms a woman unknown to you? You went to the gym to surprise your boyfriend, he had been disappearing for hours for some time under the guise of training for the wedding, he wanted to keep in shape to be perfect for you… just for you. But there he is, at the entrance of the gym whispering something in the ear of the blond-haired woman, who in return smiles cheekily at his joke, running a hand over his strong, trained chest. They seem very close, there is definitely confidence between them. You finally look away, feeling incredibly wrong, and take a step back, then another and another.

You start running in the opposite direction, all to forget that scene, to forget Jungkook's smug eyes staring at a woman who is not you. When you get home you feel incredibly weak, you sit almost collapsing on the bed, in your brain a bunch of ideas start swirling around in your head, ideas that block your breath in your throat. It's not even the first time it's happened, you realize, it's happened before that you've noticed something strange in your relationship, but you've never given it any credence. You don't want to think anymore. Forget, forget, forget.

"Smells good, love," the man leaves a sweet kiss on your neck, pressing his soft lips to caress your skin, "Is my girl getting ready to spoil me yet?" Jungkook holds you tightly in his arms, practically purring against your body. You find yourself smiling between his cuddles, continuing to stir the meat stew simmering in the pot. "You're just saying that because you're hungry," you chuckle gently. You found yourself shaking like a leaf in anxiety for days, believing that sooner or later Jungkook would come to you to tell you that he was leaving you for another woman, but none of that happened, Jungkook is still the same, showering you with attention and adoring you, and still wanting to marry you. Perhaps you had misunderstood the situation, that blond woman must be a friend and you jumped to conclusions, you should have asked Jungkook for explanations, but you still feel something holding you back from doing so. It is fear, a deep and treacherous fear.

"I say this because you are too good to me," he whispers seriously, causing you to turn toward him. His serious eyes chain yours and you feel lost, watching the wonder of that glittering obsidian staring at you encompassing you with possession, Jungkook licks his lips, the rosy soft tip furrowing those inviting petals before he moves closer to you, the electricity between your bodies bursting into lightning bolts as your lips meet, softly joining in an adoring kiss full of dominance. Somehow Jungkook manages to turn off the stove behind you, grabbing your head in a grip that forces you to deepen the kiss under the pressure of his hot tongue pressing repeatedly on your lips to demand access to your mouth. In each touch of Jungkook you lose yourself, accepting the force with which he takes your lips moaning and grabbing a few wavy strands of hair between your fingers. His tongue entwines with yours creating a wet and sensual dance, feeling him slow and hot inside your mouth turns you on in an incredible way. His taste is dope and Jungkook thinks the same of yours, sucking your tongue like delicious candy and smiling. It is always like that, if he wants something, he takes it. And you at that moment happily offer him your body, your feelings and your soul. They are all his.

He grips your hips in his hands, pressing you against his hot body, he needs you and with trembling legs you leave him in charge, he takes you to the couch where he makes you lie down leaving behind a trail of light, soft kisses along your jaw and neck, he stares at you now with half-closed eyes, the man finds himself thinking that you probably don't know how much you are actually giving him. With your clothes now on the floor and your panties lowered to your knees you let your head fall back, clenching your lower lip between your teeth, gentle waves of pleasure envelop your body, Jungkook with one hand travels up your belly to stop at your breasts, which he squeezes possessively as he wraps his tongue around your swollen clitoris, licking and sucking it repeatedly before poking your soggy slit with his fingertips, entering it only slightly, just enough to let your sweet essence out and lick it away with his tongue and enjoy the taste of you that has always driven him wild. You're getting closer and closer to your first orgasm, and you know it won't be the only one; you squeeze his head between your soft, smooth thighs, but he forces you to stay still by pushing his palms on your delicate skin, continuing to eat away at your quivering folds until a wonderful, satisfying sensation grips your belly and explodes into millions of tiny stars behind your closed eyelids.

"Jungkook! S-stop!" you shake your hips trying to make him stop and he stops only after sucking your sensitive pearl against his palate one last time. Kissing your folds and moving up your skin he stops at your belly, licking slowly down to your navel and you shudder still shaken from your orgasm, he only begins to remove his pants and boxers once he reaches your breasts, where he breathes in the scent of your soft skin and takes a delicate nipple in his mouth, attaching it and beginning to caress it with the tip of his tongue, sending delicious shivers throughout your body. "Open those beautiful legs for me, sweetheart," he gives you two light pats on the knee and makes you spread your legs wide, satiating his hungry, smug eyes. He loves the power you let him wield over you. You lick your lips at the sight of his straining, cum-shiny cock, wanting to taste it, to feel that length filling your mouth and leaving you breathless, but Jungkook pushes you back against the couch firmly, shaking his head amusedly. "Later, love," he murmurs finally taking off the tight t-shirt he is wearing, you find yourself gazing at his defined and gorgeous abs with the driest of throats, he doesn't let you touch him to your disappointment, you want to caress his chest, play with his sensitive nipples, but with a firm, hard kiss he guides himself between your legs, sinuously sliding into your wet entrance with his thick, hard cock, you widen your eyes and a deep moan leaves your throat. Your sensitive folds vibrate delightedly with each of his slow, firm lunges, your arms wrap around his neck and your hips move with his, in the room you can only hear the sounds of your bodies coming together and your wheezing moans, Jungkook grunts in your ear something after a particularly hard thrust and your eyes narrow, the thick tip of his cock is hitting a particularly sensitive spot that makes more moisture gush from your pussy.

"Jungkook, I'm coming again," you whimper softly inhaling his scent, the man nods as he continues to press into that sensitive area, and you move his hair behind his ear before leaving a kiss on one side of his neck. Then something makes you miss a beat. You hadn't noticed it before because it was hidden by his rather long hair, but just below his ear is a mark. It looks like a mark- a hickey -the color is tending toward purple and your heartstrings tug painfully.

You drive your nails into his shoulders with frost enveloping your limbs, you don't want to look any further, tears accumulate in the corners of your eyes and Jungkook blames your oncoming climax, he kisses them drying them with his lips and that gesture makes you scream internally, why is he so sweet and attentive? It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. With his free hand he reaches down between your bodies beginning to circle with his thumb around your clit, his pelvis moves faster, he is coming, soon he would fill you with his cum and for the first time ever you find yourself faking an orgasm with Jungkook, your delicate walls tighten around his cock, accompanying him to the end of his pleasure, but you feel nothing more. Jungkook collapses on top of you, kissing your forehead and cheeks, then finishing with your lips, but your heart is shattered. The man you love does not actually love you. "I love you, Y/N," he says, a lie you are no longer willing to believe.

There was always something wrong with the attention Jungkook was getting at school, you often attended the same classes and you always got the evil eyes of the other girls on you, you had even tried to ask the boy why, but he had always explained that they were simply jealous of your relationship and you were not supposed to pay attention to them. And you had believed him, after all, you always believed him. But now you regret giving him all that power.

"Jungkook, do you have another woman?" Your wedding is only a month away, and you can't marry a man who doesn't love you. Jungkook from his side almost chokes on his energy drink, he stares at you as if you had two heads instead of one, you are in the parking lot of his gym, you went to pick him up and you can tell he had recently showered, the ends of his hair are still damp and curled. "Shit, Y/N! Is that something to tell your future husband? We're getting married in exactly one month, heck no! I don't have another woman!" he blurts out seemingly speechless, you tighten your lips in response. "Hey ... Baby, what's going on?" he whispers softly, trying to take your chin between his fingers, but you quickly flinch away from him, who rolls his eyes in response. "What's going on is this, Jungkook," you growl, suddenly lifting some dark locks from his neck, exposing a small but remarkable detail. There are slight bite marks that are healing, you had noticed it a few days before, but you didn't have the courage to point it out, until now.

You're tired, you don't want to put up with such a situation anymore. "Stop teasing me, I hate it when you're so sweet to me, when it's clear that you're having fun behind my back with who knows how many other women!" you shout with glazed eyes, Jungkook immediately losing the confusion etched on his face, finally letting a serious and icy look shine through. "This is not the place to talk about this, Y/N. Let's go home," he hisses, not even trying to deny it one more time. This shocks you deeply. He doesn't seem to care that you finally know the truth. "I really think this is the right place, instead" you don't want to cry, so you hold back your tears by chasing them back, "You lied to me and betrayed me, I don't want to marry a man like you" the disgust in your voice makes him wince, if he thought he was going to solve things by using some bullshit catchphrases, well, he was very wrong. You make to get out of the car, you would have taken a cab rather than be with him again in that cramped and stifling space, you want to vent your emotions in a more secluded place, but Jungkook tightens a hand around your wrist.

"Don't you want to marry a man like me? My love, you may not realize that you have no other choice! We have always been together and we will always be together! You swore it to me more than once and you even did it in front of our parents!" he exclaims fiercely, tightening his grip painfully, you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. "You're hurting me," you murmur terrified by his sudden change. "Well, maybe you deserve it, don't you think?" he asks cruelly. You know Jungkook particularly cares about his parents' judgment, but you didn't think he would go that far to make them happy, so a worse doubt germinates in you. "You never loved me! You only want to be with me because our parents always wanted it that way" you want to vomit, were you really that blind? Jungkook quickly shakes his head, "Of course I love you, even though you're making me angry with this absurd talk of yours." "You don't love me, if you really loved me you wouldn't cheat on me with other women" you find the strength to break free from his grip, your pulse is red and pumping blood quickly. "I-" he freezes, his eyes dark with fury, "You don't understand, you can't blame me alone for all this!"

Jungkook knows he was wrong; in fact, he wouldn't have even wanted to start. But when you got together you were young and you had insisted on losing your virginity only once you had reached adulthood and thus the necessary maturity, you did not want your first time to be driven only by the pure hormonal instincts of two teenagers, and Jungkook had never had the courage to insist, because you seemed quite convinced about your ideas. But he needed what you were unwilling to give him, and so he cheated on you for the first time in a school bathroom after class, and he had hated himself no matter how many more countless times, but the more he got the more he wanted more, and even when you had finally given yourself to him, cheating had become an impossible vice to let go of, and the idea that you would always be left waiting for him was particularly tempting. But now it no longer seems that way; you want to leave, to leave him, and he cannot allow it. "You drove me crazy with your constant 'We're too young' or 'Let's wait a little longer'!" You open your mouth wide in shock, "No, don't blame me! You never told me you were against my ideas, and anyway, that's no reason to betray a person you say you love."

You have to get out of that car, you can't wait a second longer. The situation is worse than you thought, he has been cheating on you since the beginning of your story, you are nauseated. "You disgust me," you say before you open the door, you turn to get out, but suddenly your vision goes black, you feel Jungkook press his hand against your nose and mouth, before wrapping an arm around your neck.

When you wake up you realize you are no longer in the car, but you are not even in your house. The only thing you remember is Jungkook making you faint, then nothingness. You look around and what you see is a small room, the walls are lilac and it's littered with puppets of all kinds and colors, the mirror in front of the single bed you're lying on makes it clear the way you've been dressed. You're wearing a high school uniform and your hands are tied to the headboard, you widen your eyes and try to free yourself by pulling at the fabric used to hold you like that. "You've woken up." Jungkook makes his appearance from the bathroom connected to the small bedroom, he is adjusting his dark blue tie and you also notice his attire, he is dressed in a school uniform just like you. "What does all this mean, is this a joke?" you hiss less than amused, but Jungkook doesn't flinch. "I've come to a conclusion," he says as he approaches the bed, you try to get as far away from him as possible by bringing your free legs to your chest, you don't recognize the man in front of you, "I don't want to cheat on you, ever again."

He seems sincere, but you don't trust him. He has broken your heart too many times to deserve trust from you again. "I don't believe you, you're a liar," you say in fact, Jungkook tightens his lips. "I have my conditions," he says anyway, ignoring your words, "You'll still marry me and we'll make up for all the moments you made us miss," he murmurs dangerously, sitting down on the bed and letting a hand approach your thigh, you become an ice statue instantly, finally understanding the reason behind your uniforms. "You're crazy, I'm not going to marry you and we're not going to get anything back at all, to be honest I haven't had an orgasm with you in weeks, just the thought of a traitor like you touching me makes me lose the will to fuck," you murmur angrily, jerking away from his hand in a stinging manner. Jungkook narrows his eyes into two slits, he wanted to be nice to you, but you just don't understand. He's going to use forceful manners, then. "Why must you force me to hurt you, my love?" You look at him terrified, what does he mean?

"Jungkook, don't do anything you might regret, please." He grips your face hard in his hands, staring at you with those deep, dark pools you've always loved, pinning you in place before snapping a deep kiss. You stubbornly keep your lips tight, but Jungkook bites your lower lip forcing you to scream, his voluptuous tongue immediately making room in your mouth and groaning in protest as he plunders your oral cavity. "You'll change your mind, Y/N, by hook or by crook," he hums in your ear with a veil of amusement shining through his voice-who the hell is this man? Jungkook studies you carefully before running his hands over your hips, you shudder at his touch and his fingers stop above the buttons of your school blouse. "You will have only my body, Jungkook," you say in a colorless voice, trying to escape from that absurd reality, the boy opens your blouse, showing off the lace of your pink bra, he observes the graceful shape of your breasts longingly before returning his gaze to you. "I will have everything of you: soul, heart, body -- everything," he whispers before leaning over you, inhaling your scent straight from your bare skin.

"Where have you taken me?" "Haven't you figured it out yet?" You frown, then finally understand. It is his room from when he was a child, that means-. "We're at your parents' house." Jungkook nods. "Do you remember what happened in this room, Y/N?" Yes, you remember, but you don't want to say it out loud, that would make what Jungkook wants to do real. "You rejected me," he hisses suddenly, ripping your blouse off once and for all, you squeal in fright at his force and widen your eyes. He looks furious, his hands are shaking and his shoulders have stiffened under the weight of his fury, "I wanted you and you walked away! No matter how many times we did it when you made up your mind, you still rejected me and forced me to beg from other girls!" he exclaims, totally delirious before attaching his lips to the visible skin of your breasts, you wriggle trying to push him away, but he is too strong, Jungkook is not there with you. He is lost in his memories and blaming you for his betrayals.

Bitter tears accumulate in the corners of your eyes, it's not your fault. It's not your fault at all, but maybe... maybe if you had been more attentive to his needs, too, you would have been enough for him? When he grabs your pussy from above the fabric of your panties you arch your back against your will, his strong and powerful presence still has its hold on you and you tremble trying to stop yourself, you don't know if you are more scared or excited. "Jungkook-" "Say you're sorry," you widen your eyes. "What?" you gasp, his index finger going under the fabric and circling your slit. "Say you're sorry for rejecting me so many times, say you're sorry for all the times you made me feel like an ugly, worthless little boy!" You shake your head, "I never-" you groan, his index finger penetrating you and gently moving a few inches above your soaked entrance, you stiffen at the flame that suddenly invades your limbs. How does he still do this to you? After weeks spent in total apathy, it is now lighting you up in more ways than one, why?

Then you remember, " I don't want to cheat on you, ever again," are such simple words enough to get your body to react? Your body is corrupted by Jungkook, vibrating under his forbidden touch and practically purring, more moisture gushes from your slit, which widens to envelop the second finger Jungkook adds to his penetration, you are trembling trying not to push your hips against the boy, but it is harder than you thought. "I don't want you," you murmur, shaking your head, Jungkook looking at you firmly, tickling sensitive spots that only he knows and is able to reach. "Say it again as you come on my fingers, my love." An unsettling feeling of warmth swells in your lower abdomen. You deny it once more with your head, trying to stop your trembling legs, but it is too late, your walls tightening around his long, deft fingers, exploding in an orgasm you have longed for. "Why are you doing this to me?" you cry, moving your arms forcefully; Jungkook stops you, preventing you from hurting yourself with the ribbons that bind you.

"I wanted to make you pay for all the times you said no by making me feel like a poor, inexperienced fool," he says clutching your skirt with fingers smeared with your liquid pleasure, "But things got out of hand," he stammers, a stinger reaches your heart and your stomach sinks. You don't want to think about how many times he has devoted himself to another woman's body, it hurts too much. "You never told me about it," your words come out in a breathy voice, you try to hold back the sobs. Jungkook moves on top of you, "We will be happy, Y/N" he kisses your forehead moving between your legs, you feel him unzip his pants and enter you with one thrust, it is easy to enter you, you are completely wet and close your eyes listening to his rough, lustful sighs. His swollen cock moves penetrating you repeatedly, the bed moves under his precise and direct strokes and you squeeze your eyes shut, your clitoris throbbing and quivering seeking more direct stimulation and a sigh escapes your lips when the man presses his pelvis against your pubis, crushing your sensitive pearl while with the tip of his cock he reaches to stimulate a particularly receptive spot, you watch the strands of his hair sticking to your sweat-dampened forehead and his eyes begging you not to leave him.

"Y/N!" he moans your name while squinting, "Y/N!" he pushes harder between your soft walls and pulls with his arms on the ropes that keep you tied to the bed. "Jung-" you bite your tongue, refusing to moan his name, but the boy disagrees and demands that you look at him. "I'm sorry, I'll never cheat on you again, I mean it," he whimpers into your ear, "I only love you, only you," he moans and you find yourself closing your eyes, not wanting to give in, not really wanting to, but... "I'm-I'm sorry...for rejecting you" you stammer, pleasure rising once again and the hope of mending your relationship dancing in your chest, "I'm sorry for making you feel unfit." "The others... I just wanted to prove myself" thus confesses his feeling of inadequacy, you know you shouldn't forgive him anyway, but you love him too much, "But now I realize it's only to you that I have to prove something, forgive me" and so you let yourself be corrupted even in your soul. Just a gesture of your head is enough to allow him to come deeply inside you, your breath quickening as you reach for him clutching him in the deepest part of you, throwing your head back. Moments later he unties the knot that binds you to the bed and kisses your wrists softly, murmuring about how perfect you are for him and that once we were married, all would be forgotten because he only wants you. A tear slides down your cheek.

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bingwriterxo · 1 year

Text

a child?!

pairing: wednesday addams x werewolf!reader

summary: in which something strange happens to you

warnings: none

word count: 1400+

author's note: this was a request! also, i do not know how chlidren work!

Wednesday was sitting at her desk, fingers flying across the keys of her typewriter as she detailed the most recent mystery that Viper had to solve, when Enid burst through the door, loud and obtrusive as always. The raven-haired girl had half a mind to ignore her roommate, and she succeeded in doing so for what seemed to be the longest minute in eternity, until she ultimately had to turn in her chair and glare at the blonde for the ruckus she was making.

"Why must you be so loud?" Wednesday deadpanned.

Enid squeaked and whirled around, hiding something behind her back. "We--Wednesday!" she exclaimed in a pitch much too high for Wednesday to appreciate. "I didn't even realize you were here!"

Wednesday furrowed her eyebrows, watching her roommate closely. "You're acting strange. Granted, you are strange, but today you are even stranger." I didn't even think that was possible, she thought. She would have said it out loud, but she had begrudgingly promised you that she would try to be nicer to people, even if it made her want to claw her own tongue out.

"What?" Enid asked, shifting where she stood like the floor was littered with hot coals. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Your hair is mussed"--Enid reached up, patted down her hair--"your uniform has become undone"--Enid glanced down, noticing that her tie was untucked from beneath her vest--"and there is...snot...on your shoulder." Wednesday narrowed her eyes at the blonde. "What is going on?"

Enid sighed in defeat and hung her head, letting her shoulders slump as she looked at the floor, revealing the unicorn plush that she had come to the dorm for in the first place. "You should probably come with me."

* * *

"Why are we at Xavier's shed?"

Enid didn't answer. Instead, she moved to stand in front of Wednesday before the raven-haired girl could push the door open. "Now, when you see what's inside, you can't kill us, okay?"

"Us?"

"Yes." Enid nodded, her face more serious than Wednesday had ever seen it. "Us."

Wednesday contemplated this for a moment. She wasn't one to make agreements when she didn't what the other half of the bargain entailed, but Enid's stoic look was starting to make her uncomfortable (and not in a good way) so she nodded.

"Fine," she said.

