Seb X Reader With Prompt " Kissing Their Helmet For Good Luck Before The Race" Any Seb Era (you Choose)

Soulbound Ch 3

1st Person POV:

Bobby is sitting in his make-shift library while Sam sits at a desk in the kitchen. I sit across from him while Dean paces around the room. Dean and I had just finished telling them about what happened while Sam was MIA and Bobby was ever so gently knocked unconscious by an angel.

"Well, then tell me what else it could be." Sam sighed, resting his forehead on his fist.

Dean leans forward slightly, "Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel."

"Dean I saw his wings, his friggin' wings! Is that not proof enough?" I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"No! You wanna know why? Because I didn't see 'em! Why the hell are you the only ones that can anyway? I mean, Bobby didn't!" Dean raises his voice a little, gesturing his hand towards Bobby, who's just reading in one of his many books.

"Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?" Sam's voice is calmer than his brother's, quieter.

"Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie." Dean argues. I rub my forehead in frustration, these Winchesters always being the argumentative type.

"A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife? Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!" My voice starts to raise as well, feeling more and more overstimulated by each passing moment. I roll my eyes as Dean picks up a slice of pizza, sniffs it and tosses it back in the box. "Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?" Dean waves his hands around, irritated.

Sam smirks softly, "Yeah. You just did, Dean."

"I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me." 

"Dean, we have a theory." I argue.

Dean stands up from where he was leaning on the counter, putting his hands on his hips, "Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please."

"Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we --" Sam starts before Dean interrupts.

"Okay, okay. That's the point. We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking Angel of the Lord because it says so!" Dean yells.

Bobby interjects, looking up at us, "You three chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?"

The boys and I walk over to Bobby's desk, "I got stacks of lore -- Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

"What else?" Dean asks, making me smack his shoulder.

"What else, what?" Bobby's eyebrows crinkle at the question.

"What else could do it?"

Bobby folds his hands in front of him on his lap, "Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing. And nothing on why (Y/N) can see his wings while you can't."

"Dean, this is good news." Sam beams.

"How?" Dean furrows his eyebrows and looks at his brother.

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?" Sam says, a little too excited about angels being real.

"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?" Dean's tone still holds disbelief.

"At this point, Vegas money's on yeah." Bobby shrugs.

"I don't know, guys." Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof." Sam waves his hands around. 

"Proof?" Dean narrows his eyes.

"Yes." I say incredulously. 

Dean raises his voice again, "Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it."

"Why not?" I cross my arms over my chest and shift my weight to my left leg.

"Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?" Dean's voice breaks.

"Dean --," Sam starts but Dean interrupts him.

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy."

"Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs." Sam smiles a little.

"Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by... God." Dean scoffs.

"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat." I clap my hand on his shoulder. 

A silence passes over us before Dean clears his throat, "Fine. What do we know about angels?"

My mouth falls open slightly as Bobby plops half a dozen heavy books in front of us, "Start reading." The older man says.

Dean's eyes widen and he looks at Sam, "You're gonna get me some pie." Then he grabs the top book from the pile. I sigh and grab the second book, plopping onto the couch and opening it.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

Sam pulls up in the Impala as Bobby, Dean and I load the trunk of Bobby's car. Bobby tosses a brown duffel bag in it then walks up to Sam, telling him about his plan for us to go see a friend of his, Olivia Lowry. Dean walks around to the driver's side while I go to the backseat, Bobby going to his own car.

"Scoot over." Dean all but demands.

"Yeah." Sam responds, looking a little concerned. Dean grabs the bag of food from Sam and rifles around inside it. "Dude?" Dean doesn't look up from the bag.

"Yeah?" Sam looks at his brother while I giggle, knowing where this is going.

Dean looks at his brother, wide-eyed, "Where's the pie?" 

~~~~~~~

We all walk into Olivia's house, all armed with guns and Bobby calling out to his friend. "Olivia?" I round the corner with the boys, seeing the woman dead on the floor, bloody and mangled. Bobby says nothing as he walks out of the room and out the front door. 

"Bobby?" I follow him out, wanting to make sure he was okay. I see Bobby on his phone, dialing someone else's number. "Bobby?" He looks up at me, trying not to show just how distraught he is and failing. "Are you okay, Bobby?" He nods silently, bringing his phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he sighs and tries another number. He repeats this process a couple times, growing a little agitated. Bobby puts his down again, putting his other hand on my shoulder and leading me back inside silently.

"Bobby, you all right?" Dean asks him. Sam stands up from his position, previously crouched over Olivia's body.

Bobby keeps his hand on my shoulder, maybe a little worried if I wander too far I'll end up like Olivia, "I called some hunters nearby..."

"Good. We can use their help." Dean grimaces down at the corpse.

"...except they ain't answering their phones either." Bobby finishes.

Sam looks at Bobby sympathetically, "Something's up, huh?"

"You think?" Bobby leads me back outside, I can feel Sam and Dean's eyes boring into our backs.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam and I are driving to another hunter's house, a friend of Bobby's named Jed. Dean's been calling him every once and a while on the drive with no answer. "Jed, Dean Winchester again -- friend of Bobby Singer's. Look, we think something's happening. We think it's happening to hunters. Just want to make sure you're okay. Call me back."

Dean hangs up the phone and sets it on the dash as he drives, "Damn it."

I sigh softly, not having much hope that Jed is still alive, or anyone that Bobby has called.

