#(watch people ignore that tag if this post gets found)

[engagemythrusters]

"its been so long i cant remember my eye colour 🥺" FAKE mr vanity fan no 1 over here would definitely recall his eye colour even in twice the amount of time. he's just lying bc he knows they were boring as hell.

[thewidowsledger]

Looking Out For Three

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairing: Avenger Natasha Romanoff x Agent Female Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags | Warnings: +18, Natasha has a penis (no smut though yet), pregnant reader, kinda gruesome details of organ taking/trafficking, self-destruction if you squint, angst, bad writing

Author's Note: This is a scheduled post; I just recently lost my cousin so I may not be able to be active here for some time but I’ll for sure check in once in a while. Happy reading! I hope you're all having a good time.

MINI SERIES: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

⧗

Natasha's eyes fell upon the woman's lower abdomen. Her stomach is slashed open, and the crimson depths reveal that something has been taken from within…

A baby, she could tell that it was a baby as the skin on the stomach of the woman was slightly stretched out and the umbilical cord splayed out on the bed.

A life that had just begun, now cruelly snuffed out.

Two lives cruelly snuffed out.

⧗

After Natasha had taken care of Strange, her focus immediately returned to you. Seeing your unconscious form, her heart broke as she frantically searched for something to cover your exposed stomach.

She found a blanket and tore it into a small piece and she gently draped it over your stomach, her hands trembling, staring at your wounded stomach. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at you, whispering words of apology.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, her voice choking with emotion. “I should've listened to you last night, if I knew you wouldn’t…you wouldn't…” Natasha gasped for air but still trying to hold back a sob, she finally looked at your face. She held your hands and pecked a kiss all over it.

“I could've lost you, detka. I can't let that happen…I’ll never forgive myself if I lost you.”

“Everything's going to be okay. You, me, and our baby,” she smiled at the thought, wiping some tears on her face, “We're going to be a happy family.”

Tony landed with a heavy thud, the suit's thrusters kicking up a cloud of dirt and debris. Bucky quickly joined him, eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. A doctor's body lying on the floor, unrecognizable as its face has a lot of holes in it.

He started to move towards you and Natasha, but Natasha's steely glare made him stop in his tracks.

Yelena tried to approach her sister and offered her help but Natasha ignored her as well. The expression on her face was cold and distant, her only priority was getting you to safety. She carried you in a bridal style and the rest of the team watched, unsure of what to do, as Natasha carried out of the room and started heading onto the Quinjet.

⧗

Steve and Tony spoke quietly to each other, trying to make sense of the situation. Tony couldn't provide any concrete answers, but he did share one unsettling detail. He projected a hologram display, showing the scans of the doctor's body. The bullet holes were highlighted in red, showing exactly where each of the 21 shots had landed. The lone bullet in the shoulder was also indicated by a separate red mark.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the tiny screen. “21 bullets to the head and one in the shoulder.”

The team winced as they took in the information, their gazes shifting to Natasha, who was still holding your hand in her lips.

Tony shrugged, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Hey, I'm not judging,” he said. “I've done my fair share of blasting people in the head too.”

The team started to look your way, their gazes shifting towards your unconscious body and Natasha, but then they quickly averted them when they saw Natasha glaring at them. They scrambled to look busy, trying to avoid her disapproving glare.

In an attempt to look as if they weren't just staring at your unconscious body and Natasha sitting close to you, Sam awkwardly broke the silence by pointing at the glassed windows of the Quinjet, “Wow, a bird.”

His words hung awkwardly in the air, only to be met with Natasha's continued glare and the team's collective facepalm at his failed attempt to diffuse the tension.

⧗

When the Quinjet landed on the compound, the team immediately got up and was welcomed by Clint as the door of the Quinjet slowly opened. He already knew what happened and he was on leave since Laura just gave birth to their third child.

He walked towards the bed where your unconscious body was laying.

“Hey Nat.”

She didn't answer, but as soon as Clint touched the bed to help her get you out the Quinjet Natasha swiftly pulled a gun and pointed it towards his head.

“Nat…” Clint called, the team became frozen in place at the sight.

“Don't touch her.” She said her voice was hoarse and shaky.

“Yes, I'm not touching her. I am touching the bed,” he offered a logical argument, his tone gentle as he tried to diffuse the situation. He immediately but slowly moved his hands away from the stretcher you were in and put them in the air where Natasha could see.

The room's tension rose even more as the team started calling her out.

“Romanoff.” Tony called in a warning.

“Natasha.” It sounded more authoritative coming from Maria.

“Natasha, calm down.” Steve’s voice joined the fray, calling out gently.

“Back down! No one gets to touch her!” Natasha furiously exclaimed.

Natasha's grip on her gun tightened further, she pushed the tip of the gun on the back of Clint’s head, her eyes beginning to well up with tears.

A ripple of tension ran through the group everytime Natasha spoke. The atmosphere in the room immediately grew heavy, and the team members instinctively also tightened their grip on their own weapons.

“No one’s gonna hurt Y/N, Nat…please.” Clint reassured pleadingly.

“Shut the fuck up!”

And with that a loud thud echoed through the Quinjet with Natasha’s unconscious body laying on the floor. Yelena, her sister sulking at the corner with her hands clenched into fists pointed towards where Natasha was and her widow's bite smoking.

“Izvini, sestra.” (Sorry, sister)

⧗

Dr. Cho launched into her report, clearly concerned about the oversight. Wanda, Steve and Bruce were in the medbay with you.

“So no one noticed the bleeding on her head?” the doctor repeated incredulously. The room fell silent for a moment, and then Steve spoke up.

“Natasha wouldn’t let us near her.”

“Yeah,” Bruce confirmed, “She came before the team, I prepped the stretcher and she immediately snatched it away from me, not even letting me help her.”

Wanda clenched her jaw in frustration, her eyes narrowing as she listened to the two about what happened. She couldn't help but feel annoyed and frustrated with Natasha's behavior, which had led to your current situation. If Natasha had just been a little more cooperative and let the team help her help you, you would've been fine and awake by now. Instead, you were lying unconscious in the medbay, not sure when you're going to wake up.

“And no one knew that she's pregnant?” Dr. Cho added that made the three wince in guilt, how could they not notice? You live in the same place for god's sake, in the same compound.

Wanda was particularly hard on herself, her face filled with guilt. She’s your best friend and you two had spent so much time together, she felt ashamed that she didn’t notice anything different about you, especially since the two of you are inseparable when Natasha was away for 2 months.

You always had a morning walk together, gets to shop together, you two always watched sitcoms together and trained together. Wanda could only remember a moment when she had accidentally hit you in the abdomen during combat training, and you had collapsed on the floor laughing at the witch. You were for sure pregnant at that time and Wanda could only wince at the memory hoping that hit didn't affect her growing niece at your stomach

And the fact that she covered up for you made her want to let the ground eat her, what if she just let JARVIS figure out that it was you who was pregnant? This wouldn't have happened to you…

“Don't worry, Y/N is stable" the doctor said reassuringly, “and she should wake up at any moment. However, we can't say for sure when that will be.”

She looked around the room, meeting the worried gazes of the team members who's nodding at her words.

“I’ll get her an ultrasound later which should give us more accurate information. For now let's give her body a break. And I need Romanoff here as soon as possible.”

⧗

Natasha tossed and turned in her sleep, distress written all over her face. She rubbed her eyes and slowly sat at the bed, she took the place in where she was; it was your shared bedroom. She can feel her brain pounding inside her skull but still, she immediately got off the bed as the first thing she thought was you, she found herself frantically walking down a dimly lit hallway, approaching a closed door at its end.

As she neared the closed door, she noticed a soft glow and a bed with a woman laid out on it, bathed in a dim light. The sight invoked a pang of uneasiness in her, but she couldn’t shake the compulsion to get closer.

Natasha continued walking, drawn to the woman on the bed like a magnet. Each step seemed to echo loudly in the silent hallway, but she pushed onward until she was near the bed.

With a heavy heart, Natasha makes her way to the bedside of a woman who lies there lifeless and unseeing. Her eyes, hollow sockets staring into nothingness…

Her eyes scanned the woman's body, taking in every detail of the horror.

The ribcage splayed open like a grotesque butterfly…

The heart and lungs are missing, leaving a gaping hole…

Natasha's eyes fell upon the woman's lower abdomen. Her stomach is slashed open, and the crimson depths reveal that something has been taken from within…

A baby, she could tell that it was a baby as the skin on the stomach of the woman was slightly stretched out and the umbilical cord splayed out on the bed.

A life that had just begun, now cruelly snuffed out.