With a hefty sigh, Enid turned around and pushed the door open. Wednesday followed close behind, her eyes flitting around the room as she looked for who 'us' was. It wasn't hard to find them: Xavier, Yoko, and Ajax all stood in the middle of the shed, their backs to the pair and their attention on something that Wednesday couldn't see.

"What is this, some sort of odd club?" Wednesday asked, and everyone spun around on their heels. She scanned her friends' (in loose terms) faces, and it wasn't difficult to see the guilt and worry coating each of their expressions, or feel the anxiety radiating off of them.

Xavier's lips were pulled into a frown, and his eyes were glazed, staring behind Wednesday rather than at her. Yoko was playing with her fingers, and her head was tilted upwards, lips pursed like she was about to start whistling at any moment. Ajax waved shyly and then scratched at the back of his neck, eyes on anything except Wednesday.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Wednesday hissed. "What is happening?"

All three of them started to speak at the same time.

"Well--"

"There was--"

"So, something happened--"

They were cut off by a small babble, and then, between Yoko and Ajax's legs, a child appeared, running full force at Enid. Enid crouched down and took the child in her arms, standing as she handed her the plush.

Everyone's eyes landed on Wednesday while her own were trained on the child cuddling Enid's stuffed unicorn, and when she also glanced toward the raven-haired girl, everything clicked.

"Is that my girlfriend?" Wednesday seethed through gritted teeth.

Enid shrank in on herself at the question and looked down at you before glancing back at her roommate. "...Yes?" she answered sheepishly.

Wednesday wished that she didn't take verbal agreements as seriously as she did because she had never wanted to kill her roommate and her friends more than in that moment. She clenched her jaw as she stared at you, who stared right back at her with wide eyes and a childish grin, and then held her arms out.

She could hear Yoko gasp, and Ajax made some sort of noise, and Enid took a step back. "Are you going to hurt her?"

"Why would I hurt Y/N?" Wednesday asked. "I was going to hold her."

Enid blinked at her. Xavier spoke up. "Do you even know how to hold a kid?" he asked, but you were reaching out to Wednesday, leaning forward so far that Enid had to oblige the raven-haired girl or risk you falling onto your face.

Wednesday took you into her arms easily, resting you against her hip. You were watching her, the unicorn clutched in one hand and your other playing with the end of one of her braids.

"Pretty," you mumbled.

She wasn't paying any attention to you, turning her sights back on the three idiots--well, four now, as Enid had joined them in the center of the room--and narrowing her eyes. "And why is my girlfriend"--she glanced down at you, then looked back up--"currently three years old?"

You tugged on the braid, and Wednesday was only half-surprised by the amount of strength you had. As a werewolf, it made sense that you would be stronger than the average child, but she hadn't expected it to sting.

She looked down to see you frowning up at her. "What?"

"Pay 'tention," you demanded with a pout.

"No." She looked back at her friends. "Answer me."

Ajax, Yoko, and Xavier all glanced at Enid, and the blonde stepped forward. "Well..." She inhaled deeply and all of her words tumbled out. "Y/N and I were trying to make a serum to suppress our heats, and we must have forgotten an ingredient or something, but we thought we did it correctly, so Y/N tried it and then...shrunk." She gestured lamely at you. "Or, well, turned into a kid."

You tugged on Wednesday's hair again. "Pay 'tention!" you repeated loudly.

"Uh, Wednesday," Ajax began, "I think she wants you to pay attention to her."

Wednesday glared at the boy. She looked at you. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering, you giggled and threw your arms out. "Pretty!" The unicorn fell to the floor, and you glanced down, whimpering. "Unicorn," you cried as though it were your best friend falling off the edge of a cliff.

"Don't cry," Wednesday said. She knelt down, grabbed the stuffed animal, and gave it back to you. You cooed happily, nuzzling into it. She looked at her friends again, all of whom wore strange grins. "What?"

"That was so cute, Wednesday!" Enid exclaimed. "I didn't know you could be cute!"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "Call me cute again, Enid, and you won't have a voice box to call anything cute."

The blonde didn't seem to take the threat to heart as she continued to smile. "I have to get a picture of this!"

"I will kill you."

"And that's a risk I think I'm willing to take!" Enid pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped a quick photo. She glanced over the top of the phone. "She's sleeping!" She took another picture.

Wednesday frowned and looked down. You were, in fact, asleep against her, your head pressed beneath her chin and soft breaths slipping from your mouth. You seemed at peace there, and, for a quick moment that she would never admit occurred, Wednesday didn't quite mind the fact that all of her friends were watching her. But then her senses returned to her and she looked at the four.

"You better figure out how to turn her back," she said. "Or I will bury you all alive."

bonus: when you did return to your normal age, you had no recollection of what had happened, and no one wanted to explain it to you. for a week, you were oblivious, until you opened wednesday's desk drawer to grab moisturizer for thing and found a new object inside. you picked it up, careful not to damage it, and found that it was a picture of you as a child cuddled up to wednesday.

"what the fuck?"

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday netflix #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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xtra7s · 2 months

Note

First, I love your work!

Second Clicking ont the yes baby button made me feel things !

Third I was wondering if you could write about Leighton or Renée who has an hidden anxiety disorder

Thanks ♤

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

Leighton Murray x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Your girlfriend Leighton is struggling.

Content: Anxiety attacks, fem reader, ummm idk fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

a/n: LOVE REQUEST SO MUCH HOPE I DID IT WELL IM SORRY ITS SHORT (Glad the button made u feel things)

masterlist

Leighton's heart raced like a runaway train, each beat reverberating through her chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. She stared blankly at the pages of her math textbook, the equations and formulas blurring together into an indecipherable mess. No matter how hard she tried to focus, her mind refused to cooperate, consumed instead by a rising tide of panic.

"I can't do this," Leighton whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breaths. "fuck I can't do this."

She raked a hand through her hair, tugging at the perfectly styled blonde locks in frustration. This wasn't like her. Leighton Murray was known for her sharp intellect and unwavering confidence, especially when it came to academics. But now, faced with the looming specter of failure, she felt utterly powerless.

The fluorescent lights of the college dorm hallway cast a stark glow on the beige walls, as Bela, Leighton's roommate, hurriedly dialed Y/N's number. She could hear the faint sound of Leighton's pacing from the other side of the door, mixed with the irregular rhythm of her breaths.

"Come on, pick up," Bela muttered under her breath, anxiety lacing her voice as she waited for the call to connect.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N answered. "Bela? What's up?"

"Y/N listen, something's wrong with Leighton. She's freaking out about something. I don't know what to do."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the urgency in Bela's voice. Leighton was known for her impeccable composure, if she was hyperventilating over something, it had to be serious.

"I'm on my way," Y/N said without hesitation, grabbing her jacket and keys before rushing out of her own dorm room.

Minutes later, Y/N knocked on the door of Leighton and Bela's room, her heart pounding in her chest. Bela opened the door, her eyes wide with concern as she stepped aside to let Y/N in.

Leighton was pacing around her room, her usually perfectly styled blonde hair in disarray, and her hands shaking as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Leighton, hey," Y/N said softly, crossing the room to grab ahold of Leighton's hand softly, stopping the pacing. "What's going on? Why are you so worked up?"

Leighton looked up, her blue eyes swimming with panic and vulnerability. "Y/N, I… I don't know what to do. My brain is all scrambled and I can't memorize these formulas for shit I don't know what's wrong with me."

Y/N's heart broke at the sight of Leighton's distress. She smiled sadly at her, offering a reassuring squeeze to her hand.

"Hey, look at me," Y/N said, her voice steady and soothing. "You are more than capable, Leighton. You're brilliant, and you know this stuff. I know you do, you're quite literally the smartest girl on campus."

Y/N noticed Leighton's breathing picking up, and she gently guided Leighton to sit down on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, it's okay," Y/N said soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Just breathe with me, alright?"

Leighton nodded shakily, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Y/N settled down beside her, taking Leighton's trembling hands in her own and guiding them to her chest.

"Feel my breath," Y/N instructed, her voice soft and reassuring. "Inhale… and exhale."

Together, they began to breathe in tandem, the steady rise and fall of Y/N's chest a comforting rhythm against Leighton's fingertips. With each breath, the tight knot of tension in Leighton's chest began to loosen, replaced instead by a sense of peace and calm.

As they continued the exercise, Y/N whispered words of encouragement, her voice a gentle melody soothing Leighton's frazzled nerves. And with each passing moment, the storm raging inside Leighton began to subside until all that remained was the quiet serenity of the present moment.

"Better?" Y/N asked, her eyes searching Leighton's for any sign of distress.

Leighton nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Y/N," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Y/N smiled back, her heart swelling with love for the girl sitting beside her. "You don't have to do anything alone, Leighton. I'm here for you, always."

Leighton's breathing began to slow as she focused on Y/N's comforting words. With each steady inhale and exhale, the tension in her body began to ease.

After the storm of panic had passed, their fingers stayed intertwined as they basked in the calmness that filled the room. But amidst the tranquility, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging concern that had been gnawing at her since she first saw Leighton in distress.

"Leighton," Y/N began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "do you… do you have an anxiety disorder? I'm so sorry if that's rude to ask, I've just noticed you get really.. panicked sometimes."

Leighton's breath hitched at the question, her eyes widening in surprise. She hadn't expected Y/N to pick up on the underlying issue so quickly, let alone address it so directly.

"Yeah," Leighton admitted hesitantly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I do."

Y/N's brow furrowed in concern as she faced Leighton, her expression a mixture of empathy and confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Leighton looked away, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor as she struggled to find the right words. "I guess… I guess I was scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that you would think less of me, or that you wouldn't understand."

Y/N reached out and gently lifted Leighton's chin, guiding her to meet her gaze. "Leighton, I could never think less of you," she said earnestly, her eyes filled with sincerity. "You're still the same amazing person I fell in love with, anxiety disorder or not."

Leighton's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she absorbed Y/N's words, her heart overflowing with gratitude for the unwavering love and acceptance she found in Y/N's embrace.

"Thank you," Leighton whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to Leighton's forehead. "You never have to face anything alone, Leighton. I'm here for you, always."

And as they sat together in the quiet intimacy of Leighton's room, surrounded by the gentle warmth of their love, Leighton knew with unwavering certainty that no matter what challenges life threw their way, as long as she had Y/N by her side, she could weather any storm.

#leighton murray x reader #the sex lives of college girls #leighton murray #lesbian #wlw #renee rapp #renee rapp x reader #lgbtq #mean girls #regina george x reader

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modernimpressionism · 2 months

Text

a higher power compelled me to write this

Swann Arlaud x Reader Fluff

(First meetings, art museums, slight awkwardness)

1285 Words

• ───── ୨୧ ───── •

Like the work of art she was, he first saw her at a museum.

More specifically, at the Musée d'Orsay. Standing in front of Olympia. He had wandered in on a walk home from a meeting with his manager, feeling a little stressed and pretty annoyed. He assumed a walk around an air-conditioned maze would calm his mind a bit, and this one was just the closest when he googled 'museum'. He recalls visiting it as a boy because being a child in Paris meant field trips to insane historical monuments and world-famous museums.

She stared at the painting as if trying to memorize every brush stroke, occasionally adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder or tucking her hair behind her ear, but not moving onto another piece. The relaxed nude figure seemed to entrance her like the woman was communicating something secret and sensual and womanly through 150 years of dried pigment.

This gave him plenty of time to memorize her as well, to notice the hair falling gently on her back. Her fingers, the nails neatly painted but the skin around them picked and chewed to bits. She wore a watch on her left wrist, a real watch that ticked silently with the seconds, he thought higher of her because of this but couldn't place why. Her clothes looked nice, but not excessive. He imagined her being picky with what she wore, and not caring about brands or fashion houses, which felt rare in Paris. The tote bag on her shoulder was obviously full, and he yearned to hold it for her, to take the weight off if only for a moment. She obviously carried it every day and thought little of the weight anymore, but he was willing to take it.

He paused his study for a moment to look around the gallery. He noticed the similarity between all of the paintings, and with how long she was staring at the one, he assumed she must be a fan.

Shit

He leaned over to check the name of the artist on a few of the paintings, Manet, Manet, Manet, ok. He pulls his phone out and quickly searches for him. If he's going to talk to this woman, he should at least pretend to have a reason to.

He was starting to regret not paying attention during those field trips.

He slipped his phone back into his back pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. It seemed like he was eternally trying to fix it, and if there was ever a time for it to behave, it was right now.

He took one confident step before she started moving and he lost all of his nerve. He snapped his head around before finding a random painting to pretend to stare at, hoping she didn't notice his extended and possibly creepy staring. He shoved his hands in his front pockets to try to look calmer than he was.

He heard the slight tap of her shoes against the stone floor but didn't dare to look where she was going. This is disastrous, he thought, deciding to leave as soon as she stopped moving. He was counting down the seconds when he felt a slight shade move on his left side and heard her movements more closely.

She stood right next to them, looking at the same painting.

His plan to abandon ship quickly dissipated, knowing this was the only opportunity he had to talk to her. If he ignored her now and followed her around the museum to talk to her later, he would look mental.

He scanned the painting in a panic, trying to understand 150 years of art history before opening his mouth. To him, it just looked like a couple of people standing on a balcony but he felt like it meant much more to her. He thought that if he waited any more, he would lose his nerve, so he opened his mouth and...

"J'aime le chien"

"Oh, I. I'm sorry but I'm still learning French, I'm not sure-"

"You're American!"

Shit!

In his anxiety-ridden brain, he forgot to shut his mouth and his words bypassed any filter he possessed. It's over, this was a total failure, he thought as he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

But instead he heard her giggle gently, before responding,

"I am! All of my life actually"

Oh god, and she's funny...

He smiled back at her with his signature goofy lopsided smile, too engrossed by her face, her mouth, her eyes to actually respond to anything.

"I like the dog too", she replies after a few silent seconds.

They both stared at the small animal painted in the bottom left corner, tucked into the petticoat of a figure. His eyes weren't visible beneath his fur, permanently hidden from the world. Looking at the animal and hearing her approval gave him the confidence to keep their conversation going a bit longer.

"So is he your favorite?"

"He's one of my favorites, i just love the choice of subjects, how average they were."

He's entranced by her voice. By the way her lips move to make the words, by the way her eyes light up as she speaks about art. He realizes that he must look silly, staring at her speak with a dumb smile, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Have you ever seen where he painted? In Giverny?"

She tilts her head slightly at that question, slightly confused.

Shit.

"Do you mean Monet? With the lilies? He painted in Giverny. This is Manet."

SHIT!

His mouth opens and closes like a fish, feeling like a deer in headlights, he can't possibly save this now.

So he just starts laughing. A genuine belly laugh, full of joy at his own stupidity. And then she starts laughing just as hard.

"Did you just google him a minute ago?", she asks, in between giggles.

"I did, it must have been uh... vérification orthographique.. spellcheck"

They look at each other earnestly, both admiring the other.

"I'm Y/N", she says, reaching out her hand.

He grabs it and is astounded by how comfortable he feels in hers

"Swann"

*One Year Later*

"Love I told you, I didn't want anything for our anniversary, just to do things together"

"Well this is a together present, sort of, it's for uh.. l'appartement"

He pulls a large, flat, wrapped present from the back of his closet, lifting it and placing it in front of Y/N, who's sat on their bed. He sits down next to her, leaning one hand on the bed behind her, subconsciously wanting to be close to her.

Her hands reach for the paper and start tearing, she makes a mental note of his gift-wrapping skills, assigning him that job in the future. Her were always horribly crumpled, but he was neat and untarnished, and she almost felt bad destroying it.

She quickly uncovered a gold frame with a glass pane, something familiar peeking out from inside.

"It's the Manet painting, The Balcony. A print of it, I mean. I thought it would be nice to hang out here since it's ours." he says, almost shyly... No matter how confident he was, he always felt the risk of gift-giving.

"Swann, I love it, It's perfect"

She places the framed print on the bed behind her, safely, before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him with as much love as she could muster. It was such a quick transition that he was almost surprised, but he soon caught up and reached his arm around her and grabbed her waist, pulling her tighter. After a while, he placed a hand on her cheek to pull her away and leaned in to kiss her lips gently and with love.

"Joyeux anniversaire chérie, I would get you the real painting if I could.

#swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #fluff

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bunji-enthusiast · 4 months

Text

Echoing Troubles

Note || warmup to get me into writing after taking a few days of a break, uhhh this was a request but Tumblr deleted it.

WC || 549

sypnosis || People say great power would mean great responsibility, you weren't one of those people.

Sincerely, being pulled into a plan of wickedness and monsters was the last thing you planned on your card, it wasn’t even on your card at all. You just wanted the madness and torment to stop, having to constantly go through puzzles, figuring out how to get through obstacles standing in your way.

Safe to say, you were nearly this close to be up and done with things. All this adrenaline and running would in no way be a healthy thing for someone like you, you weren’t a fighter, let alone a marathon runner.

Even being pulled one inch into the web of lies and fabrication, would you ask, ‘Where in the icy seven rings of hell did Elliot Ludwig have the idea to found the very grounds infamously known as Playtime Co?’

Oh absolutely.

You want nothing more for this to end, to end it all for the toys being put through the endless insanity and eternity of torment brought on by the Prototype. But you were just an employee, what more could you be left with to say? To do?

Having your own problems, one might say magicks and the like would put a whole realm of burdens on one’s shoulders.

When people wished they were gifted, they would always single you out as someone who says you never wanted the gift of superpowered abilities. You always kept yourself safe and hidden, keeping to yourself and being silent and lonely, knowing full well what may happen should your physic ability be revealed. But it never came to be, unluckily compared to that one fateful day or night all because of working at Playtime Co.

Let’s be straight and open here, you have an ability to see things that happen as they were meant to originally, and finite. You try to find a way to twist it if it is within your capabilities to go against the real reality of things.

You simply couldn’t cope with this fact, having to take medication for your stress and anxiety, a whole load of things you wouldn’t bear to unload on another. Just for a mere second if your head were to turn the other way, the tables would turn on you.

Yes, keeping this power was something you had done all your life. But now, you had to end up putting it to use, all because you couldn’t bear something happening to DogDay. His original fate that was set in place for him, you defied it with the whole of your heart.

You thought he needed to live, he deserved better.

You just weren’t sure how you should answer his question.

“What?..”

DogDay sighed immediately upon your recall, casting you a forlorn as he asked once more, “Angel.. Ah, I just, why save me in the first place?” He tilted his head, standing in place as you two were in an elevator right now.

It was taking exceedingly long to get to the top, you simply couldn’t brush off the question that easily. You really didn’t want to answer his question, why the hell was the elevator taking this long. Prolonging the silence, you tapped your foot, lips pursed in a self approved silence to think about it for a moment.

Should you tell him the truth…

Or just lie?

[Want to join the Taglist the next time I post any writing pieces? Let me know!]

#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader

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darylsdelts · 2 months

Text

Breathe

Darylxdaughter!reader

summary: Daryl is your father, upon entering Alexandria for the first night, you struggle with your anxiety and your Dad comforts you as best he can.

warnings: mentions of nausea, anxiety, panic attacks, fatherly comfort.

Arriving at the gates of the new community…Alexandria, you felt your stomach doing flips. Usually when kids were scared or nervous, they would hold onto their parents hand a little tighter but you were the opposite, you almost always were, in every way you were the opposite to ‘most kids’.

When the gates started to open, your father, Daryl reached for your hand, giving it a small squeeze. Your dad always knew what would get you anxious and he also knew how you tried to deal with the feeling, so he knew that you did not want to hold his hand right now, he knew it made you feel like the world was putting its entire weight on you. He also knew that you hated that he could always tell when you’d start feeling the tightness in your chest, it filled you with humiliation.

However, Daryl could feel his own chest tightening with anxiety. Bringing his child into a place that he’s unfamiliar with, full of people he couldn’t trust, scared the shit outta him. It filled him with guilt, knowing that he couldn’t ever promise you safety but he also wasn’t one to ever lie to you.

It was like some sort of internal humiliation, you hated that you couldn’t just breeze through certain situations like your Dad or like Rick, they were never scared of anything.