~~~~~~~

"We're at Jed's. It's not pretty. He looks even worse than Olivia. What about you?" Dean speaks to Bobby through the phone as we walk down the front porch steps. After Bobby's response Dean speaks again, "What the hell is going on here, Bobby? Why did a bunch of ghosts suddenly want to gank off-duty hunters?" More silence as Bobby speaks, then Dean says, "We're on our way."

~~~~~~~

Dean is driving, on the phone, trying to get ahold of Bobby. Sam is in the passenger seat with bruises on his face, I try to assess his injuries, distracting myself from the growing anxiety of my surrogate father not answering his God damn phone.

"Damn it, Bobby! Pick up!" Dean yells, looking at his phone, then putting it back up to his ear.

"How you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?" I ask Sam, holding up three fingers.

"None. I'll be fine, (Y/N)." 

"Henriksen?" Dean asks.

"The FBI dude?" I raise my eyebrow. Dean and I were both asleep in the Impala when Sam was attacked in the bathroom, Dean saving him with salt rounds, while I took the gas pump out of the car, unaware.

"Yep." Sam nods.

"Why? What did he want?" I ask, leaning back against my seat, arms crossed over my chest.

"Revenge, 'cause we got him killed." Sam sighs.

"Sam." Dean says sternly.

"Well, we did, Dean." Sam tilts his head.

"All right. Stop right there. Whatever the hell is going on, it's happening to us now, okay? I can't get ahold of Bobby, so if you're not thinking answers, don't think at all." Dean scolds, rather harshly, speeding to Bobby's.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam and I enter the house, guns cocked and ready. "Bobby?" I call out, moving throughout the first floor.

"Bobby?" Dean calls. He snaps his fingers, pointing to a fire poker on the floor.

"I'll go. You check outside." I gesture to the stairs, the boys nodding and going outside to the junkyard. I go upstairs, searching for Bobby, calling his name every once in a while. A door slams next to me, making my head whip to my right. Another door shuts at the end of the hall, then the last one opens. 

"Come out, come out, whoever you are." I say as I slowly make my way down the hall. My breath becomes visible.

"(Y/N) Singer. Or should I say (L/N). Still so bossy." I turn around, seeing a woman a little older than me with (h/l) (h/c) hair. "You don't recognize me?" 

My eyebrows crinkle, remembering a picture of my mom and dad Bobby grabbed when he found me. My mother was standing before me, looking as she did when I was a baby, albeit a bit dirty.

My mother takes a step forward, "This is what I looked like when you were tiny. You were only a few months old when that demon killed me and your dad."

"Mom?" I tear up a little, letting my guard down slightly.

She smiles lovingly, "Hi. It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you, baby."

"You're my mom. Bobby saved a picture of you for me..."

"I'm glad he did, so you could recognize me now. You were too young to remember that demon possessing me. Too young to remember the demon in my body killing your daddy right in front of you. Then Bobby Singer showed up, your little self screaming and crying in your crib. The demon made me stab myself. So when Bobby exorcised the demon, I died too." She takes slow steps towards me.

"I'm sorry, Mom." I try to keep my tears at bay.

"Oh, yeah? So sorry that you're the reason the demon was there?" She tilts her head.

"W-What? What do you-?" My mom cuts me off, yelling.

"That demon was there for you! You're the reason your father and I are dead! It's all your fault! Without you, your dad would still be alive! I would still be alive!"

I sniffle, flinching slightly as a tear falls, "How is it my fault!? I was a baby!"

My mother takes another step forward, hitting me with a right hook, making me fall to the floor. My gun clatters to the floor and she kicks it away. "Mom." I grunt, bringing myself to my elbows before she kicks me in the face. I groan and roll onto my back. "I was a baby..."

My mom scoffs, crouching in front of me, "No...you're apparently more than that. Important enough that demons wanted you. Do you know what you are?"

"No, I don't." My voice comes out strained.

She grabs the collar of my shirt, I glance down, seeing a brand on her hand. "Of course not. Not a clue that the angel on your shoulder is the reason I'm like this..."

"What are you talking about?"

She shoves me back down, sending another harsh kick to my ribs. She stands over me, continuing her monologue, "Your daddy worshipped you. He was gonna be at your beck and call as his little girl. He died protecting you. He died because he was determined to not let that thing have you."

"Mom."

"You were the best thing to happen to us. We were already planning when to give you a little brother or sister. Picturing you running around with your sibling, being a mentor. But when that demon told your dad what you are, speaking with my voice! It's all your fault! I wish I never had you!"

Another tear falls down my cheek, I'm not sure if it's from physical pain or emotional at this point. "I'm sorry, Mom."

She grits her teeth and kicks me again. I grunt and get to my hands and knees, trying to crawl away, I probably have a broken rib...or two. I lay back down on the ground, pulling a pistol from my boot. I aim it at my mother, glaring slightly.

"Oh come on. Are you really that stupid? You can't get rid of me with regular bullets." My mother taunts.

"I'm not shooting you." I grunt, aiming my gun up to a chandelier, shooting the chain. It falls and immediately makes my mom disappear. "Iron. Bitch." I groan in pain, laying there for a moment.

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean, Bobby and I are in the study, the boys looking away from me as my shirt is sitting on my shoulders so I can wrap an ace bandage on my ribs. Dark bruising covers my ribs and stomach, making me wince.

"So, they're all people we know?" Sam questions, his arms out disbelievingly.

"Not just know. People that died because of us. I saw something on my mom's hand, and I don't think she had any tattoos on her hands, it looked like a brand." I huff, struggling with the bandage. Sam walks over and helps me wrap it around myself, being gentle and not letting his eyes wander.

"I saw a mark, too, on Henriksen." He says.

"What did it look like?" Bobby asks.

Sam finishes wrapping my ribs, standing back up from his kneeling position, "Uh, paper?" Bobby hands him a piece of paper and a pencil, "Thanks." He begins to sketch the symbol on the paper. I pull my shirt back on as Sam shows me the symbol and I nod, "that's it." 

Sam shows it to Bobby, "I may have seen this before." He says as the radio starts up and lights flicker, "We got to move."

Bobby hands Sam a couple books, "Follow me."

"Okay, where are we going?" Sam asks.

Bobby looks at Sam like he grew another head, "Some place safe, you idjit."

Bobby picks up a couple more books and leads us into the basement. We walk to the back of the basement and Bobby opens a big, solid iron door. We walk inside, the boys looking rather impressed, meanwhile I helped Bobby set this up a long time ago. The light turns on, revealing the devil's trap on the floor. It has a bed, weapons rack, desk and a couple other things. Bobby shuts the door and sets the books down.

"Bobby, is this..." Sam starts.

"Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof." He nods, a little bit of boasting in his tone.

"You built a panic room?"

"I had a weekend off." Bobby shrugs.

"Bobby." Dean says.

"What?"

Dean holds up a rifle Bobby had on the gun rack, "You're awesome." Dean smiles and looks at the wall, seeing a poster of a swimsuit model. Obviously not my idea. "Oh."

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I are making salt rounds at the table, while Bobby is writing something down at the desk nearby. A heavy silence hangs in the air as Sam and Dean glance at each other. Dean speaks up first, "See, this is why I can't get behind God."

"What are you talking about?" Sam's eyebrows crinkle.

"If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is." Dean looks back at Bobby then back at Sam and I. "There's no rhyme or reason -- just random, horrible, evil -- I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?" Sam looks over at Bobby, silently asking for help with this conundrum.

"I ain't touching this one with at 10-foot pole." Bobby chuckles nervously.

"Yeah." Dean scoffs.

Bobby taps his pencil on the book in front of him, "Found it."

"What?" I ask.

"The symbol you saw -- the brand on the ghosts..."

Sam nods, "Yeah?"

"Mark of the Witness." Bobby flips a page in the book, pointing to the symbol.

"Witness? Witness to what?" My eyebrows furrow, a confused look on my face.

"The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts -- they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them... on purpose." Bobby informs.

"Who?" I ask, irritation lacing my tone at the thought of someone doing that to my poor mother.

"Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called 'the rising of the witnesses.' It figures into an ancient prophecy."

"Wait, wait. What -- what book is that prophecy from?" Dean asks, him and Sam standing up and walking over to Bobby. I stay at the table, ignoring the dull throbbing in my ribs.

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short -- Revelations. This is a sign, kids."

I rub my forehead, "A sign of what?" 

Bobby leans back in his chair, glancing from me to the boys, "The apocalypse."

"Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?" Dean asks incredulously.

"That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a -- a mile marker."

"Okay, so, what do we do now?" Sam interrogates.

Dean scoffs, walking back to the table, "Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience." He claps his hands. "Bunny Ranch." Dean sits back down with me at the table.

"We're not going to Carson City." I cross my legs, resisting the urge to throw one of these salt rounds at him.

"First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?" Bobby rocks slightly in the desk chair.

"Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?" Dean tilts his head.

Bobby taps his pencil on the page in front of him, "It's a spell to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

"Should. Great." Sam chuckles.

"If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house." Bobby says hopefully.

Dean smiles. "Any chance you got everything we need here in this room?"

"So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden?" Bobby says with his signature sass. He stands up, walking to the gun rack, "Spell's got to be cast over an open fire."

"The fireplace in the library." Sam states.

"Bingo."

Dean looks between Bobby, Sam and I, "That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?" Sam sighs and we start preparing to leave the panic room.

"Cover each other. And aim careful. Don't run out of ammo until I'm done, or they'll shred you. Ready?" Bobby asks after we've loaded our guns and got things ready. Bobby pushes open the door, all of us aiming our guns and ready to fire. We round the corner to the stairs, seeing a man with dark, curly hair sitting near the top.

The man looks up, smiling a little, "Hey, Dean. You remember me?"

Dean smiles as well, "Ronald, huh? With the laser eyes? I wish I could say it's good to see you." 

"I am dead because of you. You were supposed to help me!" Ronald yells, standing up.

Bobby shoots Ronald with a salt round, making him disappear, "If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk."

Sam, Bobby, Dean and I get up the stairs and into the living room, I help Sam pour a salt circle while Dean starts the fire in the fireplace. Bobby looks at Sam, "Upstairs, linen closet -- red hex box. It'll be heavy."

"Got it." Sam nods and goes upstairs.

Two little girls appear, both with dark hair and dirty dresses. "Bobby." One of them says. I shoot them bot before they can get another word out.

"Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood." Bobby tells me.

"Opium?"

"Go!" Bobby yells at me.

I go into the kitchen and rifle through the cutlery drawer, grabbing what Bobby asked for under a false bottom in the drawer, when I hear another gunshot, meaning one of the boys shot another ghost. The doors to the kitchen close suddenly. "(Y/N)?" Bobby yells for me, worry in his tone.

"I'm all right, Bobby! Keep working!" I see Henrikson appear next to me out of the corner of my eye, grabbing my wrist, "Victor."

"(Y/N)." His voice is full of malice, of hatred.

"I know."

He scoffs, "No. You don't."

"It's our fault you're dead. We left you behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, 'I should've known.' We should've protected you." I reach behind me to grab my shotgun, but it's flung across the room.

"Unh-unh. Not so fast." I look at my discarded gun then back at Henrikson, "You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of... white light? If only. 45 minutes."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, "What?"

Henrikson continues, "Over 45 minutes. Lilith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first. Remember her? Nancy, the virgin. Lilith filleted Nancy's skin off piece by piece. Right in front of us, made us watch. Nancy never stopped screaming."

"No." I could feel the guilt racking my brain.

"I was the last."

"Victor..." I start, full of remorse. Henrikson reaches into my chest, gripping my heart, making me grunt and grit my teeth. "Tell me how it's fair. Dean gets saved from Hell -- I die. Why does he deserve another chance, (Y/N)?"

Henrikson sighs, my eyes shutting as my vision starts to fade, before a loud gunshot makes my ears ring. Henrikson's hand disappears from my chest and I crumble to the ground, gasping and coughing.  

"You all right?" Sam kneels next to me as I grasp my chest where Henrikson's hand was.

I wince, "No."

"Let's go." Sam helps me to my feet. He opens the kitchen door, carrying the hexbox while I bring in the bowl of ingredients. We set them on the desk in front of Bobby and he starts putting things together. Ronald appears again as Dean is reloading his gun.

"Ronald. Hey, come on, man. I thought we were pals." Dean smiles a little, putting the salt rounds in his gun.

"That's when I was breathing. Now I'm gonna eat you alive." Ronald smiles back. 

Dean chuckles, "Well...come on, I'm not a cheeseburger." Dean cocks his gun and points it at Ronald, but Ronald has vanished. Bobby recites some Latin words and the windows blow open and a wind fills the room. The wind breaks the salt circle, leaving us vulnerable. Meg appears and Sam quickly shoots at her, as Bobby continues to recite the spell. My mother materializes in front of me, Dean shooting her.

Ronald appears and I shoot him. Sam, Dean and I continue to fire as the ghosts show up. My mom appears again and knocks my gun out of my hands. I quickly pick up an iron rod and swing it at her. Meg comes into view and pushes Sam against the wall, trapping him there with a desk. Sam grunts as he tries to push the desk away without success.

Dean shouts, "Sam!"

"Cover Bobby!" His brother responds, his voice strained.

Bobby continues to recite the spell as Sam keeps trying to get out from behind the desk. The two little are sitting on the desk in front of Sam. Meg plunges a hand into Bobby's back, making him drop the bowl with spell ingredients with a grunt. Bobby yells at me in a strained voice as I catch the bowl, "(Y/N)! Fireplace!"

I throw the bowl in the fire, which turns blue. Dean grabs me and pulls me from the fire as a bright light explodes in the room and we shield our eyes. When we look around the ghosts are gone and Bobby falls to the floor.