Two lives cruelly snuffed out.

The redhead's gaze lingers on the woman's lifeless hand, before her eyes widen in horror. She recognizes that hand, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she starts to panic.

Her heart pounds in her chest as she spots a manila folder beside the bed, within her grasp. With trembling hands, she snatches it up and flips it open, gasping as she scrolls through the contents.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Natasha gasped in horror, she flips open the file, page after page of personal information and photographs spill out of the folder, painting a detailed portrait of your face and body. Each page she turns reveals more information about you, and with each turn, her heart drops further into the pit of her stomach.

This body that is lying in front of her with no eyes, ribcage splayed open, heart and lungs missing, stomach slashed open and a baby taken out of it…

Is your body and your child. Her child.

“No…”

“No, no, no,” she gasped, “Fuck no!” She threw the folder away and your body was already gone in the bed.

She immediately shot her head around when she heard a faint cry of a baby, but as soon as she turned she saw a shadow of a woman carrying a baby.

She knows it was you only by its figure…

Your voice reached her ears, filled with desperation as you called out to her.

“Natty, love? Can we talk?”

“Help us, Natasha.”

“Natasha, please talk to me.”

“Natasha!”

“Natasha! Wake up!”

“No!”

Natasha jolted awake, the loud call of her name immediately took her away from the depths of her dream. She panicked as she found herself surrounded by the darkness of your shared bedroom. Clint was holding her and she immediately ripped herself away from him, her movements sharp and agitated.

“Hey,” Clint's voice was gentle, a calming presence amidst the chaos of her thoughts. “Natasha, breathe,” he urged, his hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder but Natasha flinched, “You’re okay, everything is fine.”

“Where's Y/N?” Natasha demanded, her voice husky and rushed as she moved away from the bed ignoring her best friend's concern for her because clearly, nothing is fine.

“Nat,” Clint circled the bed to get to Natasha and she immediately got into defensive form.

“Are we really gonna do this again?” He asked, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And that's when the memories came rushing back, flooding her senses with a torrent of emotions. She remembered the weight of her gun in her hand, the cold metal pressed against the back of her best friend's head and the team trying to calm her down. The last thing she saw was your stretcher above her.

Natasha's breath hitched as the memories overwhelmed her, and she felt her legs buckle under her. She reached out to grab onto the bed, her legs weak and unsteady. She had come dangerously close to losing it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Natasha's voice shook as she apologized over and over again, her eyes filling with tears as she felt the weight of her emotions bearing down on her. She felt Clint's arms wrap around her once more, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

He tightened his grip on her, feeling the tremor that ran through her body. “Shh,” he whispered, rubbing small circles on her back with his hand. “It’s okay. You're fine, Nat. You're safe here.”

Natasha nodded, taking a deep shuddering breath as she tried to collect herself. “Where's Y/N?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Clint, where is she? I need to see her.” Her eyes pleaded with him, searching for answers.

Clint could see the desperation in her gaze and knew exactly what she needed, you.

“You'll see her alright?” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “But right now I need you to rest.”

Natasha was about to refuse, she needs to see you now, but she knew better than to fight with her best friend. She needed to rest, to get her strength back before she gets to see you again. She nodded weakly, allowing Clint to help her up.

“You shower, get some fresh clothes and I’ll have some food over. After that you can see your girlfriend.”

⧗

Natasha worked diligently, her eyes alight with a soft and caring glow as she arranged everything on the bed. She had brought out all of your favorite blankets, each one softer and more comforting than the last. Her eyes landed on the strawberry plush, and her lips curved into a soft smile. She remembered how you had squealed with delight when she had won it for you at the basketball booth at a carnival.

“Hey Nat, you ready to go? Dr. Cho is waiting for you.”

Natasha startled at the sudden interruption, blinking as she tried to shake off her thoughts. “Oh, uh, yeah,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual. “Did she ask me to bring something? Does she want anything? Food? How's Y/N?” Natasha continuously asked as she put the blanket and pillow on a bag.

But Clint only muttered, “C’mon,” not wanting to break the news himself to her best friend. He’ll let Dr. Cho do the job on answering that.

Natasha felt her heart beat faster with each step as she and Clint made their way to the Medbay. She could feel her hands trembling, but she clenched them into fists at her sides, trying to keep her composure. As soon as she entered the medbay, she saw Dr. Cho and Wanda by your bedside. Her eyes immediately went to your unconscious form on the bed, her worry deepening. Why aren't you awake yet?

She felt Wanda's intense gaze on her and Natasha immediately put her face away from her direction, gripping the bag she brought. She couldn't shake off the feeling of discomfort of the witch’s presence.

Dr. Cho, as if reading the room, asked Wanda and Clint to give them privacy.

When the two left the medbay, Natasha finally allowed herself to breathe. The witch's intense gaze had made her uneasy, adding to her worry about you. She let out a long sigh of relief as the doors closed behind them, leaving her alone with Dr. Cho.

“How are you feeling, Romanoff?” Dr. Cho started.

“I’m fine. How is she?” Natasha immediately asked as she put the bag down at the side table of your bed.

Natasha's eyes lingered on your unconscious form, she carefully held your hands and a sudden flash of her dream returned to her mind.

Your body lying in front of her with no eyes, ribcage splayed open, heart and lungs missing, stomach slashed open and your baby taken out of it…

She immediately shut her eyes to remove the thought in her head, the urgency she felt in the dream now mirrored in the real world.

“Romanoff.”

Natasha's gaze snapped to Dr. Cho at the sound of her name, quickly trying to mask her panic with a cool, calm expression. She took a deep breath, her voice coming out steady and collected, “Yeah? H-how is she?” she asked once again.

“Y/N suffered a blow to the head, causing significant trauma. There's no way to predict when she'll regain consciousness...”

Natasha's brow pinched at Dr. Cho's words. The idea of you being unconscious, possibly for an extended period of time, weighed heavily on her. She searched for more information, “Are you saying she's in a coma?”

“A light one.” The doctor pointed out, correcting her.

“And the baby?”

Natasha's gaze shifted from your face and to the printed ultrasound image Dr. Cho handed her, she shakily reached out to get it and her other hand never leaving yours. Her features softened as she took in the small, blurred figure on the paper. “So that's our little one?” she murmurs, a touch of awe in her voice.

Dr. Cho nodded, smiling gently at Natasha's reaction. “Yes, that is your baby at 12 weeks. As you can see, the limbs are well-formed and the baby's major organs have started to develop…”

“Oh look at that! That's your baby Romanoff!”

“Romanoff, your baby is healthy and developing just like it should. All the organs, muscles, limbs and bones are in place.”

Natasha winced as Dr. Cho pointed out the tiny head, spine, and other features of the developing fetus to her, explaining that these details were visible at this stage of pregnancy. Natasha tries her best to listen attentively, but the memories are trying to get back in her head.

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“You didn't know until now did you?”

“Oh, that's a shame.”

“You are a bad mother.”

“Romanoff, are you sure you're alright?” Dr. Cho asked, worry written all over her face as she noticed Natasha drifting off once again.

“Yeah,” she answered dismissively, “There's uhm uhh…a cut on her stomach—”

“It's all patched up now.” The doctor said reassuringly, not letting her finish.

“Can I uhm…can I have some time with Y/N alone?”

“Of course, whatever you need. I’ll leave you two now.” Dr. Cho tapped Natasha's shoulder for comfort as she retreated to the medbay.

Natasha swallowed thickly, her throat constricting as she finally, finally felt like she could breathe freely. It was just the two of you now and that's what she needed. The machines beeping in the background seemed to fade into the distance as Natasha's gaze locked onto your unconscious form.

She was acutely aware of the soft rise and fall of your chest as you slept, the gentle curve of your belly where your little bean settled.

“Detka, I need you to wake up now…” she said as she gently removed the blanket you had and replaced it with the ones she brought, which is your favorite one. She now pulled the strawberry plush and laid it beside your pillow.

“I need you to wake up so I can make it up to you.” Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your forehead.

A single tear slipped down her cheek as Natasha brought your hands to her lips, pressing a tender kiss before resting it gently on her cheek. She closed her eyes, taking in the warmth of your skin against hers before falling into slumber.

⧗

You slowly blinked your eyes open, your senses still groggy from whatever they put or injected in your body. Your left hand was wrapped around by a figure, holding it close as they slept sitting up right next to you on the bed.

Your right hand snatched the nasal cannula out of your nose and the IV lines that are connected to your forearm. Slowly, you pulled your left hand out of the tight hold of the figure sleeping beside your bed. You started to breathe hard, finding some support for you to stand up.