You swiftly pulled your hand from your fathers grip, earning a glance down in your direction which you tried your best to ignore, he had a way of making his gaze feel like it could burn you alive.

Despite not wanting to be touched or comforted, yous still stuck right by your fathers side. You hated admitting it but being next to your dad did comfort you and being in this foreign community, you needed that.

It felt like an eternity of standing next to Daryl, scuffing your feet against the smooth tarmac whilst the adults spoke about where y’all were gonna be sleeping. Your dad didn’t really give much input, he didn’t seem fond of this place so you decided you wouldn’t be either. You weren’t paying attention to the conversation but you assumed there had been some sort of arrangement when Daryl flattened his palm on your upper back and pushed you in the direction of a house that wasn’t claimed by a family yet.

When it was time to sleep, the group all slept on the floor together even though they all had beds now, and you wanted so badly to sleep in a bed. However, you understood why and you felt safer when you were with the whole group anyway.

But knowing that you were basically trapped in this new place made your tummy hurt and your lungs work a little harder.

You were sat with your back against the wall, a small space between the windowsill and the cot that Judith was in, and your knees were drawn to your chest. You and your father were the only ones still awake, he was sat on the window sill and watching the darkness outside, always ready.

Your eyes scanned over your found family, all pairs of eyes were closed and they were all unconscious.

You thought about the fact that this is what they’d all look like if they were all dead in front of you and you feel an uncomfortable wave of heat come over you, from your head to your toes and now your feet felt tingly. You started to overthink: were you really safe here? You felt safe if you were with your dad but with the way he was staring out the window, as if he was waiting for something bad to happen, didn’t make it seem like he felt safe here. What if this place was like terminus? They’re just pretending to be good people. Maybe you’ll wake up and everyone will actually be dead.

The room started to feel way too small, way too much like an enclosure.

You got up as quietly as you could, stepping carefully over your family and heading to the front door.

You were getting that weird feeling, the one where you feel like your heads being pulled back whilst your body drags you forward. Every time you’ve felt this way, your dad has been able to tell and every time he’d always get you to fresh air if you weren’t already outside, so that’s what you were doing.

Once you were on the porch, you shut the door as quietly as possible and walked to the corner of the wooden bannister, sliding down to the ground so that you were sat with your knees tucked against your chest again.

You attempted to take deep breaths like Dad had taught you to, you’d seen him do it himself sometimes too. Dad said that he sometimes got the same feeling as you got when he was scared… but he never really seemed scared.

You tried to keep up the breathing exercise but your jaw began to tingle and your head was getting a little fuzzy, you felt like you were really about to throw up.

You only ever got this bad twice.

The first was before the walkers were around, when you had to wait in your Dads truck whilst he visited grandpa Will. Dad never let you go in with him, you weren’t exactly sure why your dad still visited him because when he came back to the truck he was always angry but Dad never spoke about it. But you always got the bad feeling when your father was in there a little too long.

The second was on the farm, when Andrea shot Daryl in the side of his head, you were forced to sit down on a bench with Lori and Carl whilst Hershel tried to help your Dad. You were sure he was gonna be gone, you were so scared that you pretty much stopped breathing whilst Lori tried to assure you that your dad was strong and he’d be fine. That time you really did throw up.

You didn’t even realise the door had opened when you were pulled from your thoughts as you felt someone brush some hair out of your face.

You flinched and it took effort to focus your eyes on the person, but when you did you saw it was Dad.

“Hey… ya hearing’ me? Ya gotta breathe for me y/n”

Daryl rubbed his large hand on your shoulder and held his other hand under your chin to get you to look at him. When your breathing didn’t seem to slow down, he took your much smaller hand in his and put it flat on his chest.

“C’mon, just like Daddy, darlin’… nice n slow…”

Your tried your best, trying to match your fathers rise and fall of his chest. After about two minutes if repeating the slow breaths, you realised you had been crying. You hated crying, even in front of your Dad, sure, he’d seen you cry plenty but you still hated it, it made you feel so dramatic.

As soon as you realised how wet your cheeks were, you ducked your head down, your hair falling over your eyes.

Daryl knew you were trying to hide, and he let you for all of ten seconds before he sat with his back against the bannister with his legs out straight in front of him.

He snaked an arm around your shoulder and tried to pull you into him.

“C’mere”

When you forced your body to resist, he pulled a little harder.

“Baby, c’mere…”

You reluctantly let him pull you into his side and his hand smoothed over your hair repeatedly as you sniffled.

After a while, you finally spoke, trying desperately to sound angry at him.

“Ain’t a baby.”

You felt Daryl’s chest vibrate a little with a chuckle.

“Yer my baby, dun care how old…”

You didn’t say anything, you liked that he said that, it made you feel safe just like most things he said or did.

You both sat in silence for a bit, daryl still stroking your hair.

Until your Dad speaks in a low and quiet voice.

“I know yer feelin’ stuck n ya ain’t likin’ this place so far but we ain’t even been here one day yet. I dun like it either… feels like we’re all trapped or sum’n and I-“

He stops and sighs.

“Know ya don’t like tellin’ me when yer feelin’ scared or when yer gettin’ anxious but you gotta tell me, baby.”

When you don’t reply, he takes another deep breath.

“Listen, I dun know what ya need if ya ain’t gon’ tell me, darlin’.”

You shrugged a little, you didn’t exactly need anything, you just wished that you could know that you and your family would be fine, but your dad couldn’t promise that for you.

“This place makes my tummy hurt.”

Daryl sighed, feeling guilty that he couldn’t do much to help.

“Mine too… but I ain’t gon’ let nothin’ bad happen to ya, you know that, right?”

“I know… just wish my head didn’t go all weird n I could be strong like you…”

Daryl squeezed you tighter to him.

“You make me brave, y/n… wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have you”.

You couldn’t really understand that. Surely it would be easier to survive without having to worry about a kid. You didn’t understand that your father had meant what he said in a different way, he knew he would’ve given up a long time ago if he didn’t have you to look after, you were his only reason to fight because you were the only thing that mattered to him.

“And… you’ll get better at dealin’ with yer head, I promise… I used to get like that as a kid too… still do sometimes”, Daryl spoke out into the night, he’d never admitted to you that he had also dealt with the same thing at your age, and that he still sometimes had to deal with it. He knew that you saw him as invincible but he sure as shit weren’t, he’d had his fair share of panic attacks, plenty that had gone unnoticed by you and the group because he’d grown up having to learn how to make them invisible.

“Your brain goes weird too?”

“Mhm, sometimes… when things feel like they’re gettin’ too much… that’s why ya came out ‘ere, right?”

You nod against his shoulder, you had calmed down completely now and your eyes were beginning to drop closed against your will.

“I know…” he glances down at you. “C’mon... ya need rest, kid”.

You didn’t have the energy to protest when your Dad practically pulled you off the ground and guided back to the living area where the group was still sleeping. Daryl held both your shoulders as he pushed you toward the windowsill, where he sat down then pulled you down to lay your head in his lap. He laid his leather vest over your shoulders and then let one hand rest on the side of your head, his thumb stroking your hairline, of course he didn’t sleep, he stayed up all night, staring out the window. He still felt guilt eating away at him, he wished that you didn’t have to suffer with your anxiety the same way he did but he was at least glad that he could be there for you, that’s more than he had.

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon daughter #twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon

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manipulatedstars · 11 months

Text

We'll Be Alright

Genre: fluff, slight angst if you squint, non-idol AU, office romance, coworkers-slash-friends-slash-idiots-to-lovers

Pairing: Mingi x gn!reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Pink Mingi (a valid warning), symptoms of anxiety and panic but nothing serious, mentions of gambling ig, Wooyoung being Wooyoung

Summary: When Mingi overhears some colleagues talking, he realizes he has to finally make his feelings known - easier said than done.

A/N: Can you believe this bitch (me)? Apparently I write now?? This is my first ever finished fic, and I'm eternally grateful to @hobarine for being the greatest beta reader without agreeing to being one in the first place. I love your sexy brain. [clears throat and wipes tears] I'd also like to thank my dear friends who made this possible in the first place - check the end of the fic for what violently inspired me to write this. Feedback and reblogs appreciated! Also - this is not a song fic (well... I suppose it very much is, but not in that way), but I'll Keep You Safe by Sleeping At Last very much set the tone for this, so I highly recommend you check it out.

The first couple times your new coworker had poked his head around the side of your cubicle, it was all business - or at least as much business as it could be considering that new colleague was Song Mingi.

It had all started out with work-related questions when he joined the company and, being one of the company’s top salespeople, you were quickly tasked with showing him around and answering any questions he might have. Your boss had personally offered Mingi the position, so he wanted to make sure the newcomer was going to stay, considering he was a “natural at his job” and would “undoubtedly prove to be a huge asset to the team.” You'd learned not to question your boss's decisions after he'd proven time and time again that he had a gift for picking out new team members, despite his sometimes questionable and unusual methods.

You also didn't question why Mingi, even after he'd grown accustomed to his new work environment, kept sticking around you. He never addressed this but he was shy around other people and you were still the only one he sort-of knew. And you, having grown to enjoy his company despite him being borderline clueless and painfully clumsy at times, weren't gonna complain.

So what started out as, "I'm so so so sorry, could you please explain the printer to me again? I'm so sor-" quickly turned into deeper, more personal questions and conversations. Not in a weird way, of course, he just really enjoyed being around you and wanted to get to know you better. Or so he kept telling himself and others when someone pointed it out. Over time, he had become fairly confident that you two could be considered friends, and he couldn't be happier. So you got used to him just poking his head, adorned with his signature pink hair, around the corner and asking you about movies and books you’d recently enjoyed, your most hated color (because according to him, asking for a favorite everything was overused), and your go-to spots in the area. At times you'd even catch yourself thinking how cute his childlike nature was. The only thing that put a damper on his mood was when one day he was put in a cubicle on the side of the office furthest away from you, for “productivity reasons" - not that it actually kept him from coming over to you just as often. In fact, he claimed to need a rest at your desk from the “extensive workout” they made him do in order to come this way. You never commented on how he was the only one to blame for full-on sprinting through the office space instead of walking like a normal person.

His favorite days are measured by how often, and how loudly, he managed to make you laugh that day. He could get lost in the sound, and knowing he was the reason for it? He wouldn't be able to wipe the smile from his face if he tried.

If only he knew that his visits had started to become the best part of your day, too...

You were thoroughly enjoying each other's presence. Always having lunch together, and taking a little bit too long to walk to your respective cars after work.

It was a regular Tuesday when Mingi made his way to the break room to get his regular drinks - a green tea for you, and a coffee with an obscene amount of sugar for himself - something you’d chided him for, telling him time and time again it would kill him one day.

He didn’t mind waiting for some coworkers to free up the coffee machine. He’d gotten used to it pretty quickly after the second one had broken some time ago. This just meant that the room was less crowded, since the majority of his colleagues had since chosen to head to the cafeteria downstairs instead of having to stand in line like he was now. But in his opinion, they were the ones missing out. He enjoyed getting to know the usual suspects of the breakroom a little better each time they happened to get something to drink when he did - which was the same time every day.

So it would’ve been just a regular coffee run on a regular Tuesday, if it hadn’t been for the conversation happening in front of him. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but nothing caught his attention quite like you did. Or, in this case, your name falling from one of the men’s lips. Mingi decided that he didn’t like the way it sounded coming from someone else, someone who probably didn’t even appreciate you in the way you deserved.

The men didn’t seem to notice him standing close by, or simply didn’t care whether they could be overheard or not, because their conversation didn’t seize.

‘’...I mean have you seen them lately?’’

He sure had.

‘’I’d be stupid not to make a move. They’re a catch.’’

NO! Well, yes..but-

’’Isn’t Song head over heels for them though? Kind of a dick move if you ask me…’’

They knew?

’’Come on, we both know he’s too much of a coward to actually go for it.’’

Mingi began to panic. He’d been so enamored with you since the two of you had been introduced that he’d never even entertained the idea of someone else possibly hitting on you. Of course he knew you were pretty. Gorgeous, even - he had eyes after all. He also knew you were the epitome of grace and kindness. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. But he’d been trying slowly and carefully to inch his way into your heart, and now realized that he was so focused that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of anyone else sharing the same end goal.

God he was so stupid-

He knew he had to act. Fast. Despite his insecurities trying to convince him that you’d surely be better off with someone who didn’t stumble over their words, someone who was confident and could sweep you off your feet, he knew he would forever regret it if he didn’t at least try.

Even if the chances may be slim, he couldn’t live with himself if he lost the opportunity to make you his, especially if he lost it to his own mind.

You were just typing up a response to Park Seonghwa from HR, who had once again asked you to consider joining their team, when suddenly, a loud BANG startled you out of your thoughts. You joined some of your other coworkers in getting up from their seats to see what the commotion was about, and you couldn’t help a bright smile from lighting up your face the moment you saw Mingi standing in the doorway. Though your smile dropped just as quickly when you noticed the look of pure distress on his face, his eyes scanning across the room rapidly. The second your eyes met, he started hurriedly making his way over to you, ignoring any of the worried and questioning glances and occasional comments that people were throwing his way.

What was going on?

‘’Mingi, what-’’ your question was cut short when he gripped your shoulders the moment he reached your cubicle. He was panting, eyes blown wide and never leaving yours, as if he was afraid you’d disappear the moment he so much as blinked.

As if he was only now noticing the stares and whispers directed his way, he glanced around the room timidly. His nerves seemed to catch up with him, because he turned and went to leave as quickly as he’d arrived - if it hadn't been for your quick reflexes and your hand curling around his wrist, stopping him in his motion.

It took you gently calling his name a couple of times for him to finally turn around to face you again - and now you could see the sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

He was also avoiding eye contact.

Now you were really worried. Was he sick? Did something happen?

"Hey, what's wrong?'' No answer. ''You look really pale... are you not feeling well?"

When he stayed silent again, you brought one hand up to his forehead - an instinctive action for you, but definitely not what he’d expected, because his face quickly went from looking sickly pale to flushing a deep scarlet.

Your eyes widened when you noticed how warm his skin was, placing your other hand on one of his cheeks. "Mingi, you're burning up. Do you need to see a doctor?" When again he didn't answer, you turned to grab your things, preparing to carry this man to the nearest hospital if need be, but now it was his hand around your wrist that kept you from moving further.

You glanced from where he was touching you with a gentle yet desperate, clammy hand and back to his face, noting the panic in his eyes that were still refusing to meet your own.

Any stranger passing by would've assumed you were approaching a stray kitten, desperately trying not to scare it off, but you knew how much of a flight risk Mingi could be when things got too much to handle. "Hey, you know you can talk to me, right? I'm only trying to help you," you said with the gentlest voice you could muster despite your racing thoughts.

Yeah, that was the main problem, he thought, you're the only person who makes this job bearable, and I can't lose you by messing this up. You bring both your hands up to cup his cheeks when you notice the tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Hey, look at me.’’ you dipped your head trying to lure his eyes into meeting yours. ‘’You won't lose me. Why would you?’’ a gentle brush of your thumbs over his pretty cheekbones ‘’How could I make it through one day at this crappy office, with its crappy coffee and the crappy AC that’s broken more often than not, without you?"

Oh shit, his eyes widened even further. Did I say that out loud? Oh god-

He was about to bolt again, mentally calculating how long it would take him to make a detour to a wig store or a hairdresser on his way to the airport, determined to start over in a faraway country, when he involuntarily locked eyes with you. He never understood how you did it, and he was sure there was no possible scientific explanation for the effect you had on him, because the way your eyes, filled with nothing but kindness and understanding, always managed to calm him down instantly was nothing short of magical.

You had to be a heavenly being sent to look out for him - him, this mere human - and him alone. It was in this moment that he remembered what you'd told him time and time again. Realized that he really could say what had been running rampant in his mind for months now. Reminded himself that he could be open and vulnerable with you. You, who had never shown him anything but support and guidance, even when you were having a bad day yourself. Alright. You, who always managed to find a peaceful solution to any argument or tension that arose in the office… He'd be alright. You, who somehow didn't hold grudges even when people had wronged you. You'd both be alright.

You must've noticed the change in his demeanor, because your lips curled up into a small version of one of your beautiful smiles that he loved so much. Shit, he wouldn't be surprised if you could hear his pulse slowing down, his heart rate finally dropping to a point that wouldn't have sent an entire hospital wing into a panic had he been hooked up to a monitor, with news reporters flocking to his bed trying score an interview to find out how the hell he had managed to survive that.

So he closed his eyes, which were now stinging in protest to having been kept open wide for way too long, and took a deep, if shaky, breath.

That was all you, too. Your encouragement to face difficult situations despite every fiber of his being telling him to run. Your influence. You were the one who told him time and time again that things were going to be okay. You showed him that he was in control of his fate and his feelings, and that even when it felt like the whole world was against him, you'd be by his side. No wonder the HR department was desperate to get you to join them…

Mingi couldn't run away now if he tried. He owed you this much. If nothing else, he owed you an explanation, and honesty. He wanted to make you proud.

So with another deep breath, this one a little less shaky (the first one had you worried he might burst into full sobs at any second), he covered your hands in his much larger ones, pulled them from his face and intertwined your fingers with his between your bodies. When he finally opened his eyes again, they were full of determination.

This shift in tone, with him being calmer and more confident than you'd ever seen him, had you thankful for the grasp he had on you, needing his hands around yours in support as your breath hitched when you noticed the raw adoration in his gaze.

His voice, beautifully airy and deeper than you swore you'd ever heard it before, sent shivers down your spine. There was everything yet nothing as you got lost in his gorgeous, warm eyes, and now his voice too. You weren't in your office anymore. You were standing barefoot in a forest, surrounded by majestic trees and vibrant wildlife, a gentle breeze almost calling out your name. You were on a beach, the warm sand comforting between your toes, the waves softly crashing behind you, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. You decided then and there that his eyes' gorgeous shade of brown was your new favorite color.

It took his voice calling your name softly to bring you back to the present moment, a bashful smile on his stupidly handsome face. Had he always been this pretty?

"Please tell me you heard what I just said?'' he asked shyly, knowing full well you'd completely spaced out.

"Uh..." You grimaced. At that, he couldn't help but turn his face downward as he murmured to himself, but you were so focused on him now that you had no trouble making out the words. "Oh my god, I can't believe you're making me do this again". He would've buried his face in his hands had they not been occupied with the much more important job of holding the world's greatest treasure.

He hadn't missed the way you'd gotten lost in his eyes, and it only fueled his confidence. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, it was the same way he’d been looking at you more often than not since he'd met you.

He took a deep breath. "I said..." he paused as he brought one of his hands up to your cheek, his other hand easily holding both of yours in their previous position.

You felt yourself blushing. Hard.

Stroking his thumb over your cheek gently, he continued "...that I like you. I like like you. No, scratch that -’’ a gentle shake of his head ‘’-I'm crazy about you.’’ His gaze dropped again as he started rambling. ‘’I hope this doesn't make things weird between us, and I'm so sorry if I read things wrong, and if y-" he started mumbling, nerves catching up to him again, insecurities trying to invade his mind and win back precious land. But you noticed. And you smiled at him in adoration, and squeezed his hand in reassurance. This made him look up at you again. You're going to be alright, you tried to convey with your eyes, we're going to be alright.

Another deep breath, followed by a lighthearted chuckle at his own antics.

"The point is, I really like you, a-and I would love to take you out on a date? O-only if you want to of co-" he couldn't finish the sentence, because you promptly freed your hands and grabbed his face again, pulling him down to you (what they fed him as a kid to get him so tall, you'd really have to ask his parents one day) and pressed your lips to his in a firm and reassuring kiss.

His eyes widened again, cheeks heating back up, but he melted into you as soon as the first shock wore off, arms wrapping around you almost on instinct. As if holding you was their only job, and what they were meant to be doing all his life. He pulled you up to his level seemingly without effort before getting lost in the next kiss. Feeling your fingers running through his hair, he groaned inwardly. Mingi could do this forever, and he would if you let him. He'd figure out a way to survive without oxygen. If not, he decided the team would be fine without him.