"Bobby?" I call to him, concerned.

Sam pushes the desk away from him while Dean nd I go over to Bobby. The boys help him up and I stand in front of him, looking at his face. Bobby nods, telling us he is okay.

~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV:

The couch where (Y/N) was supposed to be sleeping was empty. Sam and Dean are asleep on the floor nearby when the sound of wings wake up Dean. He looks up to find Castiel standing in the kitchen. Dean checks on Sam and sees he is asleep. He looks to the couch, seeing it empty and he grows concerned and walks over to join Castiel, who is leaning against the sink.

"Where's (Y/N)?" Dean asks him.

"She is outside, she is safe." He says, monotone. "Excellent job with the witnesses."

"You were hip to all this?" Dean asks incredulously.

Castiel nods, "I was, uh, made aware."

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, (Y/N) almost got her heart ripped out of her chest. Not to mention some broken ribs." Dean says angrily.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I plan on talking to her after I'm done with you." He says, the same guilt on his face that he had when he was reminded about blinding Pamela.

Dean furrows his eyebrows. "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

"Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."

"Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?" Dean interrogates.

Castiel continues in his monotone voice, "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns." He puts emphasis on 'your'.

Dean looks at the angel with offense, "Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"

"There's a God."

"I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"

Castiel sighs, "The Lord works..."

Dean interrupts him, "If you say 'mysterious ways' so help me, I will kick your ass." Castiel puts his hands up momentarily in surrender, "So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse."

The angel nods, "That's why we're here. Big things afoot."

"Do I want to know what kind of things?"

"I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals." Castiel states.

"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld." Dean says sarcastically.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

Dean nods in understanding, "She did the spell. She rose the witnesses."

"Mm-hmm. And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead." Castiel informs.

"Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humor."

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest."

Castiel shakes his head, "It doesn't matter. The seal was broken."

"Why break the seal anyway?" Dean asks.

"You think of the seals as locks on a door."

"Okay. Last one opens and..." Dean trails off.

Castiel stands up straight, "Lucifer walks free."

"Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

"Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?" Castiel asks.

Dean makes the realization, "To stop Lucifer."

"That's why we've arrived."

"Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice." Dean gives the angel attitude.

"We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." Castiel threatens before he vanishes from Dean's sight.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:  

A flutter of wings makes me jump as I sit on the hood of one of Bobby's junk cars, my knees curled to my chest. Castiel stands in front of me, a gentle smile on his face, his wings folded behind him.

"Hello (Y/N)," He greets, his voice monotone.

"Hi Castiel," I give him a polite smile back.

"Good job with the witnesses, I'm glad to see you alive." He nods once, taking a step forward. "But I was made aware that you're injured."

"A, uh, a couple broken ribs, I'll be okay." 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," Castiel apologizes.

"It's alright, you're busy, I get it." I hum and smile softly.

"May I...heal you?" 

I give him a look of surprise and I nod. Castiel brings two fingers to my forehead and I close my eyes, honestly preparing to hurt some. But instead, the dull throbbing of my ribs completely disappears in seconds. "Thank you Castiel."

He smiles again, "Thank you for letting me."

"C-Can I ask you something?" I stutter, my (e/c) eyes meeting his light blue ones.

"Anything." He answers honestly.

"Today, one of the witnesses was my mother. Her and my dad were killed by a demon when I was a baby. My mom said the demon was after me, that's why it was there. Because of the 'angel on my shoulder'. Do you know what she meant?" I ask, using air quotes.

Castiel nods, looking down at the ground, he seemed almost...nervous. "It's because your soul is tied to...my grace. Which could be harnessed in a way that can cause both of us great harm, even death."

"W-What do you mean? 'Tied to your grace'? Is that why I can see your wings?" My thoughts are going a thousand miles a minute.

The angel sighs and nods again, taking another step forward. "Every angel has a soul they are tied to. But not every soul is tied to an angel. I believe the term humans use is 'soulmate.'"

I look at Castiel like he grew a second head, "So what? I'm destined to be with you or something?" 

His eyebrows crinkle and he shakes his head quickly, "No, you still have the free will to choose that. It's more like I am your guardian angel. My father, he wanted to give us something to...live for. A lot of angels never meet the soul they are bound to, some die before they do. But the humans they are bound to, they are almost always reborn, or reincarnated. Unless that soul is sent to Hell."

 "I-I'm sorry, that's a lot to take in." I interrupt before he can continue.

He nods once more, fidgeting with the sleeve of his trenchcoat, "I felt like this isn't something I should keep from you. You deserve to know."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks Castiel." I nod, swallowing thickly.

Castiel's wings spread out a little, "I-I need to get going. Just know that if you pray to me, I will be there as soon as I can. I will always be someone you can count on."

(A/N:) 5.3k words later. This was really long, so I hope you like long chapters. This would have been out sooner but my daughter's first birthday was on March 30th. I've learned these take about 3-4 days to write so I will try to post at least twice a week. Thank you for reading and I hope the exposition at the end made sense. 

Anything II (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper. The altercation ends in your hospitalisation and when you've finally recovered, Price assigns the same man who destroyed you to teach you how to never let it happen again.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I genuinely hope this isn't dog shit and a complete letdown.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD episode, graphic description of unintentional self-inflicted injury.

Previous Chapter

You had thrown up. Twice.

Pressure snaked its way from your chest to your throat and nausea gripped your stomach. You felt deeply unsettled. Your fingers shook, your face was gaunt- you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were a mess.

All because of him.

You cussed beneath your breath, bouncing on your toes lightly. You were due for another training session and considering you’d bailed on the last one, you couldn’t afford to skip it again. You’d received an earful from Price for walking out after your conversation with König.

That fucker had reported back to the Captain that you’d simply ‘discussed the terms of the agreement.’

You slapped your thighs. Then, you hit them harder. The sharp pain jolted your system, and you used the distraction to force yourself out the door. The more you dwelled on it, the more you needed to vomit again.

This time, König was waiting for you.

He sat on the bench, legs spread and his head down. He was fidgeting with his gloves and, had you not known any better, you’d have thought that maybe you’d snuck up on him. But you did know better. König was aware of your presence the second you entered the hallway.  

You sucked in a breath as he finally looked up, pretending that he’d only just noticed you. His features were obscured by his hood, giving you no indication of his reaction. He felt inhuman, there was no tug of his lips or twitch in his cheek- only an emerald gaze that stripped you of your courage. 

“Birdy,” König tipped his head in greeting, your name soft on his lips. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. You hated when he spoke like that, low and from his chest. You wished he would yell, you wished he would be boisterous— anything to drown his promises of death in your ear. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t say his name. Instead, you slowly entered the room and moved to the farthest side from him. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs and the nausea you’d felt earlier was back in full swing. 

“The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave,” König reminded you, flicking his gaze across your attire. 

“Then start,” you snapped. The man blinked at your aggression and his fidgeting fingers fell still. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. That emerald gaze was pinned to your figure, steady and inquisitive and terrifying. He straightened up from where he was slouched over, his seated form already taller than you standing. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable with this arrangement?” König spoke slowly, each word enunciated with careful control over his tone. Your heart dropped to your stomach, he was getting frustrated. 

You wanted to spit at him that the only way you’d ever be comfortable was if he were to leave. You wanted to shout at him to fuck right off back to KorTac and never show his face again; that’s what would ease your mind. 

But, as he held his body deathly still, that stare trained on yours- you reminded yourself of what he was capable of. 

“The mask,” you whispered, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook. 

König finally moved, leaning back into the bench as he took in a long breath. He waited for you to continue, to pitch your proposition, but your mouth had gone dry and your tongue had fallen limp. When he realized that you weren’t going to offer anything more, he nodded his head, clasping his hands together tightly. 

“You want me to…” König bounced his leg, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “You want me to take it off?” 

You nodded your head. König said nothing. The sinking feeling that he just might reject your request began to worry you. He could say no and there would be nothing you could do to argue that, you were still required by order to do these training sessions regardless of whether he agreed to your requests or not. 

You swallowed thickly, scrubbing your nose to break the eye contact between you both. You couldn't stand it. 

"I can't do this if you're wearing that thing," you waved vaguely at his face, keeping your eyes low. "It- I just-" 

Frustration burned in your chest as you flailed to articulate your feelings. You couldn't tell him outright that his stupid fucking mask plagued your dreams every night. You couldn't tell him about the terror that gripped you by the throat whenever you laid eyes on it. 

König didn't let you finish, anyway. He reached for his hood, swiftly pulling it from his head and, again, you were thrown off kilter by his appearance. 

His brows were furrowed as he observed you from beneath his lashes. "I know." 

He knew what you were trying to say. 

"Shall we start?" He asked, slowly standing to his feet. And, despite it being painfully obvious that he was keeping his body language open, you still took an inadvertent step back. You cursed beneath your breath when he straightened up to his full height, the urge to run from the room was almost overwhelming. König triggered your fight or flight response and your body was a slave to its survival instincts. 

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to stay still as he approached. 

"What are we doing?" You forced the question from your throat, trying to distract yourself from the hulking figure moving closer. 

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

"I don't want to do this," you said as calmly as you could. Your pulse climbed rapidly as König's gaze softened. 

"I know," he murmured. "But neither of us has a choice." 

You didn't give a fuck about him or his choices. You couldn't care less whether he was here of his own volition or if he'd been ordered to take care of your training; you only cared about the fact that he was twice your size and had nearly murdered you once before. 

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

Actually, what you really couldn't believe was how this cunt was even allowed to be here. 

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

Maybe you had overestimated your importance to the team, maybe you had misunderstood the bond between you all. You'd been replaced by your own aggressor and Price had allowed it. 

Clearly, you hadn't meant as much as you thought to the 141.

“Birdy.” 

You jumped, tripping backward into the bench behind you. You stared wide-eyed at König who was equally as startled by your reaction. 

“What?”You snapped, straightening up as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t almost frightened you out of your skin. 

He hesitated before continuing, the side eye he shot you was clearly one of concern. Disgusting. “I need you to lie on your stomach.” 

“No.” The word fell from your mouth before you’d even realized it. 

König raised a single brow. “You want this to happen again?” 

He gestured at your swollen cheeks, the fresh scarring from your stitches that littered your face. The man referenced you like an artist would show off their masterpiece. 

“Only to you,” you said, your voice sickly sweet as you forced a bitter smile to your lips. The fluid in your cheeks felt like liquid fire beneath your skin at the movement, but the way his expression fell made the pain worth it. 

“Then get on the floor so I can teach you how,” König crossed his arms, carefully schooling his features to give away nothing- but it was too late. You saw that you’d hurt him with the comment, or at least affected him enough to feel satisfied. 

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

Konig’s knee came into your vision as he knelt by your prone body. You couldn’t see his upper body, you couldn’t see where his hands were. He made no noise to indicate what he was going to do and your spine seized along our back.

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

“König,” you rasped, pressing your hands into the floor. “König, I don’t want to do this.” 

Your breath was too fast, you felt like you were channelling air in through your mouth just to be sent right back out. It was as though you were rapidly suffocating, not getting any oxygen to fill your lungs, the room spinning from where you lay. 

“Birdy, you need this,” König reminded you from above. The words sounded distant and muffled like someone had placed their hands over your ears and spoken softly.

You gasped loudly as the man behind you straddled your back, the mass of his body resting against the lower half of your extremely fragile spine. You wanted to buck and kick and scream until he was forced off of you but your mouth was dry and words evaded you. 

“I want to teach you how to spin onto your back first,” König said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You can’t win from your stomach.” 

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

“No,” you said firmly, twisting experimentally from beneath him. “No, get off. I’m not doing this.” 