Natasha's eyes snapped open as she felt the bed movements and the warm hand she's holding is now out of her grasp.

“Baby? Hey…”

She felt alarmed hearing the machine beeping continuously and the oxygen out of you. You snatched everything that is connected to your body and now slowly moving away from the bed.

“Detka,” she called again, holding her hands out even though it's your back facing her.

But you didn't hear, there’s this loud thumping in your ears, you can feel as if someone is hammering your head, and the only thing you can see is a blur. Nothing is clear and you’re feeling numb.

You continued to move until your feet felt the cold tiled floor and that's when you lost consciousness for a second. You can only feel a warm body catching you, you locked eyes with the emerald ones before you feel your body taken out from her embrace.

⧗

Natasha paced back and forth outside the medbay, her mind racing as she waited for word about you. She was still reeling from the events that had led to this moment, and she couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that had settled into her bones.

“You deserve it.” Wanda’s words cutting through the air like a knife. “You're the reason why she's there.”

“Whatever is happening to you right now, you deserve it.” She spat, Natasha now sat outside the medbay, her hands over her head as she faced the floor. “I am one blink away from invading your mind, to see what happened but I respect Y/N so much. You deserve everything that you feel right now, every guilt and shame. You deserve what's happening to you but my best friend doesn't deserve to be there!”

She could only bite her cheek, shutting her eyes as if she's not hearing the witch, but she could feel the heat of Wanda's words as they washed over her, stinging like a slap in the face.

Natasha and Wanda both turned their attention to Bruce as he stepped out of the medbay, the tension between them dissipating in an instant. Wanda took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down and Natasha immediately stood, her heart thumping on her chest wanting to hear about your condition.

“How is she?” The two redheads asked in unison, Wanda can only roll her eyes.

“She's awake now.”

Wanda didn't waste a second moving inside the medbay, walking past Natasha and Bruce.

“She's stable for now,” Dr. Cho informed Natasha who was left outside the medbay, “she just disassociated when she woke up earlier.”

Natasha nodded peeking over the doctor’s shoulder to get a sight of you but she can only see Wanda sitting beside your bed.

“Hey…how are you lyubov?” Wanda asked her fingers grazing yours.

“I feel weak,” you mumbled but gave the witch a soft smile, you managed to hold her hand that made Wanda sob. “Hey, I’m fine Wanda.”

She held your hand tightly and brought it to her cheek, “You should be, you really should be.” You hummed as you wiped the tears that streamed down to her face.

Natasha stood just outside the medbay entrance, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched you and Wanda interact. Your eyes flick towards her and you can read her lips muttering, “Hey,” to you.

“I want to rest for a bit.” You said, immediately avoiding Natasha and the witch noticed the tension between you and your girlfriend.

“Sure.” Wanda was about to stand to leave when you held your hands up, “Stay, Wanda. Please.”

Natasha could read the situation clearly, you didn't want her around. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut because all she wanted to do is to hold you and pepper you with kisses, take care of you. But she did notice what you want and it's not her, so she respectfully stepped back, retreating out of the medbay. The coldness in her chest had deepened into an ache, but she pushed it down as she always did.

For now, she’ll give you what you need but she will never stop trying and making it up to you.

⧗

Dr. Cho informed Natasha that you are now discharged and can leave the medbay anytime soon.

Right now, she's supposed to be sitting right next to you, apologizing or…begging for forgiveness, peppering you with kisses or cuddling you. But instead here she is walking alone to your shared room. Natasha had held back her tears as she walked towards the room, but the moment she stepped inside, the floodgates opened. She couldn't hold back any longer. She let out a choked sob and collapsed onto the floor, burying her face in her hands.

Suddenly, Natasha surged to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. She couldn't contain her anger and frustration to herself any longer. With a roar of rage, she began to pummel the walls of the room, punching it with all her strength.

Eventually, Natasha's frenzy subsided, and she steadied herself against the wall, forehead resting against its cool surface. Natasha took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in your embrace, feeling your arms wrapped around her, holding her down and keeping her grounded like you always do.

“You cannot be like this,” She whispered to herself. “You have a wife and a baby on the way to look up to. You cannot…you cannot be like this.” She repeated, as if trying to drill the words into her own brain.

Natasha slowly turned back, surveying the room with keen and puffy eyes. Without hesitation, she removed her jacket and top revealing her gray sports bra and started deep cleaning everything. Something that will occupy her for a while besides she doesn't want you to come back here with a messy and dirty room, though you always make sure that your shared bedroom is clean, both of you have tasks on what to do, on who's gonna do this or that, clean this or that. Actually it's you who gave her tasks, Natasha can be careless and a messy person at times but with you, it all changed.

Natasha started to take off the cover of the pillows and replaced them with fresh, clean ones from the closet. She then moved onto the bed sheets, pulling off the used ones.

After that Natasha moved to the bathroom, checking every corner, she pulled out the trash and some stuff scattered at the counter. When she opened the cabinet she was welcomed by a pregnancy test, not just one but three tests with two lines showing in each one.

Natasha picked the three, studying each one carefully before setting it back down again at the counter. She wondered if this was the thing you wanted to talk about before the mission. She clenched her jaw remembering how she treated you that night.

A call on the door pulled Natasha out of her thoughts. She retreated from the bathroom, taking a deep breath before opening it to reveal Clint standing on the other side.

“Hey, here's the flower you asked me to get.”

Natasha smiled as she took in the sight of the beautiful bouquet that Clint had brought for you. “I know you asked me to buy roses, the pink ones which is Y/N’s favorite but I saw these chrysanthemums and carnations. I bought this for Laura when she was pregnant with our Nathaniel. You should avoid-strong smelling flowers. Y/N’s sense of smell might be a little bit sensitive now.” Natasha listened intently as she had seen how Clint handled being a father of three. How he was able to protect her family while being an Avenger so might as well take her best friend’s every advice.

“You might wanna do some research. It's gonna be a lot but I know you two can do it.” She nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Clint.”

“Mood swings, Nat,” Clint chuckled as she warned Natasha, “It's gon’ be a hell of a ride.”

“Oh yeah it is, even though she wasn't pregnant yet it was a rollercoaster already.” She smirked remembering how she handled your mood swings during the course of your relationship.

“Oh Nat, now it's gonna be a whole new level.”

After a few more words of farewell, Natasha went back inside the room, and placed the flowers gently in a vase beside your shared bed. She filled the vase with water from the bathroom sink, letting it flow over each bloom as she arranged them.

Natasha settled on the couch after putting back the vase beside the bed. She put on some headphones as she lost herself to some music. An automatic vacuum hummed quietly in the background, gliding smoothly over the floor and picking up any debris.

Natasha indeed took Clint's advice, she was reading and researching about the changes that were happening to your body and what to expect during the course of the pregnancy. You're now in your 12th week and she read that during week 12 of pregnancy you’re wrapping up your first trimester and the odds of miscarriage are highest in the first trimester.

She took notes and made a mental list of things to expect.

“Your baby is only as big as a passion fruit but is growing and developing.” Natasha read to herself.

“Baby bump’s first appearance depending on the body type, food cravings, weird food cravings,” Natasha murmured, she continued, “Dizziness, mood swings, sore breast, heightened sense of smell,” She hummed, remembering her best friend's advice about sensitivity of your smell.

Natasha did a double-take as she read the last item on the list.

“Spike in sex drive?”

A knock on the door interrupted her researching and reading and she quickly put her headphones down, turning her attention towards the entrance.

She opened the door to see you standing there, a strawberry plush in your hand, and Bruce behind you carrying the bag of blankets she brought in the medbay. Her eyes widened slightly but she quickly composed herself, her expression softening as she took in your face, “Hey.”

You took in the sight of Natasha, your mind being in a haze. She is dressed in a gray sports bra and matching sweatpants, headphones clinging on her neck. Her arms were flexed like always and you could see the details of beads of sweat on her defined abs. Your breath hitched in your throat.

Natasha, noticing your gaze on her, quickly took the bag from Bruce. You walked past her already and went inside the bedroom.

“Dr. Cho will check in on her periodically.” Bruce informed the redhead.

“Thanks, Bruce.”

You sat at the bed slowly, noticing the new sheets of the bed and the flowers, the smell of it invading your nostrils. You caress the softness of the sheet while the strawberry plush sat on your thighs.

“Hey baby, how are you feeling?” Natasha asked as she closed the door. She put the bag down where you put your dirty laundry.

“Baby?” She called again, “You know you can't avoid me forever.”

“Yeah, like you did me the other night?” you replied with a dry tone.