You only pulled apart when you noticed the cheers and clapping that had erupted around you, even the occasional wolf-whistle coming from your coworkers, most of who'd gotten up from their seats again, if they’d even settled down after the shock of Mingi’s arrival. You hadn't seen them this lively since the day your boss had ordered a coffee and snack truck to the parking lot in celebration of sealing a deal everybody had worked hard to finally make happen. The majority of them had their headsets still attached, and had you not been so ecstatic you would've felt bad for whoever was getting their ears damaged on the other end of their lines.

"About damn time, Song..."

"TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!!

"He finally grew a pair!"

These were only some of the lines being thrown at the two of you that had you blushing furiously, and Mingi hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You could've sworn you saw a few fist bumps and some money being passed around, but you decided not to dwell on it for your own sanity’s sake...

After the noise had mostly died down, Mingi put you back on your feet just so he could press his forehead to yours, both of your breaths mingling. Maybe oxygen wasn't so bad after all if he got to share it with you.

You almost missed the signature fake gagging sound of your most obnoxious co-worker, but before you could chase him off like you usually would when he started to tease you about the way you, in his words, "spent more time staring at Mingi than actually working", the telltale sound of a palm making not-so-gentle contact with the back of someone's head (and the dramatic pained yelp that followed) made you realize that your boss had already taken care of Wooyoung himself. You swore he kept an extra set of eyes on the mischievous man-child just so he wouldn't miss an opportunity to reprimand him.

The same boss who sent you a curt nod and a small smile, before telling “the two lovebirds" to get back to work. Though you knew that he’d want to have a word with Mingi later, seeing as how the force with which he’d slammed open the door must’ve left at least an indent on the wall behind it.

It was safe to say you didn't get much work done the rest of that day, but you also never had to eat lunch alone again, or walk to your car without a strong, loving hand holding your own...or drive to work yourself, really.

Even years later, with your left ring finger now permanently occupied, you loved to remind him how proud of him you were.

✨Lore time✨

Here's how everything started:

Bonus:

(I was, in fact, not almost done)

A loving shoutout to my dear friends for planting this idea in my head. And thank you to everyone who read through it and left valuable feedback - you know who you are 💜

©manipulatedstars 2023 - do not steal, copy, repost, translate or otherwise plagiarize my work. If you do, I'll eat all your cereal and pour milk in your shoes.

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nasubeenwithcat · 2 months

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☕️Milky Coffee Discotrain AU🥛

The Conductor goes the movie vocational school on the moon and Grooves works at a cafe to raise money for his dream. They loves each other but they need to leave for their dreams.

☕️Both of them are not movie directors. They are not even a conductor or a DJ. In this AU, the two met before they succeeded.

☕️The Conductor goes the movie school on the moon to study movies. But his purpose is almost sightseeing. He doesn’t want to be a movie director. Because of it, there is a big differences in enthusiasm between the other students and him.

☕️He likes coffee with plenty of milk and sugar. He drinks it every day, every morning. It didn’t take long for him to find a cafe in the neighborhood of his new house.

☕️Grooves helps a master at the cafe. He has many other job, but he grinds beans there in the morning.

☕️His goal is to success as a musician, but he needs money first to do anything. He works busy here and there for his dream, go to the university and he writes a music with just a little free time. ……While fighting the anxiety of the future: when does this effort fruit?

☕️The Conductor and Grooves met there. Every time they went through the morning, they were falling in love. But they will soon know that not everything will work as well as in the movie.

☕️To begin with, why the Conductor went to the moon? Why he studies movies, not trains?

☕️He knows from the time he was born: he will be a conductor. No matter how much he loves movie, it is not allowed he becomes a movie director.

☕️Originally, he was supposed to study train all the time until he took over the job, but he exceeded his parents’ expectations. He was allowed to be free for only 4 years due to his great results related train.

☕️He loves his family and the Owl Express. He consented to devote himself to the train in exchange for 4 years of freedom.

☕️Once he becomes a conductor, he cannot go anywhere. He decided to go the place where the Owl Express can’t go: the moon. He goes to the school to enjoy movies from different perspectives, not to work.

☕️At this point, Grooves can choice his possibility but he has to make an effort to be what he wants. He ran away his home and came to a distant town after argued with his parents about his future.

☕️There is a piano isn’t used for a long time in the cafe. The master can’t play it, but Grooves can. He lives and works in the cafe on the condition of answering the customers’ requests and helping a little. If he works another four years, he can do everything he has to do for his goal.

☕️He works others places after school because the cafe is only open in the morning. No matter how busy it is, he is still happy. Because he believes it is more fun than living stable life at the mercy of his parents.

☕️They respect each other, but also deny each other to some extent. The Conductor thinks what Grooves is trying to do is reckless, and Grooves can't understand why the Conductor is only trying to run on a predetermined set of rails. However, neither of them will ever put that into words. If they have any complaints, they just shut up and drink their coffee with their words.

☕️After four years, they will be leaving in a big way. The Conductor will return to his hometown to run the train, and Grooves will leave the cafe to pursue his own dreams. They exchange engagement rings and then return to their respective lives.

☕️But fortunately, it was not an eternal goodbye. Besides, their meeting had meaning.

☕️The conductor, after consuming half his free time, would get a little serious about his supposedly unfulfilled dream. Maybe he was influenced by Grooves' aspirations. For example, were there more different possibilities for him that he just didn't know about? ...He gradually begins to develop an enthusiasm for "making" films.

☕️His love of trains and family is genuine. But he will find that his yearning for his films is stronger than he ever imagined. He had not even given up on his own life so easily that he couldn't easily let go of the clapperboard once he had a grip on it.

☕️Grooves would also be reminded of his distant family. Seeing the conductor miss his family, he may have realized that not all the time he shared with them was bad. For the first time in a decade, he would visit his own family home.

☕️There he would finally learn that it was not out of malice that his family had opposed his dream. The first embrace in a long time was enough to rewarm the family ties that had been frozen.

☕️They fulfill their dreams. Grooves was successful and was able to own a large nightclub, and the conductor was able to learn how to balance his dream with his job at home.

☕️Eventually they will resume in the spotlight. There will be none of the negativity they once had for each other. They will giggle and exchange engagement rings, then talk about the latest movies, hit songs, and new rings.

🥛The conductor likes sweet, pure white coffee. Ever since the day he had his first cup of coffee, he has followed that recipe. Grooves drinks it basically without anything in it, but sometimes he changes the seasoning to suit his mood.

🥛They cannot live in a house together, even after they are married. The conductor can't leave the train, and Grooves has his own nightclub. But they decide on one day a year to spend together. Until then, they sleep with a wedding ring.

🥛But the two of them would take the space shuttle as often as they could to celebrate their husband's success. There are plenty of opportunities to call their partners, such as film festivals and contests. Of course they don't do their work just for that, but it is among their motivations.

🥛Even during normal times they call quite frequently. What they talk about there is not much different from what they used to talk about at the counter of a cafe, though. If there is a difference, it is that neither of them talks about their fears for the future anymore.

The End! I wrote everything I wanted to write. I just wanted to publish one of my many notes. If there are any questions I will try to answer them.

#a hat in time #my art #ahit fanart #ahit conductor #the conductor #ahit dj grooves #dj grooves #discotrain #a hat in time au

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the-cosmic-teapot · 2 months

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Eternity and So Much More

Bokuto x reader

WC: 2392

TW: Self doubt, insecurity, marriage talk, long term commitment, reader needs a hug and kiss, bokuto is amazing and really affirming, I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible (engagement ring description, but not story crucial-like a sentence max) , open ended

*proof read by my man in arts husband, its his fault for typos :)

Summary: Bokuto had a very important question to ask you, but you don't see yourself in the best light.

A/N: Hi pals, this is my first time publishing anything outside of a really cringy period on Wattpad when I was 13 (no longer available for my own sanity). I am not typically a writer, so I apologize in advance, but I love Bokuto so much yeah. I hope you like this! Feedback is always welcome!

~Cosmic

Being in a relationship with a pro athlete is difficult because more times than not, they prioritize their careers. It’s what they have been working towards for the longest time and they will do almost anything to stay on the court. This is especially true with one, Bokuto Koutaro. You could ask anyone about the large, owlish man and his devotion to volleyball; they would all say the same thing: he is meant to be on the court. Knowing this did not stop you from being in a relationship with him. If anything there was a sense of pride because of his passion for the sport. There were countless missed dinners and events because of extra practice, but this did little to dissuade you from falling for the outside hitter. With all of the missed dates there were thoughtful gifts or a lavish trip with him for time together to make up his absences.

You knew it was coming, Bokuto's proposal, because he is not the most subtle person and he is not great at hiding things. It had been about a week prior when you found the ring in his sock drawer when doing his laundry. It was a beautiful, yet simple princess cut diamond ring with a few accent stones around it, and here you are, at dinner with Bokuto and some friends, both old and new. Most of the night was filled with laughter and smiles, as is most of the time with Bokuto, except this time there was a pit in your stomach you couldn’t explain. Was it something you ate? Maybe it was social anxiety from being around all of Bokuto's high school friends, who you’ve seen on a few occasions. You only really knew Akaashi because of how close he was with Bokuto. Yet, in spite of this feeling you pushed through dinner with a smile.

As the appetizers and entrees came and went Bokuto insisted on getting dessert for everyone. The pair of you settled on a chocolate cake with ice cream. While the desserts were being prepared Bokuto gathered the attention of everyone and began speaking of the love he has for you, and your beauty. As he continued his speech, the pit grew deeper and deeper. His little speech concluded in tandem with the arrival of dessert, where you saw the same ring that was hidden among his socks sitting on the top of the cake slice. Then you look at Bokuto already on one knee as he asks the question, “Will you marry me?”

At this moment you didn’t have any words. Why weren’t you saying anything? Could you say anything at all?

The first day of your third year at university felt the same as the others. You noted that campus was a bit livelier than normal, but this would surely die down after a couple of weeks as people lost motivation to go to class. As you walked into your first lecture hall you chose your seat with care as you would be using it for the rest of the semester. After all, humans are creatures of habit.

When you stepped outside of the lecture hall at the end of class, you could swear you felt like a mummy leaving its crypt and stepping into the sun for the first time. Apparently you stood in place a second too long because a large man was not paying attention at the stop in traffic and bumped into your back causing you to trip and fall. As you stood back up and turned to face the cause of your fall he immediately began apologizing and saying he will buy you coffee or a pastry as his way of apologizing. Initially stunned by the sudden change in your position to seeing a large man practically on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness for a small nudge was, admittedly, quite a scene to behold. You insisted that you were okay and there were no bruises or scratches, but he looked like a kicked puppy saying something about how he has harmed you and his mother and sisters will certainly skin him alive for not making it up to you. So you agreed to his offer of coffee, seeing as you do not have class for another hour and a half. On the walk over to the cafe you learn his name, Bokuto, and he is a starter for the men's volleyball team.

Everyone was staring at you now, waiting for an answer. You see the glints of love and true passion in Bukotos eyes; the same look he has when he plays volleyball. Why couldn’t you say anything? What was wrong with you? Here there is a man who loves you, and all you can do is just stand there. Thoughts of inadequacy swarm your mind; you’ll never be pretty enough, you’ll never be charismatic enough, you’ll never be enough for him.

After getting coffee with Bokuto, he seemed to be part of your life. Initially it was small things like him asking you to study with him because he “gets distracted, and it is nice to have someone to keep him on track”. This typically ended with getting nothing done because of how easy conversations flowed with him. Eventually this turned into movie nights with his friends. By the end of that semester the two of you were practically inseparable.

Sometime during the break you realized how you had grown to care for this large puppy of a man. Your days away from campus, as well as Bokuto, seemed more dreary, like something was missing. The days away made you truly notice an absence you didn’t know you could miss. Despite this, you still managed to have a relaxing break.

Bokuto was also stuck with his thoughts of you and what you were doing. He misses your smile and laugh, he misses how you would roll your eyes at some dumb joke he had made, but most of all, he misses how you care about him. Through high school he was used to girls flocking to him because of his volleyball talent, but none of them seemed to care about who he was as a person. You care about him as Bokuto Kotaro, not Bokuto Kotaro the volleyball powerhouse. You care about the little things, ensuring he stayed hydrated and made sure he always had someone cheering him on. He loved those things about you.

By the time you got back to campus and got fully moved into your new dormroom, Bokuto called and asked to get lunch because he was, as always, starving. By the end of the lunch you were sure Bokuto enjoyed your presence because of how he mentioned it at least five times when walking you home. As you get to your complex's door you debate inviting Bokuto in to watch a movie or something, but a small voice crept in saying that he probably had other, better things to be doing. So you bid him a farewell and went up alone.

As Bokuto stares at you with anticipation and nothing but adoration in his eyes staring into your own, you are at war with your insecurities. How could he want you in that way? It wasn't because you were the prettiest or because you were the most popular. It definitely wasn’t because you were the best at anything; what was it? You know he loves you, but honestly you don’t fully understand why.

After about a minute of staring at you Bokuto began to feel a pit form in his stomach, a rare feeling for him that he wasn’t too familiar with. The last time this happened was when he asked you to go on a date with him; an actual date too, not the platonic hangout sessions from when you were first getting to know each other. Was it taking you so long to answer because you thought he wouldn't be a good husband? Was it because he can be forgetful and so focused on volleyball? Those couldn't be it, you always said that it was something you loved about him, his dedication and drive. Why weren’t you saying anything? What was holding you back?

It had been one year since you met Bokuto, the start of your last year of university. Thursdays became takeout and movie night with him, just him; no one else because “I want to spend time alone with my best friend”. You thought it was sweet that he wanted to take time with just you, but it hurt when you assumed he didn’t see you romantically. You’d be stupid not to have a crush on him, he is so charismatic and funny, not to mention he looks like he was shaped by the gods, in contrast to his puppy like demeanor that would make a statue smile.

On one such Thursday Bokuto was antsy, more than normal. About a third of the way into your movie pick, you had to pause the movie. His fidgeting was getting on your nerves and you could no longer bear to ignore it. In response to you pausing, Bokuto just stared dumbly at you instead of saying anything. This was odd, there was seldom a time Bokuto was without words.

“What’s your problem tonight?’ you asked, a little agitated. “We can change the movie if you’re not into it.”

“I just...” He paused for a bit and continued, “ I um, I think I’d like to take you out.” You stared back just as dumbly at him for a bit. “ I don’t mean, like, kill you. I mean like a date… If you want…” You sat on his couch in one of his hoodies with Thai take-out in your lap while he thought this is something he wouldn’t mind seeing all the time. He impatiently awaited your answer, fidgeting with his hands.

After what felt like an eon (a few minutes in actuality) you responded, “Really? Me?” It was strange to be asked out by someone who was like Bokuto. You weren't the typical drop dead gorgeous type athletes like him usually went after, at least in your own eyes.

“Well, yeah… that’s why I asked you.” He stated very matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn't I want to date you? You know me, and still want to be my friend after I embarrassed myself at that party. You also still want to study with me even when I don’t know what’s happening, and you dont mind helping me with my classwork even though you’re taking more classes than me.”

He went on like this for 5 minutes before you finally snapped out of your haze to interrupt him and respond. “I didn’t know you cared that much about me...” You sat on your words before landing on “Okay”.

You thought you had broken the owlish man when that four letter word left your mouth. He just sat and stared at you before breaking out into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him, this is including when he scored the winning point for nationals last spring. In an instant he was off of the couch, as were you, bouncing around the room shaking you along too.

Feeling the stares of your friends and his, you felt nauseous. You loved Bokuto, but could you accept this? What happens if it falls apart, could you live through that? What if a few years later he finds someone better than you, how could you live with that? You just stood there. Your legs felt as if they weighed a million pounds and your jaw a billion more.

Bokuto was freaking out because he was sure you’d say yes immediately. You’d talked about your futures after graduation and you said something along the lines of wanting him in your life forever. Did he misinterpret that? He got your dream ring from one of your friends who was kind enough to help him. What did he do to screw this up?

“I-I…” you took a breath, “I don’t know” you finished close to tears. After giving an answer you needed to get out, looking at Bokuto was painful because he was heartbroken and confused. You gathered your things and ran out of the restaurant.

Bokuto followed closely after you without grabbing anything. He ran a hand through his hair as he stepped out onto the sidewalk spotting you instantly.

He tentatively approached you as if you were a scared stray cat. “Hey… are you okay? What happened back there?” Bokuto was close to tears too, his usually bright eyes were so serious now. “Are you not ready for this? I thought that conversation after graduation meant you wanted this… I’m really sorry if I got that wrong.” He wouldn’t stop talking. You felt like actual garbage, here he was apologizing to you for what were your own inadequacies.

“I’m not-” you take a breath, “I’m not good enough for this, or for you. You are a pro athlete, you’re way out of my league, and I’m just someone who fell in love with you. I am not special in any way, I’m not extraordinary, I’m just me.” You pause for a second before continuing, “You deserve so much better than me, you are amazing and deserve the universe, and I’m not that.”

“I don’t see it that way.” Bokuto said simply. “You’re amazing because you are you. I love the way you get focused and bite your lip when you do. I love the way you care for me and make sure I am taking care of myself. How you make the effort to know my friends and family.” He continued while holding your wrist as if to make sure you don’t vanish into nothing. “Most importantly, I love you because of how you love me.” He concluded with a huff, Bokuto was frustrated that he needed to tell you all of this, but if he had to repeat these affirmations to you over and over like a mantra he would without hesitation.

“Are you sure?” You question, biting your lip and avoiding Bokuto's eyes that always seem to find yours. “Yes, of course, I wouldn’t say anything I didn’t mean” He answers immediately after. “I want you in my life for eternity and so much more.”

#bokuto fluff #bokuto kotarou #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu time skip #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #timeskip!Bokuto #Fluff #Bokuto Koutaro Fluff #Haikyuu timeskip #Bokuto Kotarou fluff

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underground-secret · 2 months

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: (Duo POV) After a hunt gone wrong Dean falls sick. Now on his death bed Sam and Y/N do whatever it takes to save him from the void that is death, even if that means running into trouble.

Warnings: Cannon violence, Ansgt, hospitals, talk about dying and death, illness, heart issues, talk of past deaths, grief, Dean may be OOC or at least his inner thoughts but let me know, Historical and religious talk of the Celts and Christianity if anything is incorrect/ inaccurate pls tell me so I may fix it, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for 100 followers, never thought this series would get so much love!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 15,139

Faith

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch)

I hate hospitals.

I hate hospitals, especially when it is someone you care about on the medical bed.

I hate hospitals, especially when you can’t be in the room with the person; when you have to sit in the waiting room with nothing but pure anxiety coursing through your veins, and everyone around you is in the same position.

At least Sam is with him, that must make both of them feel better. But it doesn't make me feel as better as it should, my leg bounces rapidly no distraction working for me. I tried reading and listening to music on my stupid iPod, but neither worked- not when my mind was going a hundred miles a minute on all the worst possibilities.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult hunt, going after a rawhead. Yet it all went wrong far too quickly, Dean yelled for Sam and I to get the children out of the basement while he stayed behind fighting the thing. It would be a single shot with a taser, easy to mess up on, truthfully, which is why I had given mine up for him to have as an extra one before I carried a young boy out. It was all wrong. So so wrong. He shot the thing but they both happened to be standing in a small puddle of water, and water conducts stupid electricity and he got hurt too.

Sam had found him. We called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, he was unconscious the whole time.

Sam had to talk to the receptionist for insurance and then the cops explaining what happened and then a doctor. But they wanted to talk privately and he wanted to see Dean alone first. Which only increased my anxiety, Sam wouldn’t have done that unless something was horribly wrong. Something was horribly wrong. I felt like I was going to vomit or shake myself out of existence, maybe the latter would be better. Everyone around me wasn't much better, looking the same shade of nervousness. Some were crying, pacing, or on the phone talking rapidly. Hospitals were a horribly depressing place.

I’m unsure how much time passes, minutes, hours, an eternity? Sam walks towards me, tears in his eyes some clearly having spilled over by the redness of his cheeks. No. No. No.