There was a sharp sigh from behind you and instead of moving from his position, König began applying pressure. Your chest sunk into the ground as he leant just a fraction of his weight onto your body. 

“Then get me off.” 

The floor was hard against your body, it felt like your ribs were collapsing from beneath you. You could barely breathe as it was and now you were gasping like a fish out of water. There were so many things he could do to you from this position, so many ways he could torture you and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.

You tried to press upwards with your hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure from your chest. It was fruitless considering the 130 kilograms of muscle pressing your face into the floor, but you tried again. Then again. 

You were beginning to sweat, your palms slipping on the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion and you could feel your resolve slipping, your control spiralling from your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off me,” you wheezed, that same ugly pressure clawing its way up your ribs and into your throat. “König, I’m serious. Get off.” 

“Listen to me and I’ll teach you how to get out of this yourself,” König’s voice was firm. There was no room to argue, the bite in his tone enough to put the fear of God into you.  “Pull your knee up beside you, slide forward to get up onto your knees and roll me off to the side.” 

You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to breathe as evenly as you could. Your skin burned where he touched, your body screaming at his presence atop of you. 

Get him off, off, off. 

The weight of his body eased as he let you perform the maneuver. He was too heavy and you were too tired to pull that move off without his help, but you didn’t care anymore. You’d do anything for him to get the fuck away from you, you’d do anything for him to never touch you again. 

Konig rested his weight back down, straddling your hips as you lay on your back now, facing upward. 

The exact same position of that night. 

Your breathing picked up and your hands began to tremble. The sensation of excess adrenaline flooding your body, a feeling that you were familiar with, rendering you shaking but incapacitated. 

The hood was on his face again and his eyes were wild and manic. You’d never seen that look in a mans eyes before, you knew then that he was going to kill you. The emerald glint of his psychotic glare was all that you could see. It was so dark and he was so fast, you weren’t able to predict his moves because you couldn’t fucking see them. He was a shadow, he was death incarnate. Your body was on fire, your lungs screaming from within your chest. 

The monster’s eyes drifted to your chest and you followed his gaze. The handle of a knife jutted from above your breast bone and you snap your eyes back to his. Blood sprayed in the space between the both of you as he twisted the knife in your chest. You’d forgotten the noise that it had made, your punctured lung sucking air from the bloody wound with a wet gasp. 

König’s eyes were hard as he reached for your face, fingers outstretched and closing in across your vision. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

You bucked, you heaved, you fought off his grip. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what came next. This time, your brain matter would be smeared across the floor, this time he would finish you off. 

You clawed at the fingers wrapped across your face desperately, trying to draw enough blood for him to flinch away. You ripped at his skin as hard as you could manage, screaming against his palm. 

“Birdy, stop!” 

Nothing was working, nothing could stop him. You dragged your nails across his fingers, driving them into the divots of his cuticles in an attempt to deglove his skin from bone. 

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

When König smashed your head into the concrete, you were grateful for the darkness that ensued. 

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

And, by God, did you fucking hate that smell. 

The scent of disinfectant flooded your olfactory system so viciously that you were forced up in your seat. You scrubbed at your eyes desperately, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that you weren’t where you thought you were. 

White lights flooded your vision and you cringed back into the cushions, pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

That familiar cockney accent served as a warning. Gloved hands tugged your fists down from your face and you tried to regain control of your breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ghost?” You rasped. Your voice was barely a squeak, and you realized with a frown that you’d lost it somehow. 

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

You slowly attempted to regain your sight, blinking away the blurriness and the harshness of the down lights. You gingerly observed your surroundings, heart sinking to your stomach as you recognised the room. 

You’d been on this bed for weeks during your recovery from the incident. 

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

Swallowing the bile threatening to make an appearance, you dragged your gaze to the seat by your bed. Ghost sat so still you could have mistaken him for a piece of furniture had you not been actively looking for him. 

The man watched you carefully, his hoodie raised over his head and the balaclava perched firmly over the lower half of his features. 

“When did you get back?” You asked, cringing at the broken sound of your voice. Ghost exhaled through his nose and his eyes softened under your scrutiny, an expression you’d never seen before flickering across his gaze. You were disoriented, still unsure of how he had gotten there or what you were doing there. 

“Yesterday.” 

You froze, eyes widening as Ghost waited for you to come to the realization. 

“How long have I been in here?” You cried, the words gutted by your vocal fatigue. “What the fuck happened?” 

“You need to take a breath,” Ghost leaned forward, his hand pressing lightly against your shoulder, prompting you to lay back into the cushions. 

“No, you need to tell me what happened, Simon,” you reinforced, throwing a hand to your chest. You pressed against the skin, as though you could force your lungs to slow down with just a touch. 

Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat, strangled and uncomfortable. You could tell that he hadn’t expected you to wake up while he was there. 

“You…” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you heard Simon Riley hesitate. 

Your mouth was dry as you realised the severity of what had happened, the anxiety of not knowing what you’d done ripping at your chest. Your eyes were pleading now, begging him to just come out with it, to tell you the truth. 

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

“You had an incident, Birdy.” Ghost said slowly, deliberating over his words carefully. “An episode.” 

“An episode?” You questioned, narrowing your gaze. “The fuck do you mean an episode?” 

Ghost didn’t shift in his seat the way König did when under pressure, he didn’t fidget or bounce his leg. Simon Riley sat still like a cold-blooded creature, watching you from the darkest corner of the room with a cool, steady gaze. 

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

“During your ‘training’ with that cunt,” Ghost spat the words, his eyes shifting to the side as he centred himself. “We heard your screaming as we were on the way back in.” 

“We?’ You rasped, dread settling in your stomach. 

“Me and Johnny,” Ghost clarified. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You had to be sedated, kid.” 

The skin on your cheek stung sharply before you could process that bombshell. You frowned, attempting to ignore it in favour of uncovering what had happened. Ghost was never one to beat around the bush, always outright and as ‘blunt as a cunt’, in Soap’s words. 

So, why was he now omitting a key part of the story? 

The skin beneath your eyes stung again, this time demanding your attention. You began to sweat at the sudden severity of the pain, hands flying to your face to diagnose the issue.

Ghost moved before you could blink, striking out like a cobra. His hands gripped your wrists, keeping them from scouring over the skin. Your eyes were wide as you appraised him, bent over your bed, your hands suspended in his grip between the both of you. 

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

You shoved at his body, ripping your hands from his hold. You needed to get to a mirror. Throwing yourself off the side of the bed, you gasped as your knees buckled from their sudden use. Simon gripped your bicep, pulling you upright with ease, but you tugged against him immediately. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He retracted his hand as though he’d been burned. 

You stormed into the bathroom, the door smashing against the rubber stop glued to the wall. The lights flickered to life as you bashed the switch with the bottom of your closed fist. 

You could have thrown up. 

Gauze pads covered both your cheeks, stained pink from what you realized was blood. Your face was bleeding. A whimper fell from your lips as you reached for the dressing, peeling it slowly from your skin. Your mouth fell open at the slow reveal of what hid beneath the gauze. 

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

Jagged, deep wounds, tearing down the length of your face; raw, bleeding and fresh. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Distantly, you could see Ghost standing behind you in the mirror, his gaze solemn and his hands clenched. You couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t form the words but you didn’t have to. Simon had understood you back when you were eating from a straw, your eyes so puffy you couldn’t open them for days. 

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the only comfort he could offer as you stared at your mangled reflection, yet again. 

“You were screaming for him to get off,” Ghost began, his fingers tightening against your burning skin. “The fucker was standing next to me.” 

Blood dribbled down the distinct lines engraved into your flesh, tracing the length of your throat and disappearing down your hospital gown. The both of you watched it trail your prickled skin, but you couldn’t move, suspended in time and trapped with the image before you.

Simon’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

NEXT CHAPTER

____

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Pay No Attention to the Magizoologist

Theseus Scamander x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requested by anon!

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Y/N and Newt have been friends for a long time, and for almost as long, Y/N has also had a crush on Newt’s older brother Theseus. Years and years later, after their Hogwarts days, several run-ins with Grindelwald, the death of Leta Lestrange, and the wedding of Queenie and Jacob, Newt is still subverting Ministry rules in the name of helping his creatures. And, as usual, Y/N is an accomplice in his schemes. So, when Newt goes running out the door with his creatures and Jacob in tow, it falls to Y/N to distract Theseus and keep him from following Newt’s trail. And this distraction might just lead to a bigger change than any of them bargained for.

Word Count: 2,439

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Keep reading

Apples

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You tossed an apple to Luke without knowing the meaning of it in Greek Mythology (fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: Just wanted to write something lighthearted and funny. Since I saw somewhere that apparently throwing an apple at someone means something in Greek Mythology, thought I should use it as a prompt.

Word count: 3.1k

You have been at Camp Half-Blood for a year. Within that time, you’ve been claimed by your Godly parent, learned so many things about Greek mythology, and, best of all, made friends who understood exactly what you were going through and all whom you loved dearly. 

One of them was Luke Castellan. You two were relatively close friends, though you swore he treated you differently than he would with others at camp. But you didn’t want to be foolish and assumed it was something. That didn’t mean you don’t treat him differently than you would with other campers though. You have always had a soft spot for Luke in your heart. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but you found yourself thinking about him too often.

“Anyway, Percy. Don’t worry too much, honestly. We all have been through what you’re currently going through. You’ll fit right in, yeah?” the younger boy offered you a lope-sided smile as you patted his back and stood up. 

“Alright, boys, I have to go now, but I’ll see you later,” you said before grabbing your plate, which would have been empty if it wasn’t for the apple you hadn’t eaten. The rest of the table - which included Chris, Luke, and Percy - said their goodbyes before chattering again as you walked away. However, you halted as you changed your mind about wasting the apple.

You turned back to look at the group before calling out, “Hey, Castellan.” However, you were slightly caught off guard to see Luke already having his eyes on you.

Luke swore that you have always had him mesmerized. If he even heard a whisper of your voice, his head would immediately try to locate you. To make matters worse, Chris even started calling Luke a “lost puppy” when he realized how your departure would always leave Luke like one. 

“Catch,” you tossed your apple at Luke. 

Multiple heads turned in your direction as the red apple hurled through the air before landing neatly in Luke’s hands. The Hermes cabin counselor had his eyes glued onto the fruit that was in his palms. You almost halted in your steps from his and other camper’s reactions. Some started whispering to their friends, pointing at you. You even heard one gasp. But you ignored them, finding it strange that people cared so much about such a small interaction.

“You can have it. I don’t think I’ll have time to eat it,” with that, you vanished from the scene, leaving at least half of the camp agape, including Luke and your friends. 

Then, the strangest of things happened for the next few days. It started with Luke already stationed outside when you exited your cabin the morning after. He cheekily presented you with one singular flower in his hand, and you took it with playful words, “Ooh, what did I do to deserve this special treatment today?”

“Nothing, just thought I should show how much I appreciate you,” Luke put his arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to the dining pavilion. You could feel your cheeks flushing at his action. He has never done this before. With his arms around you, the sides of your bodies brushed as the two of you walked. You noticed almost immediately how every other person would have their eyes on the two of you. But you ignored the attention and focused on Luke instead.

The sweet actions didn’t stop at flowers or more physical touches. For the next three days, Luke was stuck to your hip. So it was quite strange that you have not spotted the Hermes cabin counselor in the last two hours. Hence why you were spending some time with Clarisse, another close friend of yours. However, you felt an arm swinging around your shoulders, and you instantly recognized who it was from the familiar touch.

“Hey, Clarisse, can I borrow Y/N real quick?” Luke asked, quickly muttering a “thank you” when your friend nodded. “So, I have something to give you…” your face must have shown how surprised you were because he chuckled at your reaction. However, when the boy pulled his gift out from his cargo pocket, your mouth fell slightly agape at the reveal. 