A heavy silence fell between the two of you and Natasha bit her lower lip in contemplation. Without hesitation, she immediately removed the headphones from her neck and walked in your direction. She gently knelt in front of you, placing the plush beside you as she took both of your hands in hers. Her bright green eyes searched for yours.

“Baby,” she began, her voice gentle and soothing. “I'm sorry.” She paused, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. “Please, I was out of my mind that night,” her voice is becoming shaky this time. “It was the stupidest thing I ever did,” she continued, the regret evident in her expression. She swallowed hard, squeezing your hands gently. “Please, forgive me detka? I promise it won't happen again. I’ll take care of you, cook for you, buy you gifts, whatever you want baby, just—just forgive me.”

You actually stopped listening when she said “I’m sorry” all you could focus on was her arms untensing and tensing with each movement of her hands gently gripping your own. And the smell of the flowers were now gone as your girlfriend’s cologne, which was your favorite cologne of hers, started to envelop your senses. You don't know why you're being like this.

Natasha watched as you yawned, “I'm sleepy,” you slur.

“I uhh…alright baby,” She immediately let go of your hands and stood up, hesitating for a moment. She gently guides you as you lay down to your shared bed, putting the comforter all over your body and handing you the strawberry plush.

“Sleep tight detka, I’ll be here,” to her surprise, you hummed in response as you snuggled the strawberry plush close to you, a small sound that filled the air between the two of you and it made Natasha's heart jump. She took that as a good sign and she will for sure do anything to earn your forgiveness.

Next

[parfaitblogs]

waiting room ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he breaks up with you, and your life slowly falls apart. so obviously you should see him?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: implied alcohol reliance? lots of nothing happening not even a gun to my head could get me to write action... do not read if emotionally stable because i sure wasn't when i wrote this. word count: 1.9k a/n: i never write in second person so if there's a cheeky she her they them somewhere in this ignore it!!! i do not know what i am doing!!! probably not proofread enough. also no happy ending i hate those let the people cry i say! i haven't posted my writing in like three years be nice...

also posted here on my ao3 !

"Hey."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Horribly awkward silence.

Your eyes darting around a bar that you found all too familiar, with decor that you could paint on a canvas with your eyes closed, and such a distinct smell that you could imagine it from miles away. You didn't think you'd ever forget the way the air moved in this bar, or the sound of the same three bands singing every Friday night on repeat. You knew all the words to their songs by now. And the bartender knew your name, embarrassingly so. 

And even over the sound of patrons talking, and the clinking of glasses and every other overwhelming sound that drove you crazy, you felt like you could hear your heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your lips chapped, never wetting no matter how many times you produced the saliva in your otherwise dry mouth to lick them. Hands wrapped around an ice cold glass that did nothing but numb some part of your body, to accompany the numb feeling in your chest. 

You looked better than you felt, but he was knocking both parts of you out of the park. Maybe that's why your mouth was so dry. You'd tell yourself that it is, at least. He's too attractive to talk to. But you could talk to him. You did talk to him. All the time. About everything, and nothing. Because that's what you two did. 

And yet; the awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat, and it prompted you to take a sip of your drink, mixed alcohol falling down your throat and leaving a burn that shouldn't comfort you, but did. You didn't pull a face at the taste of it the way you used to, and you found yourself wishing that part of you that you despised was back. 

Maybe he would tease you for it again.

"How's work?"

The words felt foreign on your lips. It wasn't really what you wanted to ask him, but every inquiry you had died on your tongue before you could ask them, nothing feeling good enough. 

"It's good," he answered, eyes studying you in a way that made you want to shrink into nothingness. 

"That's good," you said, and you saw the small twitch of his lips — brief, before they fell back into their natural downturned shape. 

It was almost comical how much silence sat between you two. Two people who would talk until people around them were groaning and regretting asking them a question, falling silent in the presence of one another. 

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some water, but then you realised this wasn't your house and he was fully capable of getting his own water. And everything else in the world.

"How's work for you?"

"It's good," you answered, half-heartedly, because you really didn't know. You hadn't been in months. 

You didn't really realise a breakup would affect you this much. You had always been good. Good at putting emotional turmoil on pause for your busy life. You never considered the possibility of putting your busy life on pause for emotional turmoil. 

But then Spencer Reid left you. You never considered the possibility of that happening either, until it did. 

"Is it?" he asked, and you watched his body shift slightly in his seat, almost leaning closer to you. 

And unfortunately, you can only pretend in front of the man across from you for so long. "No," you said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not going." Your voice was embarrassingly quiet, but you knew he heard you, because his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips parted for a second. It made you want to take the words back; to lie again. "I got laid off a week ago."

He slowly nodded his head in recognition — that would explain your sudden request to meet. "I'm sorry."

You could imagine a million things you knew he'd be saying the words for, but not one part of you really believed it for any of them. So you only nodded your head, gaze dropping from him to the glass in front of you, the paper straw disintegrating in the liquid — something you weren't used to; you would finish drinks too quickly for that to happen. 

You didn't come here to mope. You do that every other Friday night. You didn't need to do that tonight, when the man you were spending your nights sobbing and your mornings numb over was right there with you.

"How's your mom?" you ask instead, lifting your head back up, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

"She's okay. Same as usual," he said, and you nodded your head. Short answers seemed to be the only thing you guys knew how to do. "How's yours?"

"Good," you answer, because the question doesn't really have the same weight as it did when you asked him; he only did it to be courteous. "She misses having you over."

That brought a small smile to his face. "I miss being over."

You can come back, you want to say, but you know that isn't true. 

You don't know how much longer you two sit in silence before he breaks it with a sigh that, if you didn't know better, you'd think was irritated. But it wasn't; simply exhausted. 

"Why did you want to meet me?" he finally asked, and your lips parted, before shutting again, because you're not too sure the answer is something you're allowed to say aloud. 

You say it anyway.

"I missed you."

You watched his facial features soften, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that only seemed to bring more nervous energy to you. 

"You shouldn't," he said, and if your heart had anything left for him, it probably would have cracked again. 

You knew that you shouldn't. You had told yourself to get over it a thousand times before. Your go-to mantra was grow up. But you couldn't. Your brain wouldn't let it go and your eyes could just never stay dry for long enough to think it's finally over. It was almost pathetic. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, slowly, and you were pretty sure tears were welling in your eyes, which felt even more pathetic in front of him. 

"I'm sorry."

This time it was you to apologise, and you knew he didn't believe your apology either. Not when you didn't even know what you were apologising for. Missing him, meeting him here, ever even dating him in the first place.

"It's okay," he said, instead, and you watched him exhale shakily, his lips rubbing against each other — usually a telltale sign he didn't want to be wherever he was any longer. That broke your heart too. 

Words died in your throat as you abruptly stood up, the stool you were perched atop wobbling slightly with your sudden movements. 

You stared at him for another moment, committing his face to memory, before you nodded your head to him in acknowledgement, pocketing your phone. You forced a smile, and left. 

Maybe not the best move you've ever done in your life. Not the move you wanted to do. But certainly the smartest. 

Because the second the cool, early fall air hit your skin, so did your tears, and you found that even ordering an Uber was difficult through blurry vision. So you decided to walk. Walk where, you didn't know. Away from the bar. Through the people-filled square; people as drunk as you wished to be, people out with friends and partner's, to have fun. People having a much better night than you, clearly. 

You heard your name. And something in you screamed to not turn around, to not give in to the caller. Probably the logical part of your brain. But your heart ignored it, and you halted in your tracks, turning to see him walking towards you, eyebrows furrowed in so much concern you think you'd crack further than you already have. Maybe if you split yourself down the middle it would finally stop hurting. 

"I miss you too."

Four simple words that could be heard even over the mixed songs playing from the clubs around you, even over the beeping cars and the chattering people. 

"Please don't lie to make me feel better," you croak, and you're acutely aware of the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm not lying," he breathed out, and you were far enough away from his body to see his hand twitch. For whatever reason you didn't know. "Sweetheart, you're breaking my heart, here."

Oh.

You swallowed down a sob, swiping another set of falling tears before they could get too far down your cheeks.

"Spencer, please," you said, so desperately that you wanted to shoot yourself. "I shouldn't have asked you to meet."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, and your heart stuttered in your chest, because he was telling you things you shouldn't do. Again. "Not that I—" he cut himself off with a sigh; frustrated, this time. "Not that I didn't want to see you, because I did. You're the only person I want to see recently. But I was getting better, and I know I've ruined all that by being here with you tonight."

I was getting better. The words echoed over and over in your brain. If he was just as bad as you were, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe you aren't as pathetic. 