I stand up walking to him almost without noticing as if it was all just natural, tears fill my own eyes and I can feel my hands shaking. No. No. He wouldn't be crying if–

“Sam?” I said weakly, my voice wobbling horribly. I swallow down a knot in my throat, this couldn't be happening. No.

He drops his head down, his hair covering his face and likely more tears that spilled over. “Sam,” I say again my voice breaking. I couldn't lose someone else, couldn't lose anyone else. He finally lifts his head, barely being able to hold eye contact. He seems to wobble and all at once he falls into me, I hold him, his head dropping awkwardly into my neck, from the height difference, broken sobs leaving his mouth. He hugs me tightly, grasping desperately to the back of my shirt. Something is horribly wrong. I blink back my tears, I had to be strong for Sammy. This was his brother, I might have lost both my parents but I couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose my brother.

My neck grows damp but I ignore it. I hold the back of his head, holding him, no comforting words forming in my mind. “Sam” I breathe. I felt like I was going insane. He pulls himself away, keeping me in arm's distance. His face is red and blotchy from crying, and his hair is a mess. “Please” I begged one last time, my voice quivering.

He sniffles hard, but I do not expect him to be strong, “He has a month, at best” his voice is coarse and shaky but the words feel like they came out in slow motion. Everything freezes, turning into a buzz of white noise. I can feel tears spill down my cheeks but I can’t move. I can’t. No. He can’t be dying. No. No. He wasn’t allowed to. The world seemed to shatter, no, maybe that was my heart. I can feel it beating in my ears, everything else fading away. His mouth moves, he is saying something else but I cannot hear him over the sterile noise of the world crumbling. I don't understand. My throat is so tight I feel like I might just break right there. My knees feel weak and the floor seems closer than before.

Sam pulls me into him, holding me tightly once again, his hands cradling my head as a choked sob leaves my lips. Tears pour down my eyes, he promised. All those months ago he promised he wouldn’t leave me, it was a stupid and fruitless promise but I believed it.

He couldn’t die. He can’t, he can’t die. No one else. Not again.

All too soon Sam pulls back, his arms being the only thing that seems to be holding me up. I can barely make out his features behind my own teary eyes. “He wanted me to come get you, ‘wouldn’t talk without you there” he croaks. A whole new sob breaks through my lips, I wasn't strong enough for this. I went through this twice, I could not take another. Tear after tear passes down my face, my cheeks stiff with it. I shake my head, this can’t be happening again, but even so, I let him pull me down the halls to his room trying my best to blink away my never-ending tears. But it was useless, not when it felt like I was being torn in two.

I stopped at the threshold of the doorway, he looked so weak, he was so pale and he had dark circles under his eyes that were not there hours before. An IV sticks out of his arm along with various machines around him, including an EKG. New tears fall over the rim of my eyes and I have to force my hand to clasp my mouth to hide another sob. Sam enters the room, his face hard and rid of any of the emotions he showed just moments ago. How could he do that?

Dean’s eyes are focused on the TV, but even from where I was partially hiding I could see his green eyes had grown dull, “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible” he jokes but he sounded weak too, his voice rid of its usual playful tone and familiar gruffness. Sam shakes his head and sighs, his ability to not break down in front of his brother was impressive to the point of it being scary, “I talked to your doctor.” But Dean continues to ignore anything that wasn’t that stupid TV playing commercials, “That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down” he responds instead. I want to laugh and ask him what the cute laundry bear ever did to him but I could not find it within me to be humorous, “Dean” I plead weakly my voice betraying me with its cracking. That gets his attention.

His eyes snapped up to where I stood, leaning against the doorframe to prevent myself from crumbling to the floor. His face immediately fills with worry, his eyes softening which is ironic considering who’s in the hospital bed. Without looking away from me he turned off the TV, I could tell he was thinking and worrying over something as he stared at me but I could not look at him without new tears falling. “Yeah. All right, well, ‘looks like you're gonna leave town without me” he finally says, my eyes snap back to him but he has already turned his attention to his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?” I step into the room, my sadness mixing too closely with frustration over his stupid declaration. “We are not gonna leave you here” Sam adds in sternly. “Hey, you better take care of that car” he points at Sam, any hint of a joke void from his voice, “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, “what's wrong with you?” I accuse, “How are you just accepting this? You are young and have so much life ahead of you” For each word that passed my lips tears followed, my resolve too thin to exist. “You’re meant to grow old, and…and yell at kids to get off your lawn as you work on Baby and maybe other cars with a pet at your side and a lovely home. You’re meant to annoy your brother and me with stupid calls and the same old rock music.” I swallow roughly, ignoring the subtle shock on his face, “It’ll be beautiful and wonderful and we will all be there to watch it happen because you have to live.” My chest heaves, and I’m surprised I have any more tears to give. Life was too cruel before to allow me the opportunity to beg someone to stay as if that feat alone was enough to keep someone alive.

Silence envelopes the room, his eyes are wide and his lips are slightly agape. I don’t believe in God, but I would get on my knees right now and beg and plead and do anything he ever wanted if it meant Dean living. He sighs after what feels like forever, “Look, what can I say, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.” I don’t understand how he could just dwindle his life down to bad luck and a wrong straw. Tears well in my eyes and I have the urge to smack some sense into him. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options” Sam insists, his voice breaking slightly. “What options?” Dean asks, “Yeah, burial or cremation?” he pauses for a moment his “joke” not landing, “And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. How many people will I have to lose until it's enough to feed the glutenous wrath of death? First, it was my mother growing sick and dying, neither my brother nor I was allowed to see her in such a state not even to say goodbye. Then my Dad, who grew reckless in the wake of his only love's death, the coldness about him we had heard about only in stories returning to consume him completely until he drove himself into the ground. I always thought I was most like my mother, but now in the wake of this maybe I am my father's daughter.

I wipe away my tears roughly before clenching my hands, needing my nails to dig into my palms to ground me. “Let me try and heal you,” I say as firmly as my voice will allow. I've never done such a thing on a serious scale, it never got to the point where I felt desperate enough to toe the line of my own morals. But this, for him I would and I would not stay awake at night contemplating my selfishness.

Dean’s POV

Her face was red from crying, and her e/c eyes were filled with deep sadness. She looked shattered, and even so, she was beautiful.

I know I wasn’t being fair to her or Sam. But I always knew I’d die on a hunt, I long accepted it so her big glossy eyes would do nothing to change that fact. Even if it broke her, both of them, which I knew I was already doing. But I also know that sugar-coated truths would only hurt them more, I wasn’t going to allow them to get hopeful not when it would ruin them.

“Please?” she pleads quietly. My resolve breaks, my heart lurches as if it was trying to get closer to her and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the heart attack.

This was for the better, if they saw nothing would work early on they’d hopefully accept my death quicker. Plus I knew she’d stay up every night wondering what more she could have done for me, she’d obsess over it until it broke her all over again. I give her a sharp nod not trusting my voice, her eyes seem to light up a little, and that enough was all the excuse I needed.

She steps closer to my bed, careful not to trip over the wires connecting to me. She got close enough where I could smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery, and undeniably her, I felt warmer just from her closeness. She swallows roughly, “It works better if I can touch you…without the barrier of clothes.” Under any other circumstance I would most likely be flustered by her shy request, I mean this is what I’ve always wanted– to have her. But time was not on my side and I’d never get a chance to tell her, whenever it was I planned on doing so– to do so now with only a week to live would be too cruel. If she didn't like me back I’d die at least knowing and maybe I’d die with a broken heart or whatever crap people complain about. But if she did like me, which Sam insists she does, then a week wouldn't be long enough.

I lift the scratchy hospital shirt, hoping neither saw how much energy the simple action took. She looked nervous as she stared at my bare chest but I could see the hard look of determination in her eyes, she needed this. Carefully she places her hands on the center of my chest, her hands freezing as I suspected they would be but I don't cower from her gentle touch I lean into it further. I bask in it, small sparks igniting where she touched and it had nothing to do with her abilities. She looks up at me, watching my face for any warnings as her own e/c eyes turn to purple and pure warmth extends from her palm seeping into my skin. Maybe I should have been scared, but she was looking at me so gently and she's so beautiful that she must be an angel, and I'm only half the man she deserves.

I suck in a deep breath, clarity hitting me like an arrow, the grogginess and pain I felt melting into a puddle and being replaced with her. It felt like she was cradling my heart, caressing it gently like she would my face, her kindness and love seeping into the vessel, and truthfully I don't ever want it back. She could have my heart. She could have every part of me, and I'd never ask for it back. It's hers. I'm hers. My mouth fell agape, her hair fell onto her face, and I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders and it was like everything I'd been carrying was lifted away. I don't care if she was healing me or not, I want her hands on me, I want to feel her. Just her. She was the sun and I was a fool begging to be closer, even if it burned, even if it was impossible.

Her hands begin to shake violently, but she pushes on, she holds on to me. Her fingers look like they want to curl and dig into my skin and it's clear she's fighting against the instinct, she doesn't want to hurt me not that I would mind any marks she printed into my skin. She lets her head hang, closing her eyes, “Oh fuck” she whines quietly and I have to desperately keep my mind clean. ‘Not the time to have those thoughts or acknowledge how hot that was. I lift a hand pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear, keeping my hand there to hold her. Again I have to force away any ideas of what noises I could get her to make in a similar position. She looks up at me from her lashes as she bites down on her bottom lip hard, and I wonder how much longer I can keep my mind clean.

Suddenly deep crimson drips down her upper lip, and she begins to shake more. “Wait, wait Y/N” I breathe, looking from her over to Sam with concern. He pulls her off of me, she looks drained and paler than I know I am. She wipes at her nose, the blood has seemingly stopped, but she still shakes and wobbles. Sam pushes her down onto a nearby seat and I pull down my shirt, “How do you feel?” he asks me. “Peachy” I respond, smirking. He rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious. Did it work?”

“I feel better, not as weak” I answer truthfully. She nodded her head, her voice quieter than moments before, “Call for a nurse we should see if anything physically changed.”

“What about you? What was all that?” I ask. She shrugs, “‘Never really done it on a scale like this before, but it takes a lot out of you.”

Your POV

The doctor finally comes back, sifting through the papers on his clipboard, he looks shocked and confused which I hope is for the better because being lightheaded and on the verge of passing out would be worth it. “‘Looks like there has been some improvement, which would explain why you feel better,” he says, the room growing quiet with hope, “The difference is slight but well enough to know it wasn't a fluke” he looks up, “But I’d say it wasn't enough to change the outcome, I’m sorry.” Somehow the second time was worse. Hope was worse. “Thank you, Doctor” Sam replies sadly, and with a nod, the doctor leaves but does not take our sorrow with him.

“I can keep trying. Eventually, it will add up, and the more I do it the longer I’d be able to go” I offer, desperation clear on my tongue that it's almost embarrassing. “We can keep trying that but we should look at other options too” Sam adds. I nod my head vigorously in agreement. “You shouldn't get your hopes up, I’ve already accepted I’m gonna die you should too” Dean responds instead.

“Not happenin’” Sam retorts.

After we used up all our visiting hours we headed to the library, skipping out on eating to research for hours on both supernatural and not– just anything related to heart conditions and healing. I didn't ask why Sam didn't stay with his brother, he was family so he didn't have to follow visitation hours but I also figured he would rather spend his time trying to find a solution. Currently, Sam went the more “normal” route, pulling and printing articles on heart surgeries and other doctor stuff while calling several people. At the same time, I delved into the dark that is the unnatural.

Sam left a while ago, heading back to the motel with all his articles. I insisted on staying behind to “look for more,” in reality, I was going to make a call. The library closed in less than an hour and I already researched several Gods associated with healing, the side of my hand had turned dark with the ink stains. Though it was unsuccessful it was helpful for two reasons; one I at least looked, meaning it was one more thing I could check off, and two it pushed me to make a call I wasn't sure I was ready for.

What I needed was to be home, to look through many books on mythology and witchcraft, there I would find something but that was halfway across the country and each day that passed would be a day wasted. And teleporting books here wouldn't be helpful when there were so many of them and I wasn't sure where I would even begin.

I stare at my phone on the table, this shouldn't be a big deal. I call her all the time, well not as of late which I already got yelled at for. No, none of that mattered. She could lecture me a hundred times or resent me for months. I needed to help Dean. I swiftly pick up my phone, scrolling down to her contact, I don't hesitate to hit “call”, I’ve already hesitated too many times today.

The phone rings three times before she picks up, “Adeline” I start my voice already cracking with emotion. I can almost hear her jump to her feet, “Y/N?! What happened? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I did not think I had any more tears left but was proven wrong when another tear slipped down my cheek, “Dean he’s…” I couldn’t say it, couldn't make it more real than it already was. I swallow roughly, trying to cram down my emotions for the time being, I’ve cried enough today, “Dean he’s dying, and I don't know–” a strangled sob leaves my lips and I have to force myself together resting my head on my hand for support, “I don't know what to do” I finished weakly. I hear her suck in a deep breath and it only makes me feel worse, “I-I want help…I need help,” I add, “I tried healing him, the doctor said the effect was minor but I’m gonna keep doing it, even if it takes a lot out of me.”

She exhales, “I’m really sorry Y/N”. I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. I ignored her comment, there was nothing to be sorry for because he was going to be alright, “Do you have any ideas? Maybe I’m doing something wrong or could be doing it better?”

She goes quiet again and it is hard to hold on to hope, “please,” I say quietly hoping she can hear me. She clears her throat, her voice cold and serious, “I’d try some herbal tea, one with healing properties any one of it will help or at least make him more comfortable.” I hum picking up my pen again, writing ‘herbal tea’ on my arm, I didn’t want to risk forgetting.

She sighs again, but it isn’t disappointed or even exhausted, “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.” I shake my head vigorously again, “I’m not listening to this. I called for help cause you’re the only person I can think of who would know even a wisp of this. I’m desperate for help, not a lecture.” I know I was being cruel, ‘could hear it. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. “No, Y/N please listen. This isn’t an easy task, honestly, I’d like to say it’s impossible but I don’t want you to hang up on me. This doesn't come without great sacrifice.”

“And what if I’m okay with that?” I snap back, “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

“This is different,” she spits a hint of anger on her tongue, “I don’t mean just going against everything you believe in or against your mother's words. I mean making deals with demons, where you could lose your soul or your life or what makes you whole or maybe even worse.” I go quiet. I know she’s right, she always is. But I know my answer, I know what I’m willing to do, “I said I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“Are you?” she counters. And without hesitation, I answer, “I love him.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me, for not listening to her warning or taking her seriously even though I was. Of course, I know this is dark and messy territory, but that did not concern me. I can hear her swallow, her voice turning hard again, “What you would need to do would be more than love him.”

“Would it?” I counter.

“Yes,” she replies sternly, “And I won’t help you with that.” It was hard to be mad at her, she was just watching out for me trying to protect me. That was her job after all. But I wanted so desperately for him to be okay, he had to be. “Whether you help me or not, I will do everything in my power to fix this. He won't die.”

“I know you will. That’s what scares me.”

My eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never will,” she huffs out a breath, “I don’t want you to regret anything.” I couldn't vocalize it, did not even know how to make her understand what I felt–that even if I lost him now if I never saw him again. If I sat on his grave weeping for the man I loved with new flowers in my hand each day and each year. If I never got to hold his hand again. If I never got to see him smile again– that cocky smile. Even if I never got to tell him that I loved him…even then, I would never regret knowing him. Never regret the first time we met and never, never regret loving him. But I don’t say that, instead settling for, “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She turns serious once more, determined even, “You won’t. I’m on my way to your place now, I’ll go through your books, and I’ll call you back the second I find something.” She may not agree with my decisions all the time, and might even be upset that we don’t talk as much anymore but at the end of the day we’re best friends–more than that really, “Thank you, Adeline.”

“Of course, now don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she laughs lightly, “I love you, talk to you later.” I smile for the first time in hours, “I love you too, be safe.”

I let myself into the motel room. Sam doesn’t look up from his place on the bed, papers surround him, some in the garbage which I assume were ones that won't work out. I make my way to the small table in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at where Dean slept the night before. I take out my spellbook, my small journal, and my laptop. My eyes were killing me, most likely from crying so much before.

The next few days would follow a similar pattern, Sam would fall asleep but never for very long before getting coffee and a quick bite to eat before continuing his search. And I spent the nights awake, sleep could not find me at the edge of the void. At some point crumbled pieces of paper surrounded me and I felt like a college student again, I didn't want to do anything but look for an answer. Adeline called once that first night, but it didn't wind up leading anywhere.

The second morning I prepared tea for Dean, arriving at the hospital with the steaming cup and food that wasn't from the hospital. He looked happy to see me and complained about how bored he was there. He looked horrible, and it hurt my chest to see him like that so I just nodded to what he said. He drank the tea with nearly no complaint but instead curiosity, I explained I had boiled Sun water, before making homemade ginger tea adding cinnamon sticks, chamomile, and honey for taste. He asked me to explain to him why I chose each one, though I wasn't sure he truly cared and just wanted to hear me speak since he was relentless with his questions. I healed him again and laid with him when he asked. Then the rest of the while we talked as I did research.

Somehow being there, and watching him worsen was worse than not being there at all. I think I understand now why we weren't allowed to be there when my mom died. I would have rathered someone just stabbed me in the heart over and over then see his eyes grow duller. I healed him again before I was kicked out.

I felt hopeless. I wasn't going to give up but I felt hopeless. It was like I wasn't myself but watching myself go through the motions.

The second night wasn't much better. I slept for a couple of hours only to wake up crying. I didn't try to sleep after that. I prayed to God that night. I hadn't done that in years. I hadn't begged him for mercy since my mother died. I think I was on my knees for hours, the harsh carpet digging into my skin, but that didn’t matter. I barely felt it after a while. I apologized for not praying in years, for only praying when it benefited me which I knew was selfish. I asked for help, and begged for it. I needed him to help Dean. I said I’d do anything he wanted if he did that, even if it meant becoming a nun. I felt incredibly embarrassed begging like that, I didn't even believe in God yet there I was my hands pressed together and the carpet beneath my knees. I cried again that night, for everyone I've lost and how far I would go to save another.

Adeline was wrong, I decided. Sacrifice didn't come with the solution, it came with the search for the answer. Like I said, I didn't feel like myself. I knew I was losing myself each hour that passed and I knew it would only get worse if he did die.

On the third morning, I did the same thing I did the morning before. But after healing him for the first time that morning, I broke in front of him. “I don't want you to go,” I told him, sobbing. He just held me against him even though I knew it hurt him, but he just stroked my head anyway mumbling “I know, I know” into my hair. I could hear his voice breaking with each letter; somehow, that was worse than seeing him act as if he didn't care. Then very quietly he whispered, “I don't know how to comfort someone when I know I’m the source of their pain.”

They did more tests on him. He wasn't getting better, at least not fast enough. It seemed my healing was just halting its progress momentarily, in a sense slowing it down before it continued. I needed to stay on him longer but I wasn’t sure how and ‘could barely make it past 20 minutes before I began to shake so badly and feel so faint like my chest was being pulled open with the sharp nails of cold hands.

I went back to the motel dragging my feet. It had been three days and we had nothing to show for it but failed attempts which I suppose is better than no attempts though it didn’t much feel that way. When I got there I returned to my corner at the table, moving away my mess of “work” with a swipe of my arm. I crumble into the wooden chair, laying my forehead on the edge of the table, I didn’t know what to do. I’d keep looking no matter what, that would not change. I would search through every book on every myth, god, folklore, anything. I’d do whatever it took, I just hoped time would not beat us to the finish line.

With a huff, I pulled my latest book from the library closer to me, a book on Greek Gods. I pick up where I left off in the thick book on the God of healing and medicine Asclepius. I read the passage about him, and it seemed promising, “He was considered a symbol of medical knowledge, skill, and wisdom. Known for his ability to heal the sick and revive the dead, Asclepius played an essential role in Greek religious and medical traditions…He was known for his exceptional skill in diagnosing diseases and treating wounds. His abilities were so profound that he could even bring the dead back to life, a talent that eventually led to his downfall…The Asclepieia, healing temples dedicated to the god, were spread throughout Greece and were renowned centers of medical practice. Pilgrims would travel great distances to seek healing, engaging in purification rituals, sacrifices, and dream incubation, where they would sleep in the temple and receive divine guidance through dreams.”