Luke must have misinterpreted your reaction because he started nervously rambling, his voice a few octaves higher, “It’s not much, but honestly, this is all I can do with my arts and crafts skills. I’m just not really good with that y-”

“It’s perfect, Luke. Thank you so much!” you gave him a brief hug, but it was enough to stun him for a second. Luke felt this urgent sense of craving from how your bodies fit for a second. It’s as if he was made to hold you. He almost pulled you back into another hug but had to force himself to regain composure. Nevertheless, that didn’t last long because his eyes softened again at the sight of you trying on the bracelet he made. The beads in your favorite color, crafted with care, wrapped around your wrist perfectly, and you wonder how he knew just the right size to make it.

The truth was Luke had to ask Clarisse to steal one of your bracelets just so he could make a bracelet of the correct size. But you didn't need to know that, though - according to him.

The next night, there was a social gathering near the campfire. Luke reapproached the location with a hoodie in hand. Earlier, Luke excused himself to fetch the clothing item that was now in his hand that was meant for you. However, his brows scrunched as he spotted another figure next to you, sitting in the spot that he previously occupied. You were laughing at something they said. The way your laugh echoed in his head usually sounded like a lullaby or the enchanting voice of a siren. But right now, the idea that someone else elicited the same laugh made him want to hurl behind the bush he was standing next to.

Little did he know you were zoning out from whatever the other boy was speaking about, thus the fake laugh to not blow your cover. You were distracted just thinking about Luke and everything he has done so far - offering his portion of dessert to you because he knew it was your favorite; him winning Capture the Flag and ignoring everybody else to go hug you first, then having his eyes on you and only you afterwards; sneaking out of camp to go buy the items you mentioned once that you wish you had at camp and so on. 

Your mind quickly reminded you that the boy sitting next to you was still talking to you. However, when you snapped out of your thoughts again, you realized now he was looking at you expectantly and you scrambled your mind for a reply.

Thank Gods Luke plopped down on your other side, saving you from having to admit to the other boy that you were not listening to him. “Hey, you’re back,” you commented. Luke’s arm automatically threw itself around your shoulder and tugged you to him slightly. Your body leaned on the Hermes cabin counselor ever so naturally at this before you turned to him. Luke quickly set his clothing on your lap, and you stared at it questioningly.

“You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” your cheeks flushed again at how he knew without you telling him. You shivered maybe once or twice earlier due to the night air lowering the temperature, but it was so brief you were sure nobody had noticed. As you put on the hoodie, Luke averted his gaze from you to the guy on your other side. 

The Hermes cabin counselor arched one of his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Almost immediately, his ‘opponent’ slightly raised both of his hands. Luke internally snickered at the quick motion of surrender. 

“My bad, man,” you heard the other boy say as you managed to put your head through the clothing item and pull it down. Luke was physically preening at the other boy’s words and departure. Meanwhile, you were distracted by how you were engulfed by the smell of Luke from his hoodie. Your height difference also meant you were swimming in it, but it felt so comfortable.

“What was that?” you asked once the other boy was gone. 

“Nothing…” even the most oblivious person could see that Luke was lying. But, once again, you did not question his actions and carried on with the gathering. You could also feel other campers staring at the two of you, but you ignored that as well. 

That night - like every other night since four days ago - he walked you back to your cabin. You were honestly completely smitten by the attention he has given you, not that you would admit that to him. You were still not sure what caused the change, but you were still elated about it. Maybe he did return your feelings? Either way, everything felt perfect lately, and you went to sleep that night feeling like the stars aligned for you.

“I guess congratulations are in order?” Percy spoke up as you lined up for food the following day. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, taking the plate of food. Today’s meal consisted of mac n’ cheese, steak, and an apple. 

“You’re engaged?” you almost dropped your plate at that and gave the son of Poseidon a questioning look. “You proposed to Luke like a week ago?”

“What? When?”

“When you threw him the apple? That is considered a marriage proposal.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, in Ancient Greek culture, it’s considered a marriage proposal if a man throws an apple at a lady. But, I mean, it’s the 21st century, so I guess it can work both ways.” Percy finally took a plate of food for himself. “And if the recipient catches it, it’s considered an acceptance.”

“You saw this and knew this whole time without telling me?!?” 

“I thought you knew! And you two seem so smitten already, so I thought you did it on purpose.”

“Percy, no! Is this a well-known thing? Do you think other people who saw it too thought I proposed to Luke as well?” Seeing Percy’s look and how he was fumbling with his words, you quickly requested, “Actually, no, don’t answer that.” 

The two of you walked over to Luke and Chris with plates in hand. You picked up the apple on your plate and placed it on the table. 

“Luke, we need to talk,” You deliberately placed the fruit there, hoping the boy would get a hint about the topic you wanted to discuss. Luke’s eyes flicked from the fruit to you. Though the hint of amusement in his eyes and a sheepish grin made you realize he knew all along. Luke stood up and followed you out of sight and hearing distance from other campers whose eyes were trailing after the two of you.

“You knew what it meant, and you didn’t tell me?” You broke the silence as soon as you two were far away enough. 

“Listen, I appreciate your proposal. But, it’s a little bit fast, don’t you think?” Luke teased, and you instantly hit his arm at that, causing the boy to flinch slightly, but the smile on his face told you he was anything but mad at your action.

“But you caught it. So, technically, you said yes,” you rebutted, sighing as you rubbed your face, “My Gods, does everybody at camp think we’re engaged? Wait, is this a substitute for an engagement ring? Did you give this to me because of that?” you pointed to the bracelet Luke gave you, your mind now understanding Clarisse’s teasing and her implications. You could see the way Luke was stifling a laugh. He settled with saying something else when he saw the pure panic on your face.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” the nickname successfully silenced you. You hated how it made you feel, but you would not mind hearing that daily. “No, it’s not an engagement ring.”

“Oh, so were you doing all of these romantic gestures and gifts on purpose to make fun of me and the situation?” you asked, though it was more with a lighthearted tone than one of temper. However, something shifted because the expression on Luke’s face changed from one of humor to earnestness.

“No, I didn’t do all this to make fun of the situation or you…” Luke’s voice fell off as tried to find the right words to say next. In that split second, Luke took a deep breath, and you could see how nervous he suddenly became, though he still kept a light tone. “I did it because I took it as a chance to maybe…win you over, and it also gives me an advantage because it fended off many other guys.” 

Undoubtedly, you were frozen in place, unable to register the words he was saying and the implications they bear. Neither did the boy in front of you act like the Luke you usually know - somebody who was usually confident, outgoing, always having his way with words. No, the person in front of you could not even hold eye contact, the pink hue on his cheeks now spreading to the tip of his ears as he shifted left and right. Luke broke the silence first, giving away the nerves that were gnawing him away from your lack of response.

“How about this? I’ll say ‘no’ to your mind-blowing marriage proposal for now,” you lightheartedly hit him again, rolling your eyes playfully. Seeing a positive reaction from you, Luke let out a small breath of relief, but the nerves quickly overtook again as he mustered up all the courage to utter his counter proposal: “But maybe we could start with something slower like going on a date? — Or I’ll even settle with you allowing me to try and ‘woo’ you.” Luke added the last bit as insurance, in case you didn’t want to take up on the date. Part of his mind wanted to scowl at himself for seeming so desperate - but Gods, he has always been a desperate man when it comes to you. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yet you still proposed to me.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Luke only shook his head in response. Once again, you haven’t responded to his offer. Luke could see that you were in deep thought, the cogs turning in your head as you digested what he just said.

“You mean it? That you wanna go on a date? That you wanna “woo” me and sweep me off my feet?” you questioned. Despite the humor in your voice, there was also a hint of vulnerability and cautiousness. “Does this mean what you’ve been doing for the past few days…they are all genuine?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I like you? I don’t think you even fully understand the feelings I have for you. I’ve had my eyes on you for a year now, which is the entire time I know you, and I’m afraid I can’t see that changing any time soon.” Luke had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying more because he was sure he would never stop talking about you if he could. Maybe those unspoken words ought to be things Luke would disclose in the future. If you give him the chance, he will ensure you hear everything he adored about you.

“Well, that’s good then, ‘cause I happen to like you too,” your words made Luke’s eyes snap to yours, almost in disbelief. 

Luke felt as if his heart was blocking his airway by the way it was thumping so hard in his chest to the point he could feel the vibration in his neck. He held his breath over your confession and the way you were looking at him. Oh, Luke was convinced he was utterly doomed because how could he be so affected by one single look. He was suddenly unsure whether he would be able to handle your affections or ever live without it if it was taken from him. He’d spend the rest of eternity like a deprived man.

“Aw, look who is nervous now,” you teased, deciding to somewhat torture him and get him back for teasing you earlier. “I did not think I had this kind of effect on you, Castellan,” you approached him slowly, keeping eye contact with his now dilated pupils. 

“I mean…all I did was say a couple of words and you’re all tongue tied. What would happen to you if I do this?” you swiftly grabbed Luke’s camp beads and pulled him down, eliminating a significant amount of space between your faces, though not completely. To steady himself during your action, Luke’s hands steadied on your hips and stumbled slightly, though you did not mind the touch.

You never knew it was possible for his face to flush even more, but it did. Luke gulped and your eyes casted down on the way his Adam’s apple moved when he did so. The way he reacted to you only intoxicated you with power even more. You glanced upwards a bit, eyes observing his lips for a split second before looking back up at his eyes. You smirked when you caught his eyes flickering back to yours from your lips as well. 

Just as you were about to close the distance, Luke pulled back just a bit, finally able to speak, though his words were heavy warnings, “If this happens—” Luke stopped, unsure he should let you know. Luke shook his head lightly as his eyes traced over your features before continuing, “If we kiss, there is no going back for me. I don’t think I could just…forget about it. So, please, just be sure before you do it.” Your eyes softened at his words.

“I promise, Luke. I am sure,” you muttered, though Luke knew you meant the words by heart from the way you were looking at him. 

You finally pulled the boy down again using his camp necklace. 

As your lips touched Luke’s, he let out a content sigh. His hands clung onto your hips, pulling you flush against his own body while you caressed both sides of his face in your hands. Luke felt like the world was swallowing him whole. The boy now knew what your lips tasted like, and it felt like an addiction. He could feel his heart waving white flags at that moment, completely surrendering to you. He was right before. There was no going back from this. 

But oh, if Luke knew an apple was all it took, he would have tossed one to you himself.

----------------------

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Faking It | Part I

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: none that I can think of except that the reader's height is described as shorter than Rooster's.

This idea has been plaguing me so I had to get it out haha Hope y'all enjoy!

Bradley watches you skeptically. You have yet to convince him that pretending to be your date for your sister’s wedding is an outstanding idea. Your mother has undoubtedly invited a whole slew of bachelors because she thinks you might need some help in the romance department. You decidedly do not. Despite the fact that you are struggling to even get a fake date.

You make a face at him. “I will owe you,” you say. “Anything you want.”

He shrugs. “I don’t want anything.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon, Bradshaw,” you plead. “I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

He purses his lips, not looking overly enticed.

“I’ll come over once a day and do all your dishes.”

“We’ve got Hangman for that.”

“Hangman does your dishes?” you ask incredulously, trying to picture Jake Seresin in an apron with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

Bradley chuckles. “He lost a bet last week.”

You let out a soft laugh, then get back to business. “I’ll clean your room,” you offer.

“I’ll have you know that my room is immaculate,” Bradley replies.

You scoff. “Then do this for me out of the goodness of your heart!”

Bradley chuckles slightly. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is a big ask.”

“Please, my mother is rounding up all the eligible males on the western seaboard as we speak.”

Bradley laughs. “What does your mother have against landlocked states?”

“I don’t know. Political ideology?”

Bradley snorts. “Have you asked Hangman?”

You groan. “Please don’t make me ask Hangman. He will never let me live this down.”

Bradley nods. “That is true.”

“It’s just a weekend. A few photos here and there. Some superficial chitchat with my grandparents about the importance of educational funding for our nation’s youth. My niece loves airplanes so you can tell her all about your latest mission” –

“My classified mission?”

“Well, leave out the classified parts,” you retort impatiently.

Bradley contemplates your proposal while your mind scrambles trying to determine something that might make it worth his while.