"I hate this," you settled on, fidgeting awkwardly with your fingers. 

He didn't respond for a few too many moments, and it had you wanting to take back your words. He rubbed his eyes with another sigh. 

"I'm not going back on my decision," he said, and you didn't need to ask what decision; you had an idea, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

But you did anyways. "Which decision?"

"Breaking up with you."

You were silent for a few moments too. "I'm not asking you to—"

"—No, but you want me to," he cuts you off. "And I'm telling you I won't. You know why I did it. That trumps whatever feelings I have for you."

Have.

"I don't know why," you said, shakily. You did. He gave you a reason, and if you had to explain the breakup to someone, you could tell them why. But the ongoing conflict in your brain confused you anyways. 

"Yes you do," he answered, his jaw tensing. When you shook your head, and went to respond, he cut you off, stepping closer. "I can afford to lose you. I can't afford for the world to."

He had said something similar the day he left. Something about a fear of you dying. Something you had tried to reassure him of, failing to do so clearly. 

"What about me?" your voice cracked and you cursed it.

"It will get better."

You could've cried all over again, in the middle of the square. Everything always for the better. Never for the right now, for the things you both wanted. But for the everlasting fear Spencer had in his brain, that you didn't know how to help. 

"Apparently," you replied, sniffling as you took a step away from him. "I think I should go."

If he wanted to protest, he didn't show it. He simply nodded his head, lips parting in a silent exhale. 

And so you did, with wet cheeks, and a quiet, "Goodbye, Spencer."

loml (part 2) ♡

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[mikgreo]

Hiya! Love your posts so so so much ♡

I was wondering if you could do how haikyuu (or jjk) men react to finding out the reader has a kink for being fucked in front of someone else 🫣

Tysm! Anon x

“curiosity killed the cat.”

haikyuu headcanons.

a/n. ty nonnie for requesting!! ive never thought about writing something like this but it made me excited to see what i could come up with, i had fun writing this! take care nonnie <3!! i might do pt.2 :3

chars. oikawa, iwaizumi, kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, atsumu, osamu, suna.

syp. haikyuu characters & exhibitionism! +mini scenarios.

tags. exhibition, voyeurism, p/v, degradation, praise, petnames, pronouns or gender not mentioned but reader has a kitty & boobies, and use of babygirl/girl, manhandling (bokuto), edging, overstimulation, recording, whatever i missed..

oikawa!

rough jealous sex, teases you alot, might share you depending on the person, makes you moan out his name while the other person makes you cum, tried to get you to go to a kink club but you denied (“y/n-chann!! it’ll be fun!”)

he never thought you, or anyone else, were the type to initiate stuff like that, he was always just used to casual sex with his partners. but when he mentioned how “you probably want iwaizumi to see you like this, huh?” and felt you tighten up around him, he knew exactly what to do, he called iwa to come see a particular “show.”

“k-kawa!! s’too much.. sl-slow dowwwn~..ng-nghh!~” you whined out as oikawa thrusted deeply and roughly directly on your g-spot countless of times. “you like iwa-chan watching you get your back blown out, huh? you dirty fuckin’ girl, t’is what you wanted hm?” he slapped your ass, “after all yer stupid ass swayin’ and bendin’ over infront of ‘em you kinda asked for it, you slut.” he glanced over at iwaizumi, who was sitting on oikawa’s desk chair watching you two, face dusted in red and pink hues, sweat beads falling down his forehead. “come, its yer turn iwa-chan~”

iwaizumi!

def has vanilla sex, he likes to show that he can make you feel good by his hands, nice and soft, wouldnt share you but would make you speak out on how good hes making you feel

iwaizumi wasnt really used to anything like this, he was never the type of guy to have multiple girlfriends, let alone be sexually active. so whenever he found out from oikawa that your friend mentioned you were into that stuff, he didn’t know if he should ignore or act on it. but the more he thought about it the more frequently he found himself masturbating in the bathroom at the thought of him pleasuring you infront of another man. so, he decided to act on it.

“mmm, just like that, babygirl. keep rockin’ yer hips on my fingers js like thaaat.” iwaizumi had you on his lap infront of oikawa, who was sitting on iwaizumi’s gaming chair. legs pried open, glistening wet cunt on full display, you shamefully moaned at the circles iwa had been rubbing on your clit and your entrance. “tell ‘kawa how much you want me to fuck you with my fingers, doll.”

kuroo!

rough sex, open to threesomes (depending on the person), makes the third party record you two, edging/overstimulation final boss

lowkey wasnt that fazed about it, he’s been through some kinky people that he ended up ghosting/breaking up with because the kinks were overstepping boundaries, but he thought yours was quite doable. definitely got turned on once kenma told him you had said you were into that stuff. so he promised kenma he’d buy him the newest pc if he cooperated with his plan.

“oh yeahhh, look up at the camera just like that baby.” kuroo said behind you, as he was thrustinf his fingers into your seeping hole. he had you on all fours while you gave kenma a blowjob, as he recorded you all. “mmm…!!~” you mumbled onto kenmas cock, which he shuddered at. “you cummin’? i told you, cant til you make kenny here cum first, sweetheart.” this went on for 3 more hours..

bokuto!

rough-nice sex, fucks you dumb for sure, very prideful in his abilities and makes you you dont hold your voice back, make you make eye contact with third party, either really nice or really mean no in between, but i live for unknowingly and unwillingly rough bokuto so

kinda awkward about it, you were like his third girlfriend, and first ever actual serious once, adrenaline hits him and he ends up having his whole team watch him rail your poor small body. bokuto had learned alot from kuroo and oikawa about sex, so he decided this was a good opportunity to demonstrate his newly found skills. he asked his teammates to come over to his apartment, got them all to drink some beers and well..

“i know youve all been eyeing, y/n over here. so ill show you who she fuckin’ belongs to, but don’t hesitate to stroke yer dicks while you watch me absolutely fuck her dumb!” bokuto manhandled you into doggy, grabbing your arms and pulling them behind you back, thrusting in and out of you as deep as he could, whispering profanities into your ear. “fuckk, you like how der getting off to yer cute ass moans, huh? cmon.. be louder for them, let em know who’s responsible for this. fuck yeah, babygirl, t’day is alll about you.”

akaashi!

soft sex, would only let bokuto or tsukishima be the one watching you two, would worship you and brag about you to the other person while he fucked your brains out, overstimulation def, kinda gets a little toxic if the other person interacts.

akaashi was lowkey awkward about this too, but remained nonchalant, he had a talk with you to see if you would let bokuto be the one to watch you two, promising he wouldnt let him interrupt or touch you without your consent, he told you he had never been into any type of extreme kinks, so he apologized if he ended up deciding this wasnt for him, but swore he would try to make it work just to make you feel good.

“cmon princess, you can do better, why’re you getting shy on me now, hm?” he placed his hand on your head and ruffled your hair. you were down giving him a blowjob, with your legs spread open enough to let bokuto see you playing with your clit, desperate for some more friction. “mmm!” you muttered staring at akaashi with your puppy eyes. “im not, bokuto-san, touching you til you make me cum atleast twice. so get to work princess. you wanted this didnt you?” … “oh c’mon ‘kashi! dont be so mean” bokuto laughed loudly in the back.

atsumu!

possessive, would probably be mad at your for like half the day for suggesting it, but it grew on him, fast rough sex, lots of foreplay, teasing, and petnames.

“huuuhh?! why would you want sum rando watchin’ us fuck?” atsumu put if off for some days but the more he thought about it the more he found himself getting turned on by it. he set some rules, and had told you to go to a kink club since he didnt feel comfortable having anyone you both knew watch you, since you both only had a couple trusted people, and he was NOT gonna have his twin brother watch him fuck his girlfriend, let alone sakusa.

“look bae, all these people ‘round us comin’ just for you, see i told you you have the hottest fucking ass and tits ever.” he had you on top of him on one of the booth seats, you were jumping up and down on him and he took your nipples into his mouth. “fu-ck! ‘tsumu!! so good m gnna cumm~” you whined. “hell yeah baby, give em a show, aint gona stop til you start squirting like sum fuckin’ water sprinkler.” he laughed as he slapped your ass. “show em who’s yer fucking daddy, who’s making you feel good huh?” he breathed into your ear. “you-youyouyouyouyo-!! is you ‘tsumu youre so fuckin good at fucking my pussy daddy!!

osamu!

slow sex, praiiiiseeee, would probably only trust suna with you, would make suna touch you or something while he fucks you, asks if your okay during sex

he didn’t really know what to say when you had told him you found it hot to have someone watch you get fucked or something like a threesome, and he didnt wanna weird you out so he said you could try it out to see if he liked it as well. and he called up his buddy suna to help out!