The rest of the chapter contains no more info on the healing aspect but just more of his legacy and whatnot. I close the book sharply, pulling open my laptop to do more research on him. Maybe a temple still existed, and considering Pilgrims there might even be one in America somewhere. Just as I type the temple name into Google a knock sounds from the door.

For a moment I think Sam forgot his keys, but when I turned to where he always was he was there. He looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe it’s room service?” He answers by going to the door and opening it curiously. I watch from my seat, tilting my chair back to get a better look. But it is not room service, or someone knocking at the wrong door, it’s Dean. I almost fall backward, my chair slams forward back on all four legs I shoot up from my seat.

He leans on the doorframe, holding his side. He still has dark circles under his eyes and just looks sickly which is only accentuated by the black zip-up he wore, which was odd for him he never really wore sweaters. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam exclaims his voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Dean limps his way just a little bit further into the room, leaning on a dresser next to the door, “I checked myself out,” he responds placing all his weight on the thing. I didn't even know a sick patient could check themselves out like that. “What, are you crazy?” Sam exclaims.

Dean shrugs, “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He turns his head to wink at me and gives me that devilish smile. My jaw dropped, baffled wasn't even the word to explain it. This had to be the most Dean Winchester thing Dean could have ever done, I could not fathom it. I wanted to call him an idiot but I was too shocked to give any response. Sam huffs a laugh as he shuts the door, “You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-danger-thing? It’s crap. I can see right through it, we both can.”

Dean moves himself further into the room leaning on anything he could, “Yeah, whatever, dude. Have either of you even slept? You look worse than me.” Sam helps him to the bed, sitting him down, “We’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days.”

I sit back in my chair, scooting it so I can face them both, “I don't know how either of our laptops survived this. Late at night, I think I can hear it cry.”

Dean purses his lips, “Lack of sleep has made you crazy.” It was my turn to huff a laugh, and for that fraction of a second everything felt normal. But that moment of normalcy breaks as Sam adds, “I’ve also called every contact in Dad’s journal.” I was brought right back to the present, back to the reason we were doing all of this to begin with. “For what?” Dean asks.

“For a way to help you,” Sam explains, “One of Dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“Wait, why didn't you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“He called back when you were with Dean,” he answers, “I was going to tell you when you came back but didn't get the chance before he decided to break out.” I hum an ‘oh’ in response. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean chimes in, hunched over.

“I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going” Sam says, end of discussion.

The Impala bumps along the gravel road, I was beyond happy we finally arrived. The sky was cloudy and grey with a thin layer of mist clinging to everything, it reflected the past couple of days and the ride quite perfectly. Dean rested in the back seat the entire time, his face scrunched in discomfort, we stopped a couple of times so I could jump back there and heal him for a short while.

The car comes to a full stop among others in a large green field, a large white circus tent stealing the show. A sign nearby reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle. I was skeptical, but like Sam said our options were low. I wasn’t religious and certainly hated when things like this existed, giving people false hope and feeding them lies, when they could be looking at real options and getting real help but I guess I was being a hypocrite considering how I spent my time kneeling to a God I didn't believe in. Many people walked towards it, all sick, some with canes, walkers, breathing devices, etc. I get out of the car slowly, eyeing the scene carefully. We’re all just desperate people, hoping a tent in the middle of nowhere will save our loved ones.

Sam gets out of the car, rounding the vehicle to help his brother get out of the car. Dean grimaces as he tries to lift himself, “I got ya” Sam tells him trying to grab him but Dean shoves him away, “I got it” he spits. He fixes himself, pissed off, but uses the car to hold himself up leaning on it, “Man, you are a lying bastard. ‘Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist” Sam corrects. I squint my eyes at him, “You’re not slick. But…” I say stretching out the word, “We should try, at the very least.”

“And this guy is supposed to be the real deal” Sam adds, nodding. Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes, “I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An old woman walks by holding a big black umbrella, “Reverend LeGrange is a great man” she declares. “Yeah, that’s nice” Dean sarcastically remarks. I hold back on batting his arm as I would normally, “Be nice” I mumble instead.

We walk away from the old lady and the car heading toward the tent, walking past an angry man who is struggling against an officers hold, “I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people of their hard-earned money.” I suck in a sharp breath, mumbling an “Amen, brother” underneath my breath. But the Sheriff seems to ignore the man's declaration, holding him back while trying to lead him away, “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go. Move it.” The man huffs, walking away with the Sheriff. “I take it he’s not part of the flock” Dean remarks.

Sam purses his lips, half shrugging, “When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

Dean stops short, getting our attention and making us stop too, “I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? And what about you Y/N you don’t believe in this crap.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, “You're right. I don’t. And I think making a whole religion out of it that smells more like a cult than anything, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a good chance this is legit,” I drop my hands back at my side, “He’s probably using magic like I was doing with you, it's just that he's, hopefully, more successful.” He pressed his lips together tightly, I got him there. “See, maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam adds.

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean exclaims, “Reality. And this won’t work. I mean do you really think this guy is a dude-witch.”

I purse my lips, “I’m pretty sure the term would be a wizard, but, uh, I don't know. I’d have to see it in action to know for certain along with anything around him while he works, rituals and stuff.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over, “I do hope he’s real and not an elaborate con artist, and I hope he’s better than me at the whole healing thing.” I was being blatantly honest. I hoped it would encourage Dean to not fight this version of help, and I truly did wish this guy could help. “And if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam chimes in, a hint of annoyance on his tongue. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Dean’s POV

I snapped in a moment of weakness and said too much. “Dean” she sighs, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm, stepping closer to me almost subconsciously. I didn’t want a lecture full of sappy nonsense and corny poetry. She must have known that because she smiled sadly, her lip curving up on one side, my eyes following the movement, “Good does exist, it has to,” she says simply ever the optimist. She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me through her curled eyelashes, her hand still on my arm, my knees feel weak. “I'm sure you can think of at least one good person. Of course, the terms good and evil are subjective…” she cuts her cute rambling off, “but you get what I mean.”

I guess she was right. Sammy’s a good person sometimes a total asshole but I guess that came with the territory of being brothers. And Y/N’s the definition of being a good person, she’s always been kind even to people who didn't deserve it, including me. I remember a couple of times I was cruel to her when we were kids, always about her being a witch, yet for some reason she accepted my apology and even wanted to keep being friends. For a long time, I didn’t understand her, ‘how she could be sweet and smile at a world filled with darkness. Sometimes I think I still don't get her. “Please just give it a try,” she pleads, “And if it doesn't work or turns out to be a con you can make fun of us the whole way back.”

I studied her again, she looked drained and I knew she hadn't been sleeping all because of me. “Fine” I huff. She bites back a smile and suddenly complying with this stupid faith healer was worth it.

“And who knows, maybe God works in mysterious ways” an unfamiliar voice butts in. I didn't care to look who it was, solely focused on the girl who still had her hand on me; a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in three days. “Maybe he does” I respond, half heartily, I look up briefly catching the eyes of an attractive blonde holding a black umbrella. I averted my eyes back to my girl, but she was already looking away at the woman who interrupted us, her hand slipped down my arm.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N” she introduces herself, holding out the hand that was touching me only moments ago. She accepts her hand, “Layla. And these two?” Layla says looking past her. “Sam,” he introduces himself before motioning to me, “Dean.” I give her a tightlipped smile in response.

She smiles at me, “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?” She was attractive, you’d have to be blind not to see it but my interest is elsewhere. I can't fool myself into thinking that'll work out. Hell, I'm probably gonna end up dead. And yeah, it's harsh, but I can't shake the feeling that I'd rather spend what time I've got with Y/N, not waste it chasing after other girls just to fill the gap she left without even knowing it. I’m self-aware enough to know that. “Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us” I muse. An older woman with blondish-gray hair walks over, putting an arm around the girl, “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” Both women smile at us before walking away.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Y/N starts, “We should get you inside.” Sam nods leading the way.

Your POV

The tent is packed, full of people trying to find seats, it smells of hope and despair if that’s possible. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” Dean remarks, nodding over to a camera in the corner. Did churches have cameras? “I guess it makes sense,” I try to reason, “‘probably get more people like that dude outside protesting, maybe even getting violent.”

Dean slips away sitting down on one of the foldable chairs. “Hey no,” I point at him, “You are not gonna be all brooding and hide in the back.” His shoulders slump, “Let’s sit here.”

“No” I answer simply, eyebrows scrunched. He opens his mouth in a retort but his brother steps in, putting an arm around him and practically dragging him from the seat and towards the front, “Oh, come, on, Sam” Dean growls. Mistaking his anger for pain Sam halts in his movements, “You alright?”

“This is ridiculous” Dean bites, slapping his brother’s hands away, “I’m good, dude, get off of me.” I roll my eyes at their behavior, even in public, and even with one of them being severely sick they could still act childish and make a scene. I look around the closer rows, looking for seats, “Look at that” I smile turning back to the boys, “seats” I point to three empty seats not only close to the front but right behind Layla, the girl from before. She seemed nice, maybe a little strange in randomly joining the conversation but it wasn’t a big deal. “Perfect” Sam agrees, lightly shoving his brother in that direction. “Yeah, perfect” Dean remarks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Take the aisle,” Sam tells his brother before moving into the row of seats, I move in after him taking the seat between them. Dean grumbles something, his face having ‘irritable’ all over it, but he sits quietly, arms crossed.

An old man with white hair and sunglasses steps onto the stage with the help of an older woman with brown hair tied back. He must be the famous Roy LeGrange, “Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” he says with a classic southern accent, the crowd muttering agreements, “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

“He could say that aga–'' I began to mumble. “Huh” I hum to myself, my eyes catching on a particular religious item, why would there be a Celtic cross? I mean the cross represented the blending of the Celts and Christians but there are many separations between the two from believing in multiple gods to human sacrifice–

“But, I say to you, God is watching,” he preaches, and if I wasn't so focused on that wooden cross I might have rolled my eyes forgetting my manners, especially when the crowd responded with “Yes he is.” It sounded very cultish, the hair on my arms standing up. Maybe it wasn’t that weird for there to be a Celtic cross, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I racked my brain for information on it, and I just couldn’t see it used in Christian churches anymore. Though of course, I could be wrong, it's not like I go to church every day or even once a week. But again it felt a little too weird to just brush off–

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt” Roy continued getting loud cheering and more murmuring. I look at the people around me strangely, I forget how powerful religion is…

Speaking of which, that damn Celtic cross again. Alright, think. The Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension, the vertical arm represents the life aspect while the horizontal arm signifies death, the circle acting as a portal to transformation. In simpler terms, the cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the Celtic cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. But what does that mean here? Okay, well he’s supposedly healing people which would be the life aspect and the death could represent the healing cheating death? No, that sounded like a stretch. Maybe this was all a stretch and the cross meant nothing. I’m just overreacting because I'm scared of what will become of this if this man was a con or whatever else. Yeah, that makes more sense—

“It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts,” Roy proclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers just loud enough for Sam and me to hear, “and into their wallets.” But it wasn’t quiet enough, “You think so, young man?” Oh, that was weird. The crowd falls dead silent, “Sorry” Dean apologizes. “No, no. Don’t be.” Roy shakes his head, “Just watch what you say around a blind man, we’ve got real sharp ears.” The crowd laughs but an unpleasant feeling worms itself into my stomach. It was innocent enough but something felt off and I don't think it has anything to do with Dean being scrutinized. “What’s your name, son?” Roy asks. He clears his throat, sitting straighter in his seat, “Dean.”

“Dean” Roy repeats nodding to himself, “I want…I want you to come up here with me.” My eyes widened, maybe God finally listened. “No, it’s okay” he shakes his head. “What are you doing?!” Sam whisper-yells, but his brother ignores him.

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t cha?” Roy inquires.

“Well, yeah, but, uh…maybe you should just pick someone else” Dean attempts to reason. And I hate the way he doesn't believe he is worthy of saving. The crowd claps loudly, “Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Had we been here for any other reason I might have been more disturbed by that proclamation, but this was a chance. The crowd roars in excitement, voices mixed in encouragement. Dean looks overwhelmed, I place a hand on his knee gaining his attention quickly, “Dean, this is good, go” I whisper to him even though I was unsure of this whole thing and that odd cross. He studies me for half a moment, something I couldn't recognize passing over his features before he reluctantly raises, my hand slipping from his leg.

The woman from before helps Dean to the stage, situating him next to the healer, “You ready?” he asks Dean. “Look, no disrespect, but, uh, I’m not exactly a believer,” Dean says, looking between the crowd and the old man. But Roy just smiles, “You will be, son. You will be,” he turns to the crowd arms raised, “Pray with me, friends.” Again, almost like a cult, the crowd joins hands as Roy moves his hands to place on Dean; one on his shoulder and the other to the side of his head. I hold my breath, I want this to work so badly, I hadn't even begun to think of a plan B if this didn't.

Suddenly Dean’s eyes glaze over, it was never like that when I healed him, and then he seems to wobble sinking to his knees. I gasped, I didn't think it would be so intense or that my heart would beat so fast. A deep chill runs up my spine seeping into my bones, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the Celtic cross comes into view again and I suddenly feel sick, a horrible feeling tangling itself in between my stomach. I don't know where to look the cross or Dean, my eyes flipping between the two rapidly all until Dean's eyes roll back and he crumbles down onto the stage floor. Sam manages to jump over me, using his long legs to his advantage he gets to the stage in seconds grabbing the front of Dean's hoodie. I catch up quickly, glad we were close to the stage, I kneel in front of Dean his head lulling back. The loud noise of the crowd cheering becomes nothing but background noise, as I check his pulse my fingers against the side of his neck the steady but fast beating of his heart thumping below my touch.

With a sudden gasp his eyes shoot open, eyes wide and mouth agape.

I tap my foot impatiently on the clean floors of the hospital, thankful that right after testing I was allowed to be in the room. Dean looked better, he moved normally and his color was back, but we all agreed we should check officially. Now we were waiting and although the room sparked with anxiety, the dark looming cloud had cleared up a lot, and once we knew for sure it would most likely be gone. I just wished the doctor would come quicker. “So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks for the hundredth time since Dean woke from being healed yesterday. Dean stares at him blankly, “I feel fine, Sam” he grumbles.

Finally, the Doctor walks in, reading from the charts on his clipboard, “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still strange things happen.” The cloud fades away, and I don’t hold back my beaming smile. “What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks, his face serious rather than elated. “Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack,” the doctor shares. Dean nods, giving the man a handshake, “Thanks, Doc.” The man leaves, closing the door behind him. “That’s odd,” Dean points out, referring to what the doctor said.

“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Sam shrugs, “People's hearts give out all the time, man.” I looked at him taken aback, what was he talking about, “Dude, what world are you living in?” He gives me a pointed look, annoyed with not only my response but also my not agreeing with him, “Do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life, Dean, and move on?”

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why” Dean bites back. I sigh, wishing we could just avoid this all, “Me neither.” Dean gives me a strange look, “You neither?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I just, I don’t know, when we sat down I recognized something which automatically made me suspicious. Then you know the whole thing was happening and, well, maybe it was just nerves but it got really cold and I felt sort of sick. Which really doesn't make sense, but I just had this weird feeling, I don’t know.”

“I felt cold too,” Dean answers, face scrunched, “When I was healed, I just...I felt wrong, ‘cold. And for a second...I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, it was a spirit.” Maybe it wasn’t nerves and I wasn’t crazy. Sam huffs, clearly trying to ignore the red flags here, “But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would've seen it, too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Alright, but he literally saw something and I felt something.” I reason, “You can’t deny two people saying something’s up, and whatever it was there’s probably a reason why you couldn’t see it.”

“You’re just gonna need a little faith on this one, Sam” Dean muses, using his own words against him. Sam sighs, finally giving in, “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

Dean steps into the leader role again, as if nothing had happened, “I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. Y/N, we’re gonna visit the reverend.”

I sit next to Dean on the nice leather couch, Roy sitting across from us. He and his wife had been very understanding and didn’t question our want to speak to him about yesterday, I figure he got this a lot. “I feel great,” Dean answers the reverend, “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann, Roy’s wife and the woman from before answered, “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.” I gave her a half-hearted smile and nod, maybe it was just me but that response came off a little weird. I was getting a bad vibe from her, “So, um, when did these miracles start?” I ask Roy. Any desire to possibly learn from him had been subdued, caution taking its place. “Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.'” He smiled sweetly at his wife before continuing, “I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” He takes off his black sunglasses, his eyes pure white, “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it.” He puts the glasses back on, it was a touching story and his eyes added a horrifying touch but it just left more questions.

He seemed genuine, and I don’t think he would lie about being in a coma. When you’re sick like that, and experience something like that, you don’t create lies about your experience, not when it was traumatic like that. And staying on that belief, there was no way he suddenly just stopped having cancer and was able to heal people. He couldn’t have been responsible for whatever caused his initial health change. Which would then mean someone else was involved. “So then, you could just…heal people?” I ask.

“I discovered it afterward, yes,” he nods, "God's blessed me in many ways.” It didn’t add up. I couldn’t get it to add up in my head. Besides the whole no more sickness ideal, how could he just suddenly heal someone? I mean, how do you even discover you can? Was it an accident? Did the hypothetical person who might have caused him to get better tell him too? Or, tell him to try? Whereas for me I knew it was something I was capable of in general as a witch, but I also had many spell books, history books, journals, and everything to learn from. And if my mother had lived longer she would have been able to teach me it too.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann added, her eyes full of endearment, “And this is just the beginning.” I study her for a moment, balancing on the thin line of suspicion and paranoia. There was nothing inherently wrong about her or what she said, and maybe it was my mind making up the fact that her last words were just a little aggressive.

“Can I ask you one last question?” Dean asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Of course you can,” Roy responded sincerely. He really does seem like a nice guy, genuine, and it could be my inherent lack of sleep that’s making me connect dots that might not even be there. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me?” My heart broke. Of course he didn’t feel adequate, especially when he tried convincing us for the last four days he wasn't worth saving, that we should give up and let him die. I place a careful hand on his knee, I don’t want to scare him away or clam up again, he never was very open. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me,” Roy answers, “I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Dean wets his lips, my eyes flickering up to the movement, he leans forward slightly, “What did you see in my heart?” I move my gaze away catching on Sue Ann’s innocent movement of picking up her glass of water, but as she leans over her necklace escapes from its place beneath her shirt. A small wooden Celtic Cross held by a thin silver chain, she catches my eyes, covering the cross with her hand and giving me an innocent smile. She assumes I would think it's just any ol’ cross, she does run religious ceremonies so such a simple totem shouldn’t mean anything else. Maybe there were dots to connect after all, and it was on full display ready to be fastened. I focused my attention back on the conversation, I left my bag in the car so I’d have to wait, and in the meanwhile, I did not wish for her to get suspicious of me either.

Roy smiles softly, “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.” I feel Dean tense beneath my hand, his face full of shock. Whether Roy did see something or not, it might have been the thing Dean needed to hear regardless.

I wanted to run back to the car and look through my spell book and journal, but Sue Ann was seeing us out and if I had easily become suspicious of her then it was possible she would grow suspicious of what I knew too. I could almost feel her gaze burning into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Dean's warm hand on the small of my back leading me down the short wooden stairs of their porch. But I had not expected to see Layla and the woman she was with before, I think her mother. “Dean, Y/N, hey,” she greets. “Hey,” Dean responds just as we reach ground level, his hand pressing further into my back before curling around my waist, his hand lying on my side before he pushes me closer against him. I don’t know why he was being so touchy, not that I was exactly complaining. I welcomed it and the warmth it brought.

“How ‘you feeling?” She asks him, tilting her head slightly, her face beaming in sincerity. “I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?” he responds.

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla nods toward the door prompting Sue Ann to step fully onto the porch rather than standing halfway between the screen door. “Layla?” she asks, probably not having seen her from where she stood. “Yes, I'm here again,” Layla answers softly.

“Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now.” Sue Ann informed, nodding sympathetically. Every word she said just made me want to turn around and head to the car, I was itching for it. I wondered if Dean could feel it from where he was touching me or just sensed it, giving me a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. But I couldn’t exactly say anything right now so I ignored his look.

“Sue Ann, please,” Layla’s mom pleads, “This is our sixth time, he's got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla's situation,” Sue Ann declares harshly, “And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” And with that, she goes back inside. I might not know exactly what’s going on but her continuous frustrated comments regarding the healing and her perhaps overly religious nature were enough to make me antsy. We should really go to the car, call Sam to see what he found, or even just head to the hotel. Layla’s mom turns sharply to Dean, glaring at him she spits, “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

“Mom. Stop” Layla insists, looking at us nervously.

“No, Layla, this is too much” her mom fumed, “We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.” I do feel bad for her, but it's not like we had control over any of this so she shouldn't be mad at us let alone Dean who was quite literally on his deathbed and might not have made it to the end of the week. I open my mouth to say exactly that, but Dean cuts me off before I get a chance, “Layla, what’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks everywhere but him, “I have this thing…”

“It's a brain tumor,” her mother cuts in bluntly, “It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say…” Layla cuts her mom off putting a hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was good Dean didn’t let me say what I wanted to, it would’ve been too cruel to do that to someone who was going to lose her daughter. It seemed like we were surrounded by death, more now than ever and I hadn’t thought that could be possible. I didn’t like death, or sickness though I suppose who does. “I'm sorry” Dean says, and I just nod in agreement not trusting my own voice. “It's okay” Layla responds softly. Her mother shakes her head slowly, “No. It isn't,” her sharp gaze is back on Dean, “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” Then she storms away, Layla hesitantly following. I know that woman was just upset and projecting her anger but it was not fair. Grief isn’t fair.

I look at Dean, his jaw clenched tightly, a slight furrow of his brow, his eyes a little far away in thought. I recognized that look. “Don’t listen to her” I declare, slipping from his hold to look at him straight on, “Death is not kind and it is not just, but you deserve to live. You deserve to live just as much as Layla or anyone else does. I know that look and I know you're thinking poorly of yourself, which I hate that you do so ‘cause you’re amazing and brave and kind and you care so much for others regardless of your gruff attitude.” His eyes are wide and written with shock but I continue, “So don’t think for one second that you don’t deserve to live.” I didn’t realize my chest was heaving, or that a lump had formed in my throat. I’ve watched too many people die, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of grief. I knew it well, it became a second skin. And I've watched someone run themselves into the ground because they didn’t feel like they deserved to live, or at least not when the love of their life was dead. I watched the evolution of that grief while dealing with my own and my brother’s. Death was not kind.

His jaw was slack with surprise and I know I said too much, I gave him a sharp awkward nod before turning around and heading for the car. I have something to look into.

Dean throws his keys on the bed the second we enter, the soft jingle of the metal ringing through the quiet room. I unzipped my sweatshirt, making my way towards Sam who sat at the small table to the side of the room. I take a seat next to him, putting my sweater behind me, “So what’d you find?” He seems hesitant to answer, his adam's apple bobbing, “Um, I’m sorry Dean” he says weakly looking up at his brother.

Dean takes his jacket off putting it on top of mine, his face written in confusion, “Sorry about what?” he asks, leaning on the back of my chair, his knuckles just barely brushing my back. Sam huffs out a breath, “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.” My eyes widened, I shouldn’t be surprised it was just another dot to be connected to whatever was going on with the damn cross. “The exact time I was healed” Dean adds solemnly, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits,” Sam explains, “Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“Oh frick” I mumble, apparently nothing is allowed to be easy for us. And I wasn’t exactly expecting that to be what we’re dealing with. “Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks for confirmation, even though it’s clear that’s what’s going on. “Somehow. LeGrange…” Sam sighs, “he's trading a life for another.”

Dean stands up straight backing away from the table, from Sam, “Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Sam shakes his head, “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here.” Dean declares, running a hand down his face.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life.” Sam reasons.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam answers quietly.

I stand up abruptly, “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about that now. What’s done is done.” This all got very complicated very quickly, maybe Adeline was right you can’t save someone from death without making difficult decisions and sacrifices. “But what we can do is stop this from happening again, before it gets worse” I add and I know I don’t sound so convincing. You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, and we had crossed that line whether intentionally or not, just wanting to save Dean from death was already putting a foot past that line. “That’s the thing I don't understand, how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?” Sam questions. “Oh, he’s not doing it,” Dean answers, “Something else is doing it for him.”

“Do you mean the thing with Sue Ann?” I ask with a tilt of my head, maybe he had picked up on it too. “What?” his face contorts in confusion, “No? What are you talking about?”

“Oh” I say, now I'm confused, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are both of you talking about?!” Sam exclaims looking between us. Dean sighs, pinching the space between his brows, “The old man I saw on stage” he explains, “I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew.” He pauses and I begin to wonder if it’s for dramatic affect. I motion my hand for him to continue and he does, “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a Reaper.”

“Pardon?” I say, my mouth agape. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, face just as shocked as I am, “You really think it's THE Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No no no, not THE reaper, A reaper.” Dean clarifies, taking the seat I once occupied, “There's reaper law in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names, it's possible that there's more than one of them.” My mouth still hangs open, it can never be something normal with us, ever. “But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam voiced.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing?” Dean countered, “You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you guys couldn't.”

“Oh my god,” I say, the realization finally hitting me, “That’s where it comes in!” Both boys stare at me confused, “Where what comes in?” Sam asks.

“Okay, remember I said I recognized something and thought it was a little strange,” I paused waiting for them to nod before continuing, “It was a Celtic Cross, which was all I could focus on the entire time ‘cause like what is it doing there. And then I started thinking of what it symbolizes, here’s the interesting part” I point out, “So basically, the Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension. The cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. Which now makes total sense with the whole Reaper thing.”

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not following here” Dean admits. I huff a laugh, “Right. Let me get to the point. So, as far as I know someone has to control the Reaper to, you know, dictate who lives and dies and to do that you need a spell. And I’ve seen it before…” I head over to my bag that I had just plopped down right next to the door when we walked in, I pull out my spell book holding it up, “This book has been in my family for generations. Now as you know my mother and her family didn’t see eye to eye, so when it eventually became my mothers and she ran away she changed a lot of stuff in here, crossing things out etc.” I open the book, flicking through the pages, “Basically there’s some pretty dark stuff in here, straight up black magic, some stuff even ancient,” finally I find the page, “Aha!” I turn the book around pointing at the page, “As you can see by the frowny face in the corner my mother did not appreciate this spell. Anyways, this is a binding spell for a Reaper where you create a black alter with bones and human blood etc, you get the point. You can then control it with a Celtic Cross, and before I saw Sue Ann with the necklace.”

“So you think Sue Ann is using dark magic to control a Reaper and kill people to save people because you saw a necklace?” Sam asks. I close the book, “Yeah, and it makes sense she was desperate when her husband was sick. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner.” I knew this page existed, I've seen it in passing multiple times, especially some time since Dean was in the hospital. I guess I did listen to Adeline’s warning because even though I was ready to go far to save him I had kept away from pages like this. “Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean points out. I shrug, “Money? She’s psycho? I don’t know, maybe there’s a connection with the victims.”

“How would we break it?” Sam voices.

“We gotta get that cross from her, the one around her neck” I answer, “And let me just add, that Reaper is gonna be pissed, I mean the second it gains back its control…” I don’t need to say it out loud for them to get what I mean.

The Impala bounces down the badly graveled and potholed road, passing a sign that says Service Today. Hopefully we will be just in time. Dean brings the car to a stop and wordlessly we exit, “How do we get Sue Ann alone?” Sam asks. I nervously tap the side of my legs as we approach the tent, some guy handing out leaflets stops us, “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer.” Dean accepts the paper, “Amen brother” he nods. “You keep up the good work” Sam points at the man and he looks taken aback, he probably didn’t get many if any people that agreed. “Thank you,” he says, surprised.

Focusing back on the task at hand I open my mouth about to say something about not knowing where she goes when she does the spell when I spot her near the side of the tent, “I see her” I say already moving in that direction, “Find her spell book and keep Roy distracted too in case this does not work.” I don’t wait to hear a response before I’m running off to catch up with the woman playing God, “Sue Ann!” I call as I approach. She turns, her eyes wide, the necklace peeking out from her blouse, “Hi Y/N, what are you doing back here?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh well you guys are doing such amazing stuff here, wanted to say thank you one last time before we had to head off” I answered hoping my lie was believable. “Don’t thank us, you just thank the Lord” She says pointing to the night sky. I nod, I had to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the necklace off, “I have to admit I always had a hard time believing in the man upstairs, but you and Roy really turned me around.”

“Oh I’m glad, it’s never too late to welcome Him into your heart,” she smiles, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must get going, the sermon is starting.” Uh oh, do I just rip it off of her? No, she’s already turning around, “One last thing!” I call out getting her attention again. This time when she turns around she looks annoyed, “Uh, um…”come on Y/N come up with a lie or something, “I saw your necklace earlier today, I think you caught me staring,” I laugh, “I was just…I was wondering where you got it from I’ve never seen something like that before.” She clasps her necklace, “It’s just an old thing, I don’t remember where I got it from.”

“Could I maybe take a closer look at it? Maybe I can find a replica, you know, for my new found belief.” I was practically begging her to just let this be easy, maybe I should ask Dean to give me a lesson on finessing cause this is not working. She clasps it tighter, “I’m sorry, maybe later I really have to help with the sermon now.”

“Right, right sorry” she begins to turn around again but I call out again, “I know you said to thank the Lord and I have and will, it’s just” that gets her attention, “I feel like you and Roy are also responsible and like I said I came to thank you again…I know it’s maybe unprofessional or what not, but, could I just give you a hug? You’ve really done so much for us.” God I was bad at this. Her face softens a fraction, hey maybe I wasn’t bad at this, “Of course.” She holds out her arms and I move closer to allow myself to be embraced, I wrap my arms near her neck hoping she couldn’t feel the tension in my body. “Thank you” I say softly, all the while sneaking my hand to the clasp of her necklace.

She pulls away abruptly, once more grasping her necklace, “What is wrong with you!” she exclaims. I back up, hands up in defense, “After everything we’ve done to help you, healing your boy” she glares at me with wide eyes, “I never expected this from you Y/N.” I stare at her blankly, do I jump her? “You get out of here, before I call over those officers. Looks like your boy is already in trouble too. Disappointing, both of you.”

I look over my shoulder, Dean’s being pushed away by two cops and there’s a large crowd surrounding the tent including Roy. Maybe they evacuated. I turn back to Sue Ann but she’s already pushing past me, heading to the crowd. Oh no. Layla walks up to him next and she seems to be upset with him. How much did I miss? I rush towards Dean, Layla walking away, “What did you do?” I whisper yell. “You said to distract Roy!” he argues.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with the police!”

“‘Don’t matter, did you get it?” Dean asks with a quirked eyebrow. “No,” I grumble, “She caught me in my attempt and started lecturing me, I was thinking of just jumping her before she pointed out your run in with the police.”

“You were gonna jump the woman?!” He exclaims.

“I didn’t know what to do!!” I hissed, “And it’s not like I did it!” I let out a frustrated sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, “We need a new plan, where’s Sammy?”

“‘Think he’s waiting by the car, ‘hope he’s got somethin’ Roy’s gonna do a private healing session with Layla tonight.”

“Great,” I mumble, “I really should have jumped her.”

I sit criss cross applesauce on the hard motel bed. For a hunt that I knew so much about I had royally blown it. She was right there. The necklace right there. “Please tell me you found something helpful in their home” I pleaded.

“I found the spell book, written by a priest who went dark side,” Sam answers, holding up the small book, “And she isn’t just killing random people. She’s forcing the Reaper to kill people she finds immoral, from some teacher who was openly gay to a woman who advocated for abortion rights.” The room fell quiet for a moment, there were more layers to this than we thought. “May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work” Dean muses.

“No seriously that’s messed up,” I add, shaking my head. “Yeah,” Sam nods, “I think you should hold onto this book Y/N.” He hands it over and I hold it cautiously in my hand, “How nice.” I’ll probably spend the next couple of days reading it over before ultimately sending it home, I did not need a spell book on dark magic with me, didn't even need to own it but rather me than get in the wrong hands.

“We should head back soon” Dean says, “Layla could be there any minute”

The Impala rolls over the graveled road for the second and hopefully final time today, this time with total darkness cloaking us no lights on. We roll to a stop, “That's Layla's car. She's already here,” Sam points out.

Dean nods slowly, “Yeah.” He was upset, “Dean…” Sam began. But Dean ignores him, looking out the window instead, “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla’ months.” I should’ve known my dramatic speech from before wouldn’t magically resolve him of his guilt, no one has that power. “What's happening to her is horrible,” Sam reasons, “But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself Dean, you can't play God.”

Dean goes quiet for a beat before getting out of the car, Sam and I following. We approach the tent, peeking inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of people including Layla and her mom, “Gather round, please everyone, gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where's Sue Ann?” Dean whispers. I tried to crane my neck to look around the tent, maybe she was off to the side somewhere… “House,” Sam answers simply.

We creep up to the small house, weary of making too much noise we couldn’t afford to get caught, “You guys go find Sue Ann, I'll catch up,” Dean orders. I look at him confused, “Wait, what are you gonna—“ But Dean’s already backing away from us yelling, “Hey!” to two figures in the distance. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” he yells out, of course he would be taunting the police. The officers drop what looks to be coffee cups before running after him, Dean taking off at full speed. Only he would do something so stupid. “Uh, anyways” I begin, “If she’s doing it at her house she’s probably by the altar, and considering the size and necessities of the thing and the fact her husband doesn't know it would have to be in an attic or basement.”

“I’ll offer you one better” Sam nods off to the side of the building, “a cellar.” He was right, that would be better. And on top of that definite light emerges from the metal doors. Sam leads the way opening up the heavy doors and propping it open as he makes his way down first. I follow suit immediately being hit with the sight that is the altar, a small table adorned with candle operas filled by tall burning candles, parts of dead animals, bones and blood sprawled out meticulously across the red table cloth. And right in the middle was a black and white surveillance photo of Dean before he was healed, the photo smeared in blood.

“I gave him life and I can take it back too” A familiar voice suddenly says. Sue Ann. I turn around hastily being met with cold eyes, behind me I hear a large crash and I don’t have to look to know Sam had flipped over the table. Her eyes flip to the scene and I use the initial shock to rush her, but she was already close to the stairs so it did not take her long to sweep up them slamming the cellar doors behind her. Something clicks and shifts, she must have locked us in here. Sam joins me at my side, pushing and fighting against the barred doors. “Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked,” she reasons, “And Dean is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Oh, so that twisted psycho thinks that’s how it is. Well she messed with the wrong witch. “You're gonna wanna back up” I tell Sam. I press my palms to the cold metal of the doors, I’m pissed now. No one gets to use magic, let alone dark magic, on either of my boys. The doors begin to rattle harshly, almost as if there’s an earthquake, “Goodbye Sam, Y/N” she says. I put more force on the door, my entire being focused on it until it burst open bits of chipped paint and screws flying away, a satisfying break of the wood she used to block us ringing in my ears as broken bits of the wood come crashing back down.

Sue Ann stands but a couple feet away, her eyes wide as she watches me exit the cellar with shock and fear. She backs up further and I follow after her like a predator trapping its prey. “I-I read about things like you” she says weakly, her voice shaking. She keeps backing up, “You’re a—You’re a—“ her back hits the wall of a nearby trailer house. “Witch” I finished for her, yanking off that necklace once and for all.

I throw it off to the side, far away, and back up from her. My job was done and the Reaper would come knocking for its own revenge. “My God, what have you done?,” she heaves, pressing a hand to where her necklace used to be. “He’s not your God” Sam says cooly. Her head snaps to something in the distance, her face falls growing pale she must be seeing the Reaper. Then all at once she takes off running, not making it very far before she falls to her knees, her body convulsing once, twice, before falling to the ground. “I think we have just aided in her murder” I muse.

“Yeah…” Sam nods, “We should probably…” This time I nod, not saying anything as we walk away from the crime heading back in the direction of the Impala. We intercept Dean on the way, meeting at the car. I give him a small thumbs up to say we did it this time and he nods solemnly. “You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Hell of a week” he answers.

I glanced up from my phone for the fifth time in the last minute. I was trying to text Adeline to update her on everything but kept getting distracted by Dean's blank face as he stared off at nothing while sitting in bed. I made eye contact with Sam, giving him a sad smile, we were thinking the same thing. He turns to his brother, watching him for a moment before speaking, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies gruffly. Sam looks back at me again and I give him an encouraging nod, “What is it?” he asks again this time more gently.

“We did the right thing here didn't we?” Dean asks, finally breaking. It was difficult to answer him, on one hand we stopped someone from playing God and killing people who they found immoral in which none of the victims were bad people, it wasn’t like they were criminals but to her they were still wicked (god forbid someone has a different opinion than you). But on the other hand it was saving people, except to pay one life for another wasn’t exactly gracious work. Yet, we were doing the same thing, trying to play God and cheat death. I had even admitted to being willing to make great scarface’s to do so, in that aspect I wasn’t so different from Sue Ann in the very beginning.

“Of course we did,” Sam answers, and he really does sound sure. Dean sighs, hanging his head, “It doesn't feel like it.” Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and the parallel from only earlier in the week is not lost on me, “I got it” Sam volunteers getting up from his seat to open the door, “Hey Layla. Come on in.”

Huh.

“Hey” she waves awkwardly. Dean quickly rises from his place on the bed, “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam...called. He said you...wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam and I join in on the glaring, he really needs to start telling me things sooner. But he just smiles sheepishly, “I'm gonna...grab a soda.”

I stand abruptly from my chair, Dean should have his time with Layla. Maybe he won’t feel as guilty, “I’m gonna join you” I declare, “A soda sounds great!” I follow Sam out the door, closing it behind me.

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #john winchester #slow burn #dean winchester x witch reader #the hunter and the witch update #witch reader #the hunter and the witch #angst #light angst #celtic #supernaturalwiki #supernatural faith

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theblackhate · 2 months

Note

Hi! Could you write a Carlisle x Fem! Or GN! Reader in which Carlisle knows that he and reader are mates but he doesn’t know just how to explain it to reader without freaking her out? It can be angsty or fluffy.

You don’t have to if you don’t want to but thank you for reading this💖

Stay hydrated!!

yes, no problem at all!

You're my half | Carlisle Cullen

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x reader

Warnings: angsty with happy ending, post new moon.

Word count: 1.2k

It was once again that I found myself standing in front of his house, even after struggling to accept his true nature. For the first few months, I couldn't even bear to watch him at work, trying my best to avoid him.

But it was only when he disappeared for months without telling anyone that I realized how important he was to me; I missed his touch, his cold lips on mine, and his gentle caress that I never would have connected to a vampire.

I hid my trembling hands in the pockets of my jacket, trying not to show my anxiety. He had called me, saying he needed to talk to me about something very important and fundamental to our relationship.

I didn't even have time to knock on the door before Carlisle appeared before me in all his beauty. He became more beautiful every time I saw him, like an angel with his blond hair, pale skin, and flawless complexion like porcelain.

The first time we met, I already knew what our destiny would be; it was a strange sensation, I had never felt something so strong for someone I didn't even know.

"Hello, sweetheart," he moved aside to let me in, placing a hand on my back to guide me into the living room. "How was work today?"

He kissed the top of my head gently. "Good, dear. Donna was so worried about your absence," I said sarcastically, mentioning the nurse who continuously flirted with Carlisle in the hospital as if I weren't standing right there.

Carlisle chuckled. "Forget about her. You're here, and you're the only woman I want."

He said the last part with a slightly melancholic look, which made me worry a bit. It took me a moment to notice his unusual demeanor; he seemed a bit distant, and within me, a fear grew that he might leave again.