“Free drinks for a week,” you say, wiping the already dry bar to give your free hand something to do.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You can’t do that.”

You roll your eyes. Bradley Bradshaw will never go along with a scheme unless it is one hundred percent above board. “Meaning I will pay for them. I get a discount on the alcohol.”

Bradley gives you an amused look. “So, you wish to buy my services.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “I told you, I will do anything you want.”

“Well, I don’t want you paying my tab,” he replies casually.

You lean into the bar with a heavy sigh, bringing your face closer to his. “You are really grinding my gears, Bradshaw,” you say.

His eyes lift to your face as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“Do you really think a weekend with me will be so torturous?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his stool nonchalantly, but you wonder if he does it to expand the space between your faces. “I wasn't actually going to refuse. Just like to see you sweat.”

He chuckles, ducking as you go to smack him with the towel you just used to wipe the bar.

…

“Aunt Barb is a hard-ass,” you say in a low voice, turning your head toward Bradley as your aunt makes a beeline for you at the rehearsal dinner. You end up talking into Bradley’s shoulder because he’s so much taller than you and he instinctively lowers his head so he can hear you better.

“What’s that, shorty?” he mutters, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. But the next moment, you can feel his breath on your forehead and you gulp when his palm flattens against your back. You had been the one who'd asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend, but you hadn’t actually considered what that might entail. Apparently, it entails Bradley Bradshaw’s hand on your lower back and a woozy sensation in your gut akin to a 200-foot roller coaster drop. You aren’t too fond of roller coasters.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet for a split second. Bradley promptly straightens his back. You let out an unsteady sigh and say, “Aunt Barb will be questioning you; be prepared. Have you read my notes?”

Bradley gives you a pointed look. “Of course, I read your notes.”

But as Aunt Barb approaches, you feel Bradley’s touch along your back waver until his hand finally drops at his side.

“Y/N!” your aunt exclaims, giving you a kiss on each cheek. She blinks up at Bradley expectantly.

“This is Bradley,” you say. “This is my aunt, Barb.”

Bradley holds out his hand. “It’s great to meet you,” he says.

Aunt Barb gives him a crafty smile. “Is this your boyfriend, Y/N?” she asks, but her question is directed more at Bradley than at you.

Bradley returns her smile. “That’s me,” he replies, giving you a quick glance.

“Oh, good,” your aunt says. “We were starting to get worried after that whole fiasco with Steven.”

You stare at her as Bradley turns to you. “Who’s Steven?” he asks.

Aunt Barb gives him a probing look. “You don’t know?”

Bradley eyes you inquisitively. “Should I?” he asks, still looking at you.

“Her ex, of course,” Barb continues. “He’s here, you know?”

You peel your gaze away from Bradley to look at your aunt. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “He’s friends with the groom, of course. Or have you forgotten?”

You grimace. You don’t remember Steven being exceedingly close with your sister’s fiancé, so the fact that he somehow weaseled his way into this function aggravates you greatly.

When your aunt walks away, Bradley turns to you with his eyebrows raised. “Steven wasn’t in your notes.”

You give him a sour look. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bradley shrugs. “Still think you should’ve mentioned him. Was it serious?”

“Nope,” you respond curtly, ready to put the topic to rest.

Bradley seems to sense your reluctance to engage in this particular conversation and drops the subject. “Shall we go grab some drinks?”

You’re about to respond when your mother appears before you and you nearly bump into her. “Mom!” you exclaim in surprise.

“Y/N, why are you so jumpy?” she asks.

You shoot a nervous glance in Bradley’s direction, but he appears unfazed. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

Your mother looks over at Bradley with a judgemental air. “Are you the aviator?” she asks with a hint of distaste in her tone.

“Indeed,” Bradley responds, giving you a confident look before glancing back at your mother.

But your mother is no longer paying Bradley any attention. She turns back to you. “Steven is here,” she says.

You let out a sigh. “Yes, I know, mother.”

She gives you a knowing look before glancing back at Bradley. “We all thought they were going to get married,” she says with an artificial smile.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and nods his head slowly. “You must be disappointed,” he says.

Your mother seems pleased with his response and nods at Bradley vehemently. “They have a lot of history,” she says.

You close your eyes. “Mom, stop.”

“I’m just saying, he’s here,” your mom says. “Do with that what you will.”

You blink at her. “I will do nothing.”

Bradley watches you squirm sympathetically and, when you glance up at him defeatedly, he takes you by the hand. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure,” he says and starts to pull you away. “We just want to hit the bar before the first course.”

“Sure.” Your mom gives him a quick nod and throws a pointed look in your direction.

You cling to Bradley’s hand gratefully, even going as far as clutching at his arm with your other hand just to get away faster. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whimper.

He looks down at you, squeezing your hand. “It’s why I’m here, right?” he says.

“Right,” you agree, feeling his bicep flex under your fingers as his hand tightens around yours.

…

After dinner, you make your way through the crowd to the bathroom. The evening is nearly over and it seems that you and Bradley have put on a reasonably convincing charade. Bradley’s relaxed disposition has made the evening infinitely more enjoyable than you could have imagined and you find yourself feeling almost sorry that the night is coming to an end. Almost. Because, after all, you won’t be able to take a real breath of relief until you’re in the comfort of your room.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you walk back to your table and you completely miss the fact that your ex-boyfriend has spotted you and is heading your way.

“Y/N!” he exclaims as if he’s surprised to see you attending your own sister’s wedding rehearsal.

You blink at him in alarm. “Steven,” you say with a slight grimace, kicking yourself for not checking your surroundings before making your way across the open floor.

Your eyes scan the tables, desperately searching for Bradley. When you locate him, you can see that he’s already watching you.

Steven steps closer to you, holding out his hands. “It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says, leaning in for a hug.

You recoil as he tries to put his arms around you. “Is it?” you ask, holding up your hand to keep him back. The last time you saw him, he was throwing every insult imaginable in your direction.

Over Steven’s shoulder, you can see Bradley getting out his seat and starting to make his way toward the two of you, a stony expression on his face.

“You look great,” Steven continues, finally lowering his arms.

“Uh, thanks,” you say uneasily just as Bradley steps around Steven to face him.

“Everything alright here?” Bradley asks, his eyes sliding between you and Steven.

“Mm-hm,” you say, instinctively shifting closer to Bradley as Steven continues to scrutinize your every move.

“I’m Bradley,” he introduces himself, confidently extending his hand to Steven.

“Steven.” Steven takes his hand tentatively and you can see the slight wince on his face as Bradley crushes his hand in a handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Steven,” Bradley says, and you look up at him sharply.

“Oh, really?” Steven lifts his eyebrows, giving you a smirk.

“No,” Bradley replies flatly.

Steven blinks at him in confusion, clearly taken aback.

Bradley slides his arm around your waist possessively and you lean into him slightly, relieved that he’s playing his part so perfectly.

Steven gives Bradley a hostile look which Bradley expertly returns. Then, he lowers his face, saying, “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” you say, letting out a sigh.

“You take care, Steven,” Bradley says, wheeling you around in the direction of the bar.

Part 2

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

“yes ma’am” + bob floyd ➤

You considered yourself to be a fairly steel-willed individual. You had to be in order to be a Navy medic. You’d seen one too many severed fingers lost to propeller blades or skulls partially caved in due to water pressure to let things faze you. You’d had one too many men twice your size screaming at you to fix their friend to lose your cool in high stress situations.

You were level headed and knew how to remain calm, even if you were elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity. That all seemed to go out the window the second you heard that honorific whimpered out from the man in front of you.

“Please, ma’am,” Bob begged hoarsely against your neck.

You were being mean, standing between Bob’s legs and barely touching him beyond soft caresses to his shoulders while he kissed your neck and chest and grabbed at you desperately. If the clouds parted and angels descended in a biblically inaccurate chorus, it could never compete with how beautiful your boy was right now. He was so needy it was near pathetic. “Ma’am” almost had you giving in immediately, but where’s the fun in that?

You pulled his head up out of your chest to look at you. “Please what, baby?”

“Please. I need you.”

You could feel him shudder against you as you placed your hand on his neck. Those pretty blue eyes fell shut. You could feel his throat move against the palm of your hand as he swallowed.

“Please, I need you so bad,” he begged. “Please, ma’am.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you. I want you to have me. Please touch me.”

You hummed in consideration. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You going to do what I tell you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You going to let me do what I want to you?”

“Yes,” he keened.

“Yes?” you said.

“Yes, ma’am, please.”

You’d tortured him enough. Hearing him plead out “ma’am” was just too sweet; you couldn’t be mean to him.

Your hand stayed on his throat as you leaned down to kiss him, serving as a reminder of his place and also acting as a way to hold him back from trying to lean up and kiss you harder. He whined against your lips and you smiled. You licked into his mouth then left him, mouth gaping open. You pushed him back onto the bed to lay him out for you.

“Stay,” you hummed, and ventured lower.

You slid your fingers along the waistband of his jeans until you reached his belt to unbuckle it. You tugged his pants and boxers down. He let loose a small noise as the air of the room hit his waiting erection, cooling the wetness seeping from the top. It was nothing compared to the airy moan you drew from him when you slide your fingers over his tip.

You pumped him a few times. “I’m gonna make you feel good, honey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nearly sobbed in desperation. “Please, ma’am.”

“Hm, good boy,” you smiled, before taking him in your mouth.

“Stop wiggling around, I’m trying to sleep! Wait… what’s tha… oh!”

Forced proximity with best friend Bob?

A chance to do friends to lovers with Bob? Say no more!

"Remind me to never let Javy book the Air B&B again."

Bob chuckled at your comment, despite agreeing, "Well at least we have an actual bed. Reuben and Mickey have bunk beds."

"So all the single people have to suffer?" You scoffed, continuing to shuffle through your luggage.

The annual lake trip was going well, until the room arrangements were revealed. It wasn't that you minded sharing a room with Bob.

It was the lack of a second bed.

Twenty years ago, when you were both eight, this wouldn't have been a problem. But then puberty, high school, and base camp occurred, which brought to light the crush you had been harboring on your best friend.

"We'll make it work. And if it's that bad, I can take the floor," he offered, always the considerate one. It was one of the many traits you adored about Bob.

"Robert James Floyd, absolutely not!" You scolded, eliciting a chuckle out of him. It was deep and low, just like his voice and you didn't want to admit how it made your knees nearly shake.

"I've slept in barracks before, it's the same thing."

The comment would have gotten a laugh out of you. In fact, you would have even made a remark back, probably about how you've also slept in truck beds and underneath a wide open sky.

But then Bob Floyd took his shirt off.

It wasn't even your first time seeing him shirtless, far from it. But now he had filled out, with muscle and a dusting of hair that trailed down from his chest, past his stomach.

God, was he always this hot? Had to be and somehow you just didn't notice it until later. Perhaps that was the worst part; you fell for him because of who he was. It wasn't as if he had some type of glowup over summer break, like you'd see so often in those stupid teen movies you'd watch to feel better about yourself. No, Bob Floyd was always a beautiful soul, inside and out.

And he wasn't yours. Couldn't be. The risk of him not reciprocating was too high. Plus, your family was friends with his'. That meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, hell, even fucking Memorial Day gatherings would be tainted. All thanks to you.

The pressure was too high, the risk was too great.

But you could look, right?

"Sunshine?"

Bob's childhood now turned adult nickname for you broke the spell. Your wide eyes met his oceanic's. His hair, which had gotten darker over the years and now had threads of early greys, was mussed from taking off his shirt, some curls over the front of his forehead, others to the side. White shirt in hand, highlighting how massive they were when clutching the alabaster fabric. Brow's knitted together, combined with his narrow eyes and titled head created a downright adorable look of confusion.

"You,,,," he briefly turned around, to see if there was something on the wall behind him and that's why you wouldn't look at him, "You okay?"

You nodded eagerly, probably too eagerly, "Yeah sorry....I uh spaced out. Probably thinking of ways to get back at Javy."

Bob smiled, despite it never reaching his eyes when he nodded. You had turned around so quickly, unable to make such an observation.

"I'm going to go take a shower," grabbing the top and bottom you could find the quickest in your suitcase. You avoided eye contact with him, too busy feeling shame for getting caught doing something so lewd.

Rushing, you turned the water on in the showers. Focusing on ensuring you grabbed the correct products. Get the water to the perfect temperature and pressure, it exists, it has to exist because if it doesn't then you'll think about the dark body hair that went past the waistband of his jeans.

For about twenty minutes, it worked. You did your skincare routine, brushed your teeth for nearly two minutes, even blow dried your hair. Applied a lip mask, that stupid lash and brow serum the worker at Sephora conned you into buying. Moisturize every inch of your body, even though it was the dead of summer and you would sweat it all off before sunrise. That stupid reusable eye mask that you got because it was on clearance. Have you done the Wordle today, you should do the Wordle. You should do anything other than thinking about sharing a bed with your shirtless best friend.

It worked. Even put on some music, not too loud, just enough to hear and hum along.

It worked. For a while. But then you had used nearly every product in your cosmetics bag and it was time to get dressed.

Fuck.

You could never match a pair of socks, not even if your life depended on it. But tonight, fucking tonight of all nights, you had to grab a whole matching set.

The pale pink lace trimmed cami, paired with joggers. An oversized T-shirt that went further down than the pair of matching satin shorts.

You had brought the set when you were talking to a guy and thought you would be able to move on from the wonder that is Bob Floyd. What a fucking joke.

Maybe you could wear them, run back out to grab something else and run back in to change. No, why would anyone do that? If anything, it'll just make it more obvious that you didn't want to wear it in front of him. But what if you didn't change and Bob thought you had worn essentially casual lingerie on purpose? What if he found that weird? What if-

"You okay in there Sunny?" His voice always calmed you, always able to break you out of whatever self inflicted spiral you were on.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded despite Bob being unable to see you, "Yeah, I'm good. Just developed a more extensive skincare routine."

A short burst of laughter was released on the other side of the door, "You don't need all that. Already pretty."

"Bob Floyd, you are....." Charming. Amazing. Too good to be true. The love of my life,

"....too kind."

"Just telling the truth," his feet audibly stepped away. The butterflies in your chest were still exploding from his words. He made you feel safe, that this was Bob you were talking about. He'd never think you'd do something lewd or negative on purpose. Bob knew your intentions to be good. After all, he was your Bobby.

Just not in the way you want.

Your head cleared long enough to walk out the door, into the well lit bedroom. When he first made eye contact with you, you didn't even falter, simply smiling at him.

But Bob didn't say anything at first. Usually he'd make a teasing but well meaning comment about you taking so long. His thin pink lips parted, yet no words came through.

"Are you okay Bobby?"

The concern in your voice broke the trance. His features soften, his lips quirking into a half smile, "Yeah, I'm good. Just gonna shower and then head to bed."

Tension had left the room. Flopping down onto the bed, you scrolled through social media, watching all the videos and photos the squad had posted today.

"Uh, Sunshine?" You turned and lost your breath. Bob's hair was freshly washed, ends beginning to curl. A white shirt that was barely translucent and grey sweatpants that hung low on his lithe hips.

Bob Floyd had downright slutty hips.

"I don't think the bed is big enough for both of us to lay down."

Your brow crumpled in confusion, "Javy said this was a queen."

"Javy thinks anything that isn't a single is a Queen." Bob explained, not phased at all by this mistake.

Clearly it wasn't the first time. But you were still going to kill Javy Machado tomorrow morning.

"Here, if we both sleep on our sides, it'll be good."

"Like spooning?"

"Uh yeah," a hand came up to rub the back of his neck, "That's one way to think about it."

You supposed it was better than feeling his ass against yours, "Alright, well....come on in, the water's fine."

It took some time to figure out the arrangement. What was one supposed to do with their other hand? The final agreement consisted of your hips flushed against Bob's, his arm slung over your waist.

Zero awkwardness in the air. It felt....natural.

"Night Bobby."

"Night Sunshine."

Things were looking up. There was no way this would change your friendship or threaten to reveal your well kept secret. Sleep was well within your reach.

Then Bob moved. And kept moving. Due to his closeness, you felt every maneuver, no matter how subtle.

"Floyd, do you mind?"

His movements continued, as if he was trying to avoid your body while somehow simultaneously hang onto it.

A loud huff left your lips, "Stop wiggling around, I'm trying to sleep! Wait, what's that...."

Oh.

Your hips were flushed against his, your ass perfectly fitting the space formed by his thigh meeting his hip. Right against his hardened groin.

The sweatpants were thin. He didn't have anything underneath. Thanks to the flimsy fabric of your shorts, you could feel him greatly.

You were in bed with Bob Floyd. Bob Floyd was in bed with you, rocking an erection. You were being held by Bob Floyd, in bed. Bob Floyd had a huge cock, a grower.

Silence filled the room, tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Neither one wanting to move, for fear of making it worse.

He let out a shaky breath. He developed a rhythm, almost imitating one sleeping.

You shifted, just enough for your thigh to rise, but subtle enough to play off as nothing.

His breath hitched.

Inch by inch, your hips began to gyrate, rubbing against his clothed cock.

"B-Bobby," you were panting, as if having run a marathon. His fingers sank into your hips, gripping the plush flesh as he flipped you onto your back, towering over you.

You moved to sit on your elbows, to raise yourself up to argue. From years of play fighting, he was fast as lightning, pinning your hands above your head.

Bob slowly lowered himself down until his nose brushed against your, his soft hair brushing your forehead.

"Twelve years." Was all he said, gritting through his teeth, squeezing your hands in hopes it would tethered him to Earth.

All that came out of your mouth was a hum of confusion. In the moonlit light, you searched for his eyes, trying to read them.

"Stuart Hendricks asked you to prom. You had been hoping all month he would ask you. Hell, I even helped him. Told him your favorite musical and which song to sing. I was excited for ya. And then you said yes to him and I wanted to punch him. I never had thought about fighting someone until then. Took me a week to realize why I was so angry."

Oh my God.

"Eight to ten years ago," you confessed. It was Bob's turn to knit his eyebrows together.

"Eight to ten?" He repeated, "Why is there a range?"

"I remember feeling....funny when you came back from boot camp. You had filled out a bit and had on those adorable military issued glasses. But it took me some time to accept what I was feeling," you explained.

How you found those glasses endearing was beyond Bob's understanding. But it didn't agitate him, it was just one of the many things he loved about you.

"That's a lot of time lost," his voice was barely a whisper.

You nodded, "Can we.....can we start making up for it?"

"Yes," he nodded, dropping his head lower, "one hundred percent yes."

His lips were like heaven. He molded his body to yours, chests flushed together, limbs tangled within one another. A hand that spanned the entirety of his neck, his thumb guiding your chin upwards so he could deeper explore your mouth.

"Heard you singing....and it just felt....felt like we were living together," he confessed in between kisses, "felt so right, like that's what it's supposed to be like."

Nodding feverishly, your hands found purchase in his thick hair. Tugging on the sun kissed locks, earning a groan from Bob that made your thighs clench.

"Can....can I touch you?" Always the gentlemen, your Bobby.

"As long as you don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it sunshine," his mouth latched onto your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the side, teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin. A hand grabbed your leg, hitching it to wrap around his waist.

Bob Floyd was fucking heaven.

BETTER THAN MEAT

Sumarry: Luffy discovers that his favorite smell is no longer the smell of meat.

OPLA!Luffy X Reader

Warnings: I think none, I just hope it gives you butterflies in your stomach lol

N/A: You asked me for this so much and here it is, it's horrible, but it's a good start.

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"Where's Y/n, Nami?" Luffy says while Nami is still looking at the clothes.

"She's over there changing, let's go Y/n!" Nami screams.

"I guess I didn't like that." Y/n says showing off and upon hearing his voice, Luffy turns his head to look.

He doesn't know exactly what he felt at that moment, but it was something very similar to a heart attack.

"What do you think Luffy?" Y/n says observing Luffy's serious expression.

"You are the most beautiful pirate I have ever seen in my entire life." Y/n blushes when she hears this and Zoro scoffs.

"That's very kind of you Luffy, thank you." Y/n says awkwardly.

"Seriously you... you would easily be mistaken for a princess or something." Luffy says getting up and going to Y/n.

Y/n smiles at Luffy who is right in front of her now, and suddenly he starts moving his nose sniffing.

"And what is that smell?" Luffy says trying to identify the smell.

"It must be from dinner Luffy."

"No no, it's something else." And then he does something that leaves everyone wide-eyed.

Luffy puts his nose on Y/n's neck, sniffing deeply, sending shivers all over Y/n's body.

"Luffy don't do that." She says laughing and pushing his shoulders awkwardly.

“Your smell better than meat Y/n!” Luffy says laughing and she feels her cheeks heat up.

"That really surprised me." Zoro says laughing a little.

"Y/n can I smell you more often?" Luffy asks smiling.

"I think you can?"

And it doesn't end here

Y/n is sitting next to Luffy during dinner, she is drinking when she suddenly feels something warm on her neck and turns red as a tomato when she sees Luffy's hair and realizes it was him sniffing her neck again, almost making her to drown.

"Luffy for the love of God don't do that." She says pushing him awkwardly again.

"You really smell good ." He says smiling, and she feels her heart soften.

Y/n doesn't know what to do or say so she just turns forward again, seeing this Luffy's smile disappears

"Oh you don't like that Y/n?" Luffy says loudly, unintentionally drawing the attention of the entire table.

"No, don't worry Luffy, it's okay." She smiles and puts her hand on his shoulder.

But no, it wasn't okay, Luffy thought about Y/n's reaction during dinner, during his speech and everything.

What he least wanted was to hurt or offend Y/n, she was too special to him, it made him so anxious that he simply couldn't wait until the next day to talk to Y/n, so here he is facing the bedroom door her.

Before he can knock on the door, Y/n opens it and is surprised to see Luffy there.

"Oh hi Luffy, everything okay?"

"I'd like to apologize if I made you uncomfortable hi something like that it wasn't my intention." Y/n thinks she fell in love with Luffy even more after hearing him say that.

"Oh no Lu, it's okay, I… I liked that." Y/n says embarrassed as she admits this and he smiles at that.

"That's great, because I like doing this too." He says and moves closer to smell Y/n again, but this time, she tilts her head to give him better access.

But when he is moving away from her, he stops in the middle of the way with their noses almost touching, and then Luffy gives Y/n a quick peck on the lips, quickly moving her face away and smiling.

"Damn why did you do that? It must have made her uncomfortable again" He is torturing himself with his thoughts when Y/n speaks again.

"Do you want to go find the kitchen?" Y/n says and his smile widens.

"Yes, let's go!" Luffy grabs Y/n's wrist and pulls her along with him.

He's happy that his favorite person in the world isn't mad at him, and she's happy that her favorite pirate cares about her so much.

love young bro...

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Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: A Gavi fic where Gavi will finally be involved. How innovative.

Also the urge to change perspectives and write "you" instead of "she" is overwhelming so I'm just going to do it. IDK why I'm giving all these disclaimers - I'm essentially talking to myself.

To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. Your failure of a date had already left you with a severe headache, and to make matters worse, the people in the apartment above you had a cabinet collapse, waking you up in the middle of the night to the sound of 80 plates crashing to the ground. Training didn't even start until 8am, meaning you technically didn't have to arrive to Camp Nou until 7:30am, when the debriefings of the day occurred. But you couldn't say no to Gavi.

Your time at Barca had started off rough to say the least. On your first day, you had been excited, dressed in the official physio team uniform, and eager to get to know all the players and staff. But when Dr. Gonzalez introduced you, the reaction was not very positive. You heard the players whisper to each other that anyone who Xavi wanted to keep off the field would be treated by you. While it hurt, you couldn't exactly blame them: who would want to be the guinea pig for the student-in-training when they had other physios available with years of experience?

For the first month, you only saw the players if you were in Dr. Gonzalez's office. Despite the constant instructions for the players to "see y/n first and only come to me with major injuries", your office was constantly empty. Everyone wanted to be seen by the best - and that was not you.

Pedri had vaguely remembered you from that night in the club, squinting at you and saying that you looked familiar. You had considered not confessing how he knew you, but in a desperate effort to have someone like you, recounted when you had met. He laughed at the memory, and yet still never came to you for any discomforts. Gavi, on the other hand, didn't remember a thing, and you were not going to remind him for one simple reason: he was kind of an ass while sober. While sweet to everyone on the pitch, he was cold and easily frustrated when things didn't go his way, and the nature of your job was telling him things he didn't want to hear. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, because 10/10 times the club will choose the generational talent over some student intern.

So you avoided him. You didn't make any offers to help with his muscle tightness. You didn't evaluate the way he strained himself on the field. You even refrained from looking at him in the eyes whenever you assisted Dr. Gonzalez with his physicals, because Lord knows this boy loved to throw himself around the pitch. Gavi treated you the same. In the rare occasions when he looked in your direction, he offered short nods instead of words. The only time you heard his voice was for quiet thank yous when you handed him his shirt at the end of the evaluation. You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you. The memories of Gavi leading against you, whispering softly that he drank to quiet his thoughts, were always in the back of your mind.

However, 6 weeks into your job at Barca, his cold front had to come down. You were in your office at Camp Nou, typing up progress notes from the day before, when some banged loudly at your door. "Come in." You yelled, still engrossed in typing up your notes, when the banging was heard again. You sighed in annoyance, opening the door and finding Ferran standing before you, holding up a limp and tearful Gavi. "What the hell happened?" You said, moving aside so he could lay Gavi down on the exam bed in your office. "He went up for a header and collided with Christensen. He landed pretty hard on his left leg, and then hit his head again." You glanced over at Gavi, watching the way he grabbed his left shin and writhed in pain. You walked over to him, trying to hold his ankle still. He immediately pulled away, sitting up way too quickly for someone with a head injury. "I don't want you to touch me! Ferran, where is Dr. G?" He shouted, the color quickly draining from his face. "He's not in until noon today. I already told you." Your heart sank slightly. Of course they didn't seek you out as a first option. There was no proof that you were any good at your job. You were just the only person available.

"Gavi, you could have a concussion, so please stop yelling and just lay ba-" "Don't tell me what to do. I'm not concussed. If you were good at your job you would know that." He replied. Now you were angry. It was moments like this when you were reminded that, despite his talent, Gavi was still a teenage boy, and if that's how he wanted to act, that's how he would be treated. You walked to your desk, grabbed your trashcan, and placed it in front of the exam bed. "I am good at my job, and given that you are paler than a ghost in winter, you probably are concussed. If, no, when the need to vomit becomes too overwhelming, do it in there. You can wait for Dr. Gonzalez for the next three hours, but don't get puke on my floor." You turned back to your desk, and resumed typing reports like you had been. Ferran and Gavi both exchanged a glance. "So you aren't going to do anything?" Ferran asked hesitantly. "I'm not going to touch Gavi if he doesn't want me to. If he wants to sit and writhe in pain and make his injury worse, that's on him. You can go back to training now." You replied without even looking up from your keyboard. It would be a cold day in hell when you let an entitled 18 year old doubt your competence.

Ferran looked back at the exam bed one more time before exiting the room and heading back to training. To his credit, Gavi held out for 25 minutes, a lot longer than most other concussed athletes. But the fuel of spite died down eventually, and he was leaning over the bed to vomit in your office trash bin. You suppressed your smirk as much as humanly possible. He then lifted himself to slowly sit up, and quietly said, "Can you look at my leg now?" You glanced up from your screen. "I know you haven't been out of school so long that you have forgotten how to say 'please'." Gavi huffed in frustration. "You know what? It doesn't even hurt. I'm just gonna get up and go back to training." "Yeah, stand on that injured leg. Take a week long injury and make it worse so you miss half the season." He stopped his motions to get up. You looked over at him, and he stared at you with that look of distress he always had on his face. "Can you please take a look at my leg?" He said, disgusted by the need to plead with you. "Much better." You said as you stood to put on a clean pair of gloves.

You carefully removed his sock and guards to get a better look at his ankle. It was slightly swollen but no bruising - just a minor sprain. He could be back on the field in a week. You pressed on different areas, looking to see if there were any where he felt excess pain. As you pressed right above his ankle bone, he recoiled in pain, hissing out a sharp "fuck!" while gripping his ankle. "Can you not injure me further?" He said while looking up at you. You sighed in frustration, and chose not to respond, rather just holding out your hand to indicate that he should give his foot back. He begrudgingly accepted, and you continued to examine his foot. "Mild sprain, nothing too serious. I'm going to bandage it and put it in a brace to keep it stable for the next couple of days." He nodded at the diagnosis. You went up yo his head now, shining a flashlight in his eyes to gage how bad the head injury was. "I'll have someone take you to the hospital to confirm, but it's just a mild concussion, like I said earlier. I'll send notice to Xavi to let him know you won't be at training the rest of the week. You sho-" Gavi jumped up before you could finish, making himself nauseous in the process. "I don't need to go to the hospital. Don't send anything to Xavi. I can work through it. I should just..." He couldn't even finish the sentence because he was reaching back for the bin to throw up again.

"Gavi, what is your problem with me?" You asked in frustration. He looked up at you in surprise. "My problem?" "Yes! You're always either cold or snappy with me, and always questioning my medical judgement. I know how to do my job, otherwise I wouldn't be here. So what is it about me that is so insufferable that you feel the need to be rude to me all the time?" Gavi was caught off guard. He didn't expect for you to confront him with such an honest question. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, finally bringing some color back to his face. He laid back on the bed and signed, taking a pause before replying, "You're young." Your brows scrunched together in confusion. "You hate me because I'm young? I'll age eventually I promise." He couldn't stop the small laugh that left him at that. It was refreshing hearing Gavi laugh.

"I'm not upset that you're young. Well I am but not in that way. It's just... everybody here has so much respect for you. You're 21 years old, but no one ever questions your judgement or decisions. Dr. G is 57. He's been a physio at Barca longer than I've been alive, and he still consults you on everything. You're so young and no one treats you like it."

You were taken aback. You would have never suspected that the reason behind his anger was jealousy (or admiration?). "Gavi, I think you have some rose colored glasses on when you look at me. Maybe Dr. Gonzalez ignores my age, but everyone else doesn't. Have you ever seen any of the players walk into this office? No. They all skip me and go to my boss. I'm not really that great."

Gavi turned on his side to face you. "That's because you're kind of intimidating, not because we don't trust you." "Wow. Always great to hear." "Let me finish." Gavi huffed. "A lot of us get injured in really stupid ways. I mean really stupid. Like the time we were messing around in the locker room and Pedri slipped of a bench while performing Bad Bunny. No one wants to walk into the office of the young attractive physio and say 'hey I hurt myself being an ass'. Dr. G? Her knows we're dumb. It's just easier" You couldn't decide whether to focus on the fact that Gavi had just exposed Pedri or that he just called you attractive. You just stared at him for a moment with your mouth agape. You composed yourself and quickly started typing out a hospital request and a training excuse. "You know that they respect you too, right Gavi? Your teammates all think extremely highly of you, regardless of how old you are. And the people on the other teams don't beat you up just because you're young. They're threatened by the amount of talent that you already have, and are honestly frightened by how much you can grow in the next couple of years." You finished typing and looked back to him. "And you're kind of a dick whose always tackling people on the field." Gavi let out another laugh, this one louder and more carefree, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "But no yellows thought." "Yeah, you must be bribing the refs." "With what money? You know Barca doesn't have any." It was your turn to laugh, being caught off guard by the statement. Gavi was picked up by his hospital escort, and visited you every day that week for rehab on his bad ankle.

Since then, Gavi used you like his own personal therapist, for both his physical and mental troubles. He would ask for you specifically for everything, from minor muscle tightness to major injuries. His confidence in your abilities spread to the rest of the squad, with more of the young players coming to you for assistance. Gavi always came first. You made the mistake of giving him your personal number "for emergencies", and he used it every day. He often asked you to come in an hour early so he could get personalized treatment without having to fight off Ansu and Balde, who always seemed to be standing by your door at 8am sharp.

"You're late. It's 6:45." "Good morning to you too, Gavira." You replied, handing your coffee and bag to Gavi while you unlocked your office. "I don't know why you keep this office locked - it's not like there's anything to steal." He said as he followed you inside, placing your coffee on your desk and your bad on the shelf. He had met you here so many mornings it was muscle memory now. "Oh yes, nothing important. Only the computer with the medical records of the whole team and all their personal contact information. Maybe I should let someone put your phone number on Twitter and let everyone know you're allergic to oranges." You replied as you turned on the lights by the exam table. "Leaking my personal information is one thing, but telling the public how to kill me is a little much don't you think?" He said as he hopped on the table, feet dangling over the edge. "My Lord Gavi, it's literally mild allergy. I would be telling the public how to give you a rash. Now what did you need me for?" You said as you pulled your hair back and grabbed some gloves. "You didn't see me limping as I walked in?" "No Gavi. You're always walking like you're holding a watermelon between your thighs. It's the hallmark of a football player. Now what do you want before I ditch you to go get breakfast?" "My right thigh and hip are really tight. I need help stretching them out because they feel misaligned." You sighed. "I taught you to do this yourself so I wouldn't have to keep getting up at 5am to readjust your hips." "I know that but it doesn't work when I do it!"

You shifted Gavi so he was on his back, proceeding to lift his right leg slightly and rotate it. Gavi hissed in pain slightly, but did nothing else to stop your movements. "I can't get a full range of motion when you're in sweats. Do you have shorts you could change into?" "Not right this moment no." "Alright then just take your pants off." Gavi whipped his head around, eyes wide at the statement. "What?" "You're in boxers right? It's like being in shorts. I don't have a ton of time Gavi come on. Now is not the time to be shy." You said, grabbing him by the forearm and sitting him up, looking expectantly. "I don't think that's a good idea." He said, avoiding eye contact. "Well than you can come back after training." He weighed his options and then got off the bed, taking off his shoes while you looked at him. "Do you have to watch me strip? Usually that's a service I charge for." You hadn't even realized you had been staring until he pointed it out, spinning around quickly in your chair. You heard him shuffling while trying to calm the blush that had started to creep across your face. "I don't get what the big deal is." You said coolly, pretending you had not just been overwhelmed at the prospect of Gavi stripping. "You change in front of the guys all the time." "Correct. Guys. Other men with penises who are not shocked by mine." You suppressed the urge to make a wildly inappropriate joke. "I have seen other naked men before, Gavira. I didn't study in a nun convent." You said turning back around when the shuffling stopped.

He was back on the bed, laying in his grey hoodie and black boxers, grey crew socks still on. He had his arms crossed above his chest, staring at the ceiling. You grabbed his right leg again, and started to move his leg to loosen the tight muscle. You folded his leg upwards, placing one hand on his knee and one on his inner thigh, causing his eyes to shoot open. His breathing got heavier, but he said nothing as you focused your attention on your work. His thigh was tight and muscular under your grip, sculpted and toned from years of training. You ran your hand along the back side of it, gripping and massaging the muscle to loosen some of the tension you felt there. As you put his leg back on the bed, you couldn't help but look at the bruises and faint tan lines littered across both of his legs. They were proof of just how hard he worked - how hard Gavi always pushed himself.

You tore your gaze from his thighs to focus on realigning his hips. "Hey, can you life your hoodie a bit for me?" You requested. Gavi exposed the bottom portion of his abs, desperately hoping that you didn't notice that he was blushing. You grabbed his hips, digging your fingers into the soft flesh to grab his bones. You ran your thumbs along the very bottom of his stomach, right before it disappeared into the waistband of his boxers, and felt how tight the muscle was there. "Breathe." You instructed as you began his realignment. Gavi always groaned in pain at this process. It was not a fun experience to have your bones shifted back into place. But it was a side effect of him dribbling (or as you would say waddling) with the ball between his legs for so long. It was not odd for you to graze the bottom of his abs, but never like this. Never when he was sitting there half naked with only one layer of cotton separating himself from you. He groaned from the pain of your movements and the pain of feeling himself start to get hard when you started applying pressure to his sides. He tried to think of something sad, something painful, anything besides the fact that you were leaning over him, touching him so gently while he was in his boxers.

Thankfully, you released him with a "You're all set", and he was able to pull his shirt down to cover his half bulge. You turned back around so that he could get dressed when the door opened. "Good morning y/n. Good morning Gavi in his underwear." Pedri said as her walked into the room. "It's just so she could stretch me properly." Gavi muttered under his breath, realizing that didn't make it sound better. "Don't worry, Pedri knows, he's been in here in his boxers several times." You say while throwing away your gloves. Gavi shot a look at Pedri from his position on the floor. Pedri put his hands up in defeat. "I forget my shorts a lot. Anyways, Gavi, Mister wants to see you so we can discuss new striking tactics." "How did he know I was here?" Gavi asked, smoothing over his hoodie as he stood. "Everyone in the city of Barcelona knows that if you're not in my car in the morning, you're in y/n's office. Oh, while I'm here, could I get more resistance tape? I forgot my roll at home." You rolled your eyes at Pedri, going to get him his third roll that week alone, when your phone began to buzz with message notifications. "Damn whose blowing up your phone?" Pedri asked. Gavi put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door, pretending he didn't care about the answer. "Oh, just some guy I met at a club a while back. Actually, it was when I saw you there. Do you remember Martin?" You said as you finally found the roll of tape. "From Real Sociedad? Yeah, I remember. He carried your friend out of the club." "He messaged me last night saying he saw me when I was out yesterday, but was too shy to come say hi since I was on a date. He's been texting me ever since. I have to silence my notifications before he gets me fired." You replied easily. "Oh cool. See you later then, y/n. Thanks for the tape!" Pedri said, leaving your office with Gavi trailing close behind. Who had you been on a date with? He thought you were focused on your career. And why did this random Sociedad player have your number. His eyebrows stitched close together as he and Pedri walked to the locker room, and when he felt they were far enough from your office, Gavi smacked Pedri on the arm and asked, "When the hell did you see y/n in a club?"

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I'm really proud of myself - I worked on my application essays! And I actually started to incorporate Gavi into the story more. Excited about where it's going.

GIF credit to @gavidaily