“fuckk, yer tits taste so good, feels js like marshmallows, cutie.” suna said just below a whisper as he fondled your left boob and sucked on your right one. “mmm princess, your so tight, you feel so good yk that? you’re so perfect and beautiful like this.. making me wanna cum just from yer face.” osamu said as he had you in missionary, thrusting slowly but deep into your aching cunt. suna reached down to rub circles on your clit, “fuck, keep doing that suna, she just got so much tighter.”

suna!

literal virgin killer, casual sex, with some teasing & degradation, would be one to suggest this if you hadnt beaten him to it, down for anything but just doesnt admit it, literal definition of a freak undercover, lowkey would let anyone watch you two but just not touch you (imagine like anyone u want rlly)

“fuckk, keep fuckin yourself on my dick just like that, you have no idea how tight you feel, ma.” he had you facing the person while you fucked yourself dumb on his cock, going up and down. “play with yer boobs while they bounce, pretty. show em how sexy you can be, kay? put on a reaal pretty face, babygirl.”

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

The Suit Stays On~Miguel O'Hara x Reader smut~

Inspired by this post

Being in a relationship with Spiderman was the best thing that ever happened to you. Only thing was you had to keep it to yourself. But you wanted to talk with someone about it. One thing led to another and here you were scrolling on tumblr reading smut fic after smut fic of your man. You had to admit, it was pretty sexy. The writers didn't know his name or yours, of course. But reading about Spiderman picking up "Y/N" with his super strong arms and taking her against the closest wall or webbing her up and having his way with her, leaving the suit on during sex, all had you wet and craving something you never thought to ask Miguel for in the bedroom: Spiderman roleplay.

You'd been so obsessed with the fanfictions, you'd turned on notifications for your favorite authors and for the "Spiderman x reader" tag. You were watching Miguel on the tv as the news covered him taking on the bad guy of the week. Some anomaly refusing to go back to their own dimension. Miguel handled it quickly as usual and less than an hour later he was in your apartment, showering while you were in the kitchen. As he got out, he could hear your phone buzzing on the bed. It was going off repeatedly. Normally he would just ignore it, probably emails from work or something, but this was constant. Every few minutes your phone would go off. Rolling his eyes, he sighed heavily and strolled over to the bed. He grabbed your phone and unlocked it to mute your notifications, when he noticed the "t" icon at the top of your phone. Multiple t's began to appear as the tag updated with more fics. Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled down the header to see what was so important. His eyes widened as he saw the first notification, "Spiderman NSFW headcannons". "What the hell is a headcannon?" He murmured to himself, unable to stop himself from pressing it.

Your phone opened your tumblr app to the Spiderman tag and Miguel was bombarded with pictures of himself (well, Spiderman) drawn in some interesting ways, as well as hundreds of stories about him. Fanfictions about Spiderman saving a girl then having sex with her, Spiderman with a Villain!Reader, Spiderman getting kinky with the webbing. It went on and on. Miguel was shocked by how many people fantasized about Spiderman. He actually thought he was rather unpopular. Is this what you were into? Why hadn't you come to him with your fantasy? He'd be more than happy to indulge you in some roleplay. And what was better than having the actual Spiderman there for your fantasy? He swiped over to your profile and found your "Likes" sections. He quickly read through the top few stories, ideas buzzing through his head.

"Miguel! Your food is ready!" You called, your voice snapping him out of his focus on your phone. He was hungry but the idea of you being aroused by his alter ego created a different kind of hunger in him. He wanted to take you in all kinds of ways. He needed to see you beg for him in his spidersuit. He needed to do this right.

With a couple taps on his watch Miguel's suit digitally reappeared on his body. He extended his talons and jumped up, hooking himself to the ceiling, and headed towards the kitchen. Your apartment was nice enough to have a higher ceiling so he could sneak above you without you noticing. He was used to creeping up on bad guys like this but it felt different doing it to you. Like you were unsuspecting prey just for him, the strong predator, to pounce on and devour. You were just below him now, completely unaware of your surroundings because of your earbuds. He watched you for a moment as your served up plates for the two of you, humming softly and swinging your hips to the music playing in your ears. He held back a moan as he watched your ass sway side to side in those shorts. He could feel the predator instinct in him kick into a higher gear and his fangs began to extend on their own, his mouth watering at the thought of webbing you up and taking you right here on the ceiling.

He shook his head, clearing his mind. He'd have plenty of time for that. He didn't want to rush this. He descended slowly on a web behind you, his head level with the back of yours as he hung upside down. You pulled out one of your earbuds to call for him again. "Migue-AAH!" You screamed as your turned and came face to face with the red and blue mask, eyes staring intently at you through it. "Jesus! What the hell are you doing?!" You shouted, clutching your chest. Miguel laughed. "Is that how you talk to the guy that just rescued you, hermosa?" You looked at him, confused. "Huh?" "What happened to 'thank you'? I even saved your cellphone...lots of interesting notifications you have on there, hermosa." Miguel replied, waving your cellphone in front of you. The eyes on his masked shifted into a knowing look and your own widened as you realized what he meant. Your face heated up in embarrassment but Miguel being on board for the roleplay, initiating it even, had you so wet and you weren't about to pass this up.

"Th-thank you, Spiderman, for saving me. How can I ever repay you?" He beckoned you forward with his finger. "How about a kiss?" He suggested. Biting your lip, you slowly ran your hands up to the base of his mask and peeled it slowly down his face, stopping just on the bridge of his nose. You gently pressed your lips to his and hummed dreamily against him. Miguel let out a low groan as you sucked on his bottom lip. Your thumb brushed his cheek as you held his face and Miguel could feel his resolve to take his time wavering. You pulled away from him much sooner than he would've liked but it was all part of the character you were playing. The shy, naive girl flustered from being saved by her superhero crush.

You stepped back after pulling his mask back over his face, shyly rubbing your arm and avoiding his gaze. He flipped down from his web, towering over you as he stood to his full height. "I don't think you're done repaying me yet, princesa." He murmured. "W-what else do you want?" You asked, anticipation buzzing through you. He tilted his head to one side as if examining you. "I have a few ideas".

~~~~~~

You had no idea that when you started this, you'd be laying strapped in a giant web on the corner of your living room ceiling, your clothes torn and dangling below you, while Miguel crawled menacingly towards your dripping pussy. "You look so beautiful like this, hermosa. I think I should keep you like this for a while. That way I can keep you safe. You wouldn't want to run into anymore danger, would you?" Your response was cut off with a moan as Miguel licked a long stripe up your pussy. You cried out and tugged against your restraints as his tongue flicked up and down your clit. His strong hands held your legs open and his lips wrapped around your clit making your head spin from the pleasure. Pulling away with a sucking pop, he smirked at you, his sharp fangs visible in his grin. "Answer me, muñeca." He demanded, his deep voice rumbling in your ear, making you clench around nothing.

"N-no Spiderman...I-I don't want to get into trouble again." Miguel hummed in approval and began to rub your clit in slow circles. "You need me to protect you, don't you, baby? You're just too sweet to be wandering the streets alone. It's not safe." Biting your lip to stifle your moans, you nodded quickly. Miguel's fingers worked skillfully over you, dipping inside you a few times before returning to your clit and then back again. "Tell me you need me to keep you safe, baby. I wanna hear you." Miguel growled. "Y-yes! Oh f-fuck yes! Please Spiderman..I-I need you. N-need you to keep me -ah! s-safe. Oh fuck please Spiderman...need you so bad!" You whined, Miguel's fingers speeding up inside you.

"You're so pretty when you beg, hermosa. You'll let me fuck you like this, won't you? Dirty girl..letting your hero take you any way I want. So fucking naughty.."

Miguel climbed on top of you, your legs wrapping around his waist. He retracted just enough of his suit to free his large, hard cock. Stroking it a couple times, he looked down at you, his mask returning to cover the rest of his face. "Estás lista, cariño?" You nodded again, too aroused to answer respond. Miguel gripped your hips in his large hands and pushed into you slowly. The room was filled with loud moaning from the two of you. Miguel leaned down next to your ear. "I'm not going to be gentle, princesa." He warned. You whimpered and bucked your hips up into his. "Please fuck me, Spiderman. I want you inside me!" You whined.

Miguel began to set a brutal pace. The sound of his hips snapping against yours filled the room, along with your cries of pleasure. Your hands clenched at the web restraining you, your fingers aching from how tight you were squeezing. His head fell down onto your shoulder, his panting and groaning filled your ears. "Oh fuuuuck yes! You feel so fucking good!" You moaned, clenching around Miguel tightly. "You're gonna make me -fuck...cum if you keep talking like that, baby." He groaned. "Please cum inside me, Spiderman. Fill me up...I wanna feel it dripping out of me!" You begged. Miguel choked out a moan and gripped your hips tightly. The web shook as Miguel slammed into you over and over again.

"Want me to fill you up, bebita? Want me to put a baby in you?"

"Oh my god please, Spiderman. Give it to me! I want it so bad!" You screamed, your orgasm hitting you suddenly, soaking Miguel's cock. His orgasm followed not too far behind. You were certain bruises were forming on your hips from how hard he was squeezing you as he came. His hot seed spilled inside you, coating your insides. Miguel rocked his hips against you as he came down from his orgasm. The two of you were breathing heavily and Miguel collapsed beside you, digitally removing his mask from his face. He leaned over and pressed kisses all over your face, making you giggle.

"Was that okay, mi vida?" He asked, his previous cockiness lost when he dropped character and replaced with a bit of nervousness that he didn't live up to the online fantasies.

You hummed happily and once he released your hands, moved over to rest your head on his chest. "Definitely more than okay. That was amazing." You sighed. Miguel smiled to himself and kissed the top of your head. "I didn't mean to go through your tumblr. Your phone kept going off and I guess curiosity got to me. Why didn't you tell me you had a thing for me in my Spidersuit?" "I didn't want you to think it was weird I guess. Or that I only loved you cause you're a superhero. I loved Miguel before I loved Spiderman. The suit just adds to the sexiness." You replied. Miguel laughed loudly and pulled you closer. "Gracias, hermosa. I'll make sure the news cameras get my good angles next time they're covering me fighting someone." You rolled your eyes playfully and kissed him.

"And don't worry I've got way more ideas for us to try, Spiderman."

[etherealily]

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breaching every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what you thought he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffle bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

[bluerthanvelvet444]

‧₊˚♫ ⋅* ‧₊✮𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥✮‧₊˚ ⋅*♫ ˚₊⋅

Tate Langdon x fem!reader

tags: smut with a plot and some fluff.

warnings: obsessive behavior, kind of a switch!Tate, oral (f receiving), dry humping, p in v.

summary: Tate encounters a Tumblr girl. (Inspirated a lot by the song I linked under.)

character count: 12k.

full fic under the cut ↓

.⋆.‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧.⋆.

2014.

Tate had never really cared about looking ‘stylish’ or ‘fitting in’ when he was alive. He had his own style, which wasn’t trendy nor one of a kind just…his. He didn’t need anyone else’s approval to believe he was cool, mostly because the girls that were attracted to him were just as fucked up as him and the popular ones tended to ignore him.

Ironical how that changed in his afterlife, once he saw you. After dying, Tate’s time was spent either with the other trapped souls or by himself. Hardly ever people moved in the Murder House, and whether they did, they were a low-budget couple in their 40s. So Tate’s knowledge of the modern outside world was poor and lacking, especially when it came to his ‘peers’. That’s why when you first moved in the house, Tate was stunned, if not flabbergasted even.

You were struggling with carrying your heavy luggage, muttering curses as the wind blew your colorful hair in your eyes. The first word that came in Tate’s mind as he watched you from the front window was “cool.”

He spent the first days of your sojourn watching you from afar, admiring the way you acted. Tate found out the way you styled your outfits in the fashionable way, how you talked to your friends in slangs and how you spent your evenings taking pictures on your polaroid and on a glowing little box, that for some strange reason you called phone, to post (that’s the term you used) on a little blue icon marked with a white t. He didn’t know what was considered popular now, but he was sure you belonged in that category, judging by the way you looked and the way your pictures had high numbers under them whenever you uploaded them. He needed wanted to approach you, and the perfect opportunity showed up when he saw you type on your glowing box:

“PARTY in the MURDER HOUSE tonite!! >_< :33!!”

.⋆.‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧.⋆.

The house had never been so full of alive people having fun. The doors were open, colorful lights were shining and high volume music was blasting. Tate tried blending in, although the more he looked around the more he felt…lame. The drunk teens around him were all different from each other, and none of them matched his vibe. And he even wore his favorite sweater!

Still, he had nothing to lose, so he took a deep breath and searched for you in the crowd. Tate made his way past people as they pushed him to the left and to the right. It felt weird to be seen, to be touched. He found you circled by people asking questions about the house. Was it haunted? Were there ghosts? All of which you answered with a simple “No.”.

“Of course there aren’t any ghosts, I’m keeping them away from you.” Tate thought. Since he was too nervous to actually take a few steps and start a conversation with you, he figured he’d get some punch, just to loosen up a bit. He walked towards the punch bowl, and as soon as he reached to grab a cup, his hand met yours. You both grabbed the same solo cup.

“Sorry! You can have it.” You giggled as you let him take the cup. Tate blinked a few times, eyes locked to your bright smile, before grabbing the cup and filling it up. “Be cool, Tate. Don’t mess it up.” He thought.

“Uh. So…this is your party, right?” He gulped, eyes darting around the house as if he didn’t know every single inch of it by heart.

“Yes! Thought it would’ve been fun to host a party in a so-called Murder House. Plus, this house is giant, it gets lonely after some time…You live near here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.” You smiled.

“Oh…yeah. My name’s Tate. I live nearby.” Tate’s eyes trailed upon your figure, he had never been able to see you from so close. You simply nodded, sipping from your cup. He cleared his throat.

“You know…I used to live in this house.” He added nonchalantly, trying so hard to sound interesting.

“Really?! No way!” Your giggles rang in his ears.

“Mhm. You probably noticed some of my things still laying around in my bedroom. No one has stepped in since I last did.” He nodded.

“Oh, do you wanna see? Maybe there’s something you left that you want back.” You replied, slightly raising your voice so that it could be heard over the music.

“I uh-There’s no need t-” He was interrupted by you grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs anyways. You opened the door of the bedroom and kicked out a couple that was making out on your bed.

“Ugh!! I should’ve locked the door!” You exclaimed, closing the door behind you two. Tate looked around, some of your things were laying around, but it was mostly all his.

“Dude you left everything here!” You giggled. Tate forced out a chuckle, everything was of course still there, since he ‘lived’ there normally and never moved.

“Yeah, uh…Guess I left in a hurry.” He muttered awkwardly and grabbed some of his Nirvana CDs.

“There they were…!” He pretended as if he didn’t just play them everyday before you came.

“CDs? Didn’t you use an IPod or something?” You gave him a confused look.

“Oh uh…no, I prefer CDs.” He nodded, as if he knew what an IPod was.

“You don’t use your phone?” You asked, raising up your glowing box.

“No, I…don’t have one.” He gulped.

“Damn, how do you handle that? I could never live without Tumblr or Instagram.” You chuckled.

“...Yea, um…just not my thing, y’know?” He cleared his throat, trying his best to change the subject.

“Oh, yea. I’ve met some people like that. I envy y’all, y’know? Tumblr’s literally addicting to me. Can’t help it though, love when people comment nice stuff and see you as inspiring, y’know?” You chuckled, sitting down on his your bed.

“Uh…can’t really relate. I’ve always been pretty invisible.” He shrugged.

“Oh…you don’t seem so bad. I like the whole grungy vibe.” You grinned, pointing to his outfit.

“Oh- uh…thank you.” He hoped it was a good thing to be ‘grungy’...or whatever you said.

“Yea, looks good on you. Doesn’t really fit me tho.” You giggled.

“You’d look gorgeous in anything.” Was what Tate wanted to say, but he didn’t wanna push his luck too far, so he just forced a shy chuckle.

.⋆.‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧.⋆.

You spent something like 30 minutes just laughing and getting to know each other while laying on the bed. During this whole time, he couldn’t help but think about how breathtaking you were: your smile, your eyes, your body, your personality, your whole being. You were perfect. Perfect for him. He found himself to be completely mesmerized by you, he needed you to be his, he needed you to make him feel loved, alive. He wondered how you did it, how ever since the first second you spent next to him, his heart started beating for the first time since he died. His body felt warm, his skin didn’t feel so cold anymore, he started breathing again. He was addicted to this feeling, so he did the only reasonable thing he would’ve done if he was actually alive, he gently grabbed your cheek and pressed his lips against yours. Everything felt just better after he kissed you, as if after that whole hell he had been through he finally reached paradise. He felt even more surprised when you kissed back, your lips moving in sync with his. He moved to lay on top of you, balancing his weight so he didn’t crush you, his lips never leaving yours as his fingertips danced across your body. His tongue slipped in your mouth, swirling around yours in a passionate dance. He let out some deep throaty groans, he felt his desire grow as it coursed through his veins. He needed to feel you, so he deepened his kisses. When you moved your lips down on his jaw and then his neck, he almost lost it. He felt embarrassed for moaning so much and basically becoming a mess under your touch, but he relaxed as soon as he felt your lips curling up in a smile against his skin. He moved on to devour your neck, grinning as he felt you moan now. His hands gripped every inch of your body.

“You’re so…beautiful…” He mumbled against your skin, grabbing your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. He looked up at you while tugging at your shirt, silently asking for consent to peel it off of you.

“You can take off whatever you want...” You winked, giving him a cute smile. He immediately peeled off both his and your clothes, groaning at the sight of your body. His lips worked hungrily on your collarbone, leaving marks that will most likely turn into hickeys the next day, then placed kisses on the valley between your breasts, a tiny whine leaving him when his fingers failed at desperately trying to undo the clasp of your bra.

You giggled and helped him, throwing your bra somewhere on the floor. He immediately took one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling gently while looking up at you with those brown puppy eyes of his. You smiled and twirled a strand of his blonde locks between your fingers, soft moans escaping your lips. He kept switching between sucking your left then right nipple, his hand groping the one he wasn’t attacking with his mouth. He felt himself getting harder as he felt the warmth radiating from your body, so while his mouth worked wonders, he desperately brushed his growing bulge from under his boxers on your leg. He let out some needy whines, and he couldn’t help but mutter sweet words against your skin as he lowered down to trail kisses on your tummy.

“So perfect f’me…” His words came out muffled as he trailed his kisses down, pressing his lips against your inner thigh and then on the fabric of your panties. You moaned when his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, slowly pulling it down, as his lips immediately worked on your clit.

“Ah…just like that Tate…don’t stop…” You moaned when he started to suckle gently, soft whines leaving his mouth as well. As he got more needy himself, his mouth lowered on your entrance, his tongue gently brushing against your wet folds, finally entering you after teasing you a slight bit. What you felt was pure bliss, unholy sounds leaving your lips every time his tongue sped up. When you looked down, you found Tate looking up at you with those brown doe eyes from between your legs, as he worked his magic. The sight only drove you to the edge, your moans getting louder as you came on his face. He groaned and cleaned you up with his tongue, making sure not to miss any single droplet of your cum.

“So good…you taste so fucking good…” He moaned into your ear, pressing wet kisses on your neck and collarbone.

“Wanna be inside of you…please? please let me…” He whined while rubbing his hard dick against your flesh. You nodded and just like that he didn't waste any more time, he abruptly pulled his boxer down, groaning as the cold air hit his shaft, and lined up with your entrance. While you were still coming down from your high after the intense orgasm, Tate pushed his dick inside of you slowly, moaning uncontrollably once he felt your tight walls clenching around him. You were relieved that this encounter happened when you threw a party, or every single soul nearby would’ve heard the throaty groans and moans leaving his lips.

“Mh…tight…so tight…so pretty-can I move please? I’ll be- ah…I’ll be careful-please-” He whined against your neck, as his blonde strands caressed your face gently. You agreed, and just like that he was thrusting in and out of you, first slowly, then at a steady pace. The room was filled with filthy moans, yours and his, and the repetitive sound of skin against skin, as your sweaty bodies were sliding one against each other. He felt like he was going insane as his mind couldn't help but focus on you and you only. Every moment was more pleasurable and he felt like he was closer and closer, so he muttered in your ear, still thrusting into you.

“Close…so close…don’t think i’m gonna last-ah…longer…please please please…want you to cum too…” He babbled as his brain turned into mush.

“Ah-! Mhm…m’close too…” You breathed out, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten even more.

“Please-mh…cum on my dick? yeah? wanna feel you..please…” He whimpered, he felt like he couldn’t contain his upcoming orgasm. You couldn’t even respond as the repetitive brushing of his tip against your G-spot drove you to the edge. Letting out a loud moan, you came for the second time while he was still inside of you. That caused Tate’s eyes to roll back, his groans only filling the room as the feeling of your cum dripping on his length and your walls squeezing it, was too much to bear. He quickly pulled out and came all over your stomach, then he collapsed next to you.

He spent the next moments cuddling up against you, thinking about everything. His hands were playing with your hair, and when he looked down he found your eyes closed and your breath steady. He smiled at the sight, wanting every night of his afterlife to end like this and determined to make that happen. He kept placing sweet kisses on the top of your head, while he wondered how he was gonna explain to you that he died before Tumblr even existed.

.⋆.‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧.⋆.

taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @angeldollw @doll3tt33 @marchsfreakshow @fear-is-truth @dykejugheadjones @happy74827 @evpeters87 @dont-look-behind @brightanshiny

a/n: rahhhh tate's such a loser needy boy. BTW spent sm time on this fic, I'm pretty proud of how it turned out!! hope you like it! this is for my tumblr girlies🩷

all rights reserved!!

[imaginesig]

Blue + Papaya

Pato O'Ward x reader

An F1 and an Indycar driver go on a social media brake....

ynln posted a two stories!

caption: (1) was I paying attention to the totally important sponsor lunch? Mmh yea totally (2) cheers to the absolute champ that is my man @/patriciooward

replies:

maxverstappen1

you're lucky they thought it was cute

old rich people love happy couples!

yea and the champagne you bought the table

hey the sponsored agreed to the next season so 🤷‍♀️

patriciooward

I cannot believe you

dont worry they found our love cute so they agreed

you're ridiculous

but you love me!

I do ❤️

user1

LMAO Y/N

user2

YOU WERE NOT WATCHING INDYCAR AT A WORK LUNCH

user3

y'all are literally my favorite couple ever!!!

patriciooward

liked by ynln, arrowmclaren, user43, and 823,209 others

patriciooward celebrating first 💪

tagged arrowmclaren, ynln

ynln THATS HOW WE DO IT

ynln LETS GO PAPAYA

user3 what a redbull pr nightmare

ynln IM SO PROUD

patriciooward I love you 🤍

ynln I love you too!!!!🤍

arrowmclaren That's our driver 👏🏆

user1 YESSS PATO!!!!

user2 a weekend full of Mclaren wins🧡

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patriciooward posted two stories!

captions: (1) lets go 13!!! (and Mclaren) (2) someone's moms a winner

replies

ynln

I love youuu

I love you tooooo

call me later!!

Will do!

landonorris

thanks for the support 😒

at least I mentioned you

bros before hoes or whatever they say

im ignoring you now

user1

stop this is too cute

user2

"someones mom" I'm gonna cry

ynln

liked by patriciooward, redbullracing, maxverstappen1, and 928,293 others

ynln love to hear that champagne pop!

tagged redbullracing

patriciooward You were incredible! Norbi and I are so proud!!

ynln I love and miss you guys 🤍

danielriccardo what a race!

redbullracing thats our girl 💪💪

ynln admin i love you

maxverstappen1 next time I'll get you

ynln sure sure, whatever you say

user1 great day for YnPato fans

user2 fr i love the double wins

user3 aww the flowers from Pato

user4 hes always on top of things

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twitter

ynln posted a story!

caption: off week(s) I love you already

replies

user1

where you going with that papaya Y/n?

user2

headed to america by any chance?

user3

airport fits always eat

indycar_updates

liked by user1, user5, user84, and 734,939 others

indycar_updates whether you know her from her career in F1 or as Pato O'Ward's girlfriend, a familiar face has been spotted in the paddock

tagged no one

user1 OMG OMG OMG

user2 THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER FINALLY

user3 its a great day or annoying people

user4 she looks so good!!

user5 i love that she has no papaya

user6 shes loyal to rb

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arrowmclaren

liked by ynln, user54, user2, and 928,293 others

arrowmclaren it was an honor to host our Mclaren buddies (and of course of fav Red Bull gets a shout out 😍)!!

tagged oscarpiastri, landonorris, ynln

elbaoward @/ynln you look so cute

ynln I'd be nowhere without your style guidance

redbullracing we lost our girl to the orange team

arrowmclaren its papaya actually

ynln dont fight, this isnt you admin

oscarpiastri thank you for the warm hospitality!

landonorris what a great weekend!

user1 welp looks like girlie came across some merch

user2 we lost her 😔

user3 ok ok but like thats Pato's personal jacket, not just some merch

user2 nevermind them i can be ok with this

load more

ynln

liked by maxverstappen1, patriciooward, user66, and 902,292 others

ynln you