"Come here," he took my hands and led me to the couch, sitting down beside me. "There's something important I need to talk to you about, love."

Was he going to leave me?

I settled on his couch, watching him carefully, seeing him for the first time in distress. He always had the right words, ready to talk about anything with anyone without any trouble, yet now he seemed troubled.

I remained silent, patiently waiting for him to speak. He averted his gaze from my eyes, looking down at his now free hands, fidgeting nervously.

"I honestly don't know how to begin… It's complicated for me, for us, and I wouldn't want you to feel obligated to stay with me," he started, his voice hesitant.

"What do you mean, Carlisle? Has something happened?" My voice must have been filled with concern because Carlisle lifted his eyes to meet mine, smiling slightly and taking my hands in his.

"No, sweetheart, nothing has happened," he reassured me, massaging the back of my hand with his thumb. "You know, remember, the first time we met?"

I looked at him, puzzled. "Uh, yes, very well," I chuckled. "Why?"

Carlisle sighed, though he didn't really need to. "Do you remember what you felt? What you still feel for me?"

"Where are you going with this?" He was only confusing me more.

He looked away again, his gaze shifting elsewhere. "It wasn't a coincidence, it wasn't the typical love-at-first-sight that everyone talks about, but it has something to do with my nature."

I continued to watch him, nervous and perhaps a bit uncomfortable on the couch. He was making me worry; I had never seen him like this, not even when he confessed to being a vampire.

"We vampires, living for eternity, need someone to be with us for eternity. To not be alone. Each of us has someone out there in the world who is like a lifelong companion, a mate."

I didn't understand where he was going with this, I couldn't see where the problem lay.

"And you are that person for me," his voice was low, almost a whisper, and my confusion deepened. I was happy for him, especially if I was that person.

Then I realized that if I was that person, his mate, he would have to turn me to stay with me. I could die at any moment, even returning home after this conversation.

"So, uh, you'll have to-"

"No, if you don't want to, it's fine," he interrupted hastily. "But that's not what I wanted you to understand. It's reciprocal, as you are my mate, I am yours, and…"

"And?" I became impatient, perhaps finally understanding what he was trying to tell me.

"I'm sorry for making you call off the wedding with Thomas, it wasn't my intention. I tried to stay away from you as much as possible knowing you were engaged, I didn't want to ruin your life."

The realization of what he had just told me hit me like a slap in the face; now it all made sense, there was an explanation for why all the feelings I had for Thomas had vanished into thin air after years of engagement.

It had been him, unconsciously, but it had been him.

I let go of his hands, drawing them back and rising from the couch to walk around a bit. I needed to relax; my heart was pounding in my chest like crazy. It couldn't be possible.

I loved Carlisle, but before him, I would have had a perfect life. I would have gotten married, grown old with grandchildren running around my house, and died knowing I had lived my life to the fullest, with Thomas.

But with Carlisle, oh things would be very different. My life had been turned upside down; I would have to stop living to have a happy life with him. I wouldn't have what I had grown to love.

"Love…" Carlisle tried to take my hand to pull me closer, but I stepped aside.

"Uh, no, give me a moment."

"I'm sorry, I tried to keep you away," his voice was full of sadness as he looked at me, also standing now.

I felt manipulated in a way, but at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to be angry with Carlisle; it wasn't his fault, and I loved him too much to see him in a different light.

He remained still, watching me until my heartbeat calmed down and my thoughts stopped racing in my head. As much as I hated that I left Thomas because of Carlisle, I couldn't imagine a different future now.

I had learned to love the man before me, to accept the fact that he was different from me and that his family was anything but normal. Carlisle was there for me; he would do anything for me, and I would do the same for him.

I looked into his eyes before stepping closer to him, letting myself be enveloped by his arms. I closed my eyes against his chest, listening to the silence caused by the absence of a heartbeat.

"I wouldn't change anything if I could go back," I said softly.

He kissed me on the forehead. "I love you," he whispered into my hair.

"I love you too, Carlisle."

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen angst #carlisle cullen fluff #twilight oneshot #twilight imagine

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eyebagshawty · 7 months

Text

Heads Will Roll (Haunted House AU)

Pairing: Actor!Astarion x Actor!F!Reader

Summary: It's a typical night working at Death Clutch Manor during the busiest time of the month; the week of Halloween. While our dear Tav is finishing up her makeup to scare some patrons, her "vampire" coworker has another thing in mind.

Warnings: Fake gore, biting, blood kink, pocket knives, SMUT (mdni!!!), oral, fingering, p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), sort of public sex but not really (please message me if more warnings should be put in and I will update accordingly)

Other Tags: situationship to lovers, fem!reader, basically crack but make it sexy, alternate universe, Gale is a sassy and upset manager, Shadowheart is tired

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: This is my first fic in a while, and probably the first nsfw fic I've ever done. Please be gracious, please enjoy, and happy (early) Halloween!

"Quit hogging the palette Tav, I need my eyes to look like a void and quickly or this helmet isn't going to work," Shadowheart exhaled, looking over at you with an exasperated expression. You looked in the mirror at your face, painted stark white with green ooze dripping out of your mouth. You took one more dab of black face paint and stroked it in messy lines around your eyes, handing the palette over to her.

"I don't even know why Withers insisted on me being a possessed woman. It's kind of an exorcist knockoff? I don't know it just feels silly on me, and a bit corny at that."

"He's basically ancient, of course his taste for the costumes we wear would be as well. I mean look at me, what even is a dark justiciar?" She popped in her green sclera contacts, put on her helmet, and scowled at her reflection; a weird version of a knight with dark blood dripping out of the helmet eyesockets, along with stiff dark grey armor and medieval weaponry. You shrugged and looked to the provided straightjacket for your costume. How did they even put these things on in the 1900s? I should commit myself to a mental institution for even trying to figure out this stupid mess.

Shadowheart's head perked up at a knock on the door. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking over at you with her finger pointing in her mouth in a gagging motion. You stifled a giggle. "If it's Gale don't even think about coming in we're naked -- or I'll make sure Withers schedules you on Friday," she half-yelled in a monotone voice.

"All the better darling, maybe I can help my dear sweet Tav into her straightjacket while you weep about your dreadful costume in the break room."

A furious blush crossed your cheeks. You were dreading coming into work today, hoping to curl up at home with a hot chocolate to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre while you cuddled with your cat. Now you were truly dreading coming into work because Astarion was here. You met him at the beginning of the month during auditions for the haunted house, and you had also been fucking him ever since. You weren't quite sure if there was something more between you, any proverbial strings attached, but you were racked with anxiety every time you were around him. Your feelings for him had only grown over the month you worked together, and now that Halloween was upon you, you didn't want what you guys had to end.

You sighed and opened the door to his smug grin and wiggling eyebrows. He looked good tonight, dressed in aristocratic victorian clothing, with a velvet cape cascading down his back. His red contacts made him look paler, the grey contouring stick giving him gaunt cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, and his fangs were just peeking through his smile and poking into his bottom lip. You stared at the latex-made holes in his neck, wishing it were real. You wanted him to bite into you, to drink from you; to be marked as his in an eternal bond.

You were staring. You snapped out of the haze, cheeks blazing and looking back up to his face. "What do you want Astarion? The tour starts in 10 minutes and I really can't figure this thing out." You tried to look nonchalant, you really did. Astarion let out a hearty laugh and grabbed one of the straightjacket belts, lacing it between his fingers.

"Well my treasure, I have come to offer my services. Perhaps we could go to the mens dressing room and I could help? In more ways than one of course." He makes a show of looking to your cleavage, pushed up inside the skintight leotard you'd pulled on for comfort. He looks back up to you, and his eyes soften a bit. "Only if you'd like, of course. I'm sure Jenevelle here would be more than happy to lay down her morningstar and help you into this torturous monstrosity as well," he finished with a light giggle.

Shadowheart, leering at you both during this decidedly strange interaction, scoffed and got up from her vanity chair. "First of all, don't call me that. And second, whatever it is that's going on right now? Leave me out of it. I'm gonna go see if Karlach has a monster for me to down before these customers suck the life out of me. And for godssakes, please lock the door." She swiftly shimmied away from you and Astarion and down the hallway. He closed the door and locked it with a soft click.

As soon as the click had reverberated through the room, his lips were hard pressed into yours, teeth and plastic fangs clashing together. He rubbed your sides and walked you over to the vanity counter before breaking away, breathing heavily and close to you. His breath smelled like cinnamon. "You know I always enjoy our little trysts my dear, but I think it shall be exceptionally fun in this crazy get up Withers picked out for you." You looked up into his eyes with a soft smile, your entire body feeling warm at the prospect of getting laid where you could so easily be found out. As he moved the black tresses of your wig to expose your neck, the thought of him marking you made a thought pop into your head -- and not a particularly comfortable one. As he leaned in, you pressed your hands to his chest with a sense of apprehension.

"Astarion, I need to ask you about something," you said, voice unusually quiet.

"Whatever about? Did I do something wrong?" His eyes widened and he moved to back away from you, but you held him in place with your legs which had unconsciously wrapped around his waist.

"No, no you could never do something wrong in that way to me and you know that," you stroked his cheek with your forefinger, "I just wanted to talk about us. Where we stand I guess." His brows furrowed, and you went to smooth out the creases with your thumb, nervously biting your lip. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've... how do I put it... fallen for you? You always know how to make me laugh, you're unreasonably out of my league, and well, we've grown really close lately. I can never stop thinking about you, and I care about you. Deeply. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but the month is almost over, which means work is almost over and I just wanted to-"

He silenced you by pressing his lips to yours. It wasn't fueled by passion and lust this time, but something softer and pure. He cupped your cheeks with warm hands and pulled away, looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. "I don't think anybody has wanted more with me in a while. Because of my devilishly good looks," he let out a nervous chuckle, "I've only really had one night stands without a promise for something real. But with you it's different. I find myself thinking about you, wondering what you're up to when we aren't scheduled together, hoping you're thinking about me." He interlocked his fingers with yours, stroking the pad of his thumb over your shiny press-on claw which you had just put on not 15 minutes ago. He looked at your joined hands and smiled to himself. 'I like you a lot, Tav. I love, well, this," He gestured with his other hand between you two, "And I want it all. I have fallen from great heights for you as well."

Your body felt like it had reached 1,000 degrees after his confession, eyes wide and lips parted. You couldn't believe somebody as beautiful (and sassy) as him could want something more with you. Holy shit holy shit holy shit I am telling Karlach about this immediately, you thought to yourself. You looked up at him with heavy lashes, a short puff of relieved air pushing past your lips. You looked at the clock next to the door and rolled your eyes, your lips pulling into a dopey smile. "This is good. Great, even. I wish we could keep talking, I really do, but you know Gale is gonna yell at us if we aren't there before the tour introduction. Can you please help me into this thing?"

Astarion scowled at the door then looked back into your eyes. He delicately grabbed one strap of your leotard, pulling it down your shoulder. He brought his mouth right next to your ear and whispered, "You know my sweet... I don't really care what boot-muncher Gale thinks. I'm hungry for you, absolutely starving." He nipped the shell of your ear lightly and you let out a shuddered breath. He stayed still, awaiting your response.

You brought your finger up to twirl a strand of his hair at the nape of his neck and whispered back, "You know, you can feed on me tonight if you'd like." He groaned softly and pressed his body deeper into you, getting impossibly close as your legs tightened around his waist.

"Oh darling, I thought you'd never ask."

He leant down to your neck and softly bit into it, suckling and soothing the pain with his tongue. You gasped grabbing onto his shoulders with your claws lightly digging into the velvet fabric draped over them. As he licked and sucked at that sweet spot in the crook of your neck, his fingers deftly stroked, pinched, and twisted your nipple. You brought up a hand to your mouth and let out a muffled cry of his name.

He pulled away and grabbed your hand back down to your side. "No no no, my sweet, there will be no secretive noises tonight. Now that we can truly be together I want everybody to hear everything that passes through those luscious lips of yours. Understand?" You gulped and nodded eagerly at him, your pupils blown wide in wanting for Astarion. Your Astarion.

Instead of returning to your neck, he gave the nipple that wasn't being touched attention with his mouth. He licked and sucked as if you held the nectar of the gods inside each breast and he was praying for a taste. You let out a loud, breathy moan, and he smiled smugly against your nipple. "Good girl, always listening to what I ask of her."

During this moment, booming echoes of the haunted house's tour introduction rang through the room. You could hear Gale announce every word. "Hello esteemed guests! It is my honor to welcome you to the Death Clutch Manor; the house of rot, where pure souls and joy come to decay, and the haunted fiends rise from the ashes to induce your terror," Gale let out a nervous but wicked laugh the next room over. These walls were a lot thinner than you thought.

Astarion moved with open-mouthed kisses down your body, traveling lower and lower until he reached your clothed pussy. He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded with a lazy smile, and tugged down the rest of your leotard.

"Star, are you sure we should be doing this? We could so get fired," You said as you nervously eyed the door, then looking back down to him. He kissed the insides of your thighs, coaxing another soft moan from you.

"Since when did you start calling me Star? I'm quite fond of it," He mumbled as his thumb started to rub slow circles into your clit. You whimpered, holding back more searing moans as they sizzled in your throat.

"I just, mmh, I-," You started. but you could barely even think. Two of his fingers had entered your folds, pumping deep in and out of your pulsating cunt.

"Use your words darling, talk to me," he cooed, leaning his head down to nip and suck at your thighs as his fingers continued.

"I always thought you reminded me of a starry sky, and it, fuck, it fits with your name-," You cut yourself off with a loud cry as his lips latched around your engorged clit, fingers reaching places they never had before as you opened yourself up to him.

You could hear the tour slowly moving away from you, Gale saying something about Jergal possessing some woman, and then gasping offendedly. "Well well well, it looks like our resident poltergeist is hiding from us. Perhaps in the rafters? Beneath the floorboards? Be sure to keep your eye out, for she could strike at any moment."

"Well, my moonlight, I don't think I could come up with a better nickname. It's like we're meant to be. This cunt is made for me, that's for sure," Astarion asserted. His fingers kept speeding up, his tongue working artfully around and on your clit. You were getting close, your whimpers and cries bouncing off the walls. Surely the patrons couldn't hear you…right?

With his free hand, Astarion slipped out a small pocket knife. Throughout the times you two had been intimate, he knew blood was what got you going. A bit odd, but to each their own, he thought, a mischievous smile spreading across his face as he continued to eat you out like a man starved for a year.

"Moonlight, you're mine, yes?" He asked as the blade flipped open. He looked up to you and his fingers paused their movements.

"Yes, fuck my star I want to be forever yours. Please keep going," You urged, desperate for the release you knew only he could give you.

"Lovely," He whispered to himself against your clit. His fingers resumed their motions, his free hand with the knife cutting the smallest letter A into your upper thigh. It wouldn't scar, and he of course would never truly cause you pain.

You screamed his name like a prayer as your orgasm crashed into you with the weight of a freight train, your pussy tightening around Astarion's fingers as he coaxed you through it. The sweet sting of the cuts coupled with the fact that his literal first initial was on your thigh for anyone to see had pushed you far over the edge. He moved over to the small cuts and licked them clean, getting another soft whimper from you.

You body relaxed against the vanity mirror, your head left in a daze. Astarion stood up from his position between your thighs and licked each digit clean of your slick. He kissed you again, and you tasted the sweet tang of your arousal from his lips, whimpering softly into his mouth. You pulled away and moved to stand up, yet his hands braced your thighs down against the countertop. "And where do you think you're going?" He said, his voice gruff and filled with lust. Now that he was standing, you could clearly see his own arousal pressed hard against his slacks.

"Well I figured you might want something too before we, you know..." You looked down at his clothed cock hungrily. Astarion lifted up your chin and kissed your nose.

"Now my moonlight, we can't let all that prep work go to waste. Besides, I need to feel you around me as soon as possible." His pupils were blown wide with lust and hunger. His hand came to rub your side again, stroking circles into the soft flesh. "Besides, all these screams from the patrons are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips." He gave you a hard, passionate kiss, biting down lightly on your lower lip. You opened your mouth, moaning when his tongue slipped in and fought yours for dominance. He won of course, and let out a sultry groan as his tongue lovingly explored the expanse of your mouth and throat. You pulled away fast.

"Gods, please just fuck me." You helped him out of his shirt, kissing every inch of skin you could find. You could hear Gale off in the distance mumbling angrily into the mic. Something about 'where that damned vampire' was. At this point, you could care less if Gale found you two out. At least he would know that you were wholly Astarion's, and he was not going to share.

His cock sprang free from his underwear as he pulled it down and off his legs, standing bare before you. You licked your lips as you saw a fat drop of precum leak out of the flushed red tip. He came closer, the tip of his cock pressed right to the entrance of your folds. Your hips softly jolted forward, eager to be filled up. He kissed both of your cheeks and gazed down at you, red eyes filled with affection. "You're the first person I've ever truly cared for," He whispered, then gently pushed his length into you, filling you up inch by inch.

You both moaned together as he bottomed out inside of you. He kissed you gently as he waited for you to adjust to his size. When you were ready for him to move, he began gingerly thrusting into you, your walls pressing around him in a warm embrace. Out of all the times you two had sex, this was the most vulnerable he had ever been with you. You moaned at the thought, basking in his affections.

He began to thrust harder, gradually getting faster as he pulled out completely and then slammed all the way back in. He placed a hand on your neck as he moved, his thumb swiping in up and down motions. "Say my name moonlight." He began hitting that sweet spot, the one he knew so well, earning a breathy scream from your lips.

"Astarion, please Astarion, I'm so close I-" You released another loud cry as his cock began hitting your cervix. The coil in your stomach was wrung tight, ready to snap at any moment. His movements were growing erratic, his cock twitching as he kissed you wherever he could. Devouring you.

"Come for me, my love."

And with that you let out a loud string of curses, the band snapping as your vision went white. The fluttering of your walls around him was too much. "Paint me 'Star, please." He quickly unsheathed himself from you and released his seed all over your torso. He moaned, his cheeks flushed red as he covered you in every last drop.

You both breathed heavily together, barely getting over the high you'd just experienced. Nothing would ever compare to this moment and many more to come. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your face paint smeared almost completely off. His mouth was covered in the white greasy paint, the green ooze mixing with it to create a light green color. "Let's get you all cleaned up before necklace-chewer finds us. The tour's over I think."

He gingerly wiped you clean with the fabric of his cape, giving your stomach a kiss when it finally looked spotless. You smiled at the show of affection, he was always good with aftercare but now it felt better. Special. Loving. He helped you down from the vanity countertop, your legs trembling as you got your bearings.

There was banging on the other side of the dressing room door, along with a very furious Gale. "Come out you two, right now. You've embarrassed our credibility as a haunted house completely for the years to come!" Jumping, you fumbled into your leotard, Astarion groaning at the sound of Gale's voice. He swiftly pulled on his slacks and shirt, the collar unbuttoned and rumpled.

"Come off it bone boy, Tav here was feeling sick. I was helping her," Astarion yelled. You both heard a string of curses and grumbles of your names. You giggled, pulling on a pair of jeans as well before collecting yourself and opening the door. You coughed and sniffled, hoping you could pull off Astarion's lie.

"I'm sorry Gale, I think a kid sneezed on me yesterday. Astarion was just getting me water and some Advil, I promise I'll rest up tonight and be ready for tomorrow." You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. Astarion smirked as he leaned against the recently warmed countertop, shrugging at Gale's miffed expression.

Gale looked down at you, your hair messed up and bruises littering your neck. He huffed, face flushing red as he looked anywhere else. He was grateful you couldn't see through the skull paint, quickly adjusting the bow tie on his tux and running a hand over his slicked down hair. "Fine. But if you get sick again I'm gonna have Withers cut your pay until the end of the week." You squealed and gave him a platonic hug, Astarion's expression instantly souring.

"Thank you thank you thank you you're the best manager ever!" You bounded past him and out of the employee exit, waiting for Astarion by your car so he could continue 'tending to the sick' as he had put it.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 smut #alternate universe #kinktober 2023 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #18+ content #18+ only #mdni #fanfic #astarion bg3 #astarion romance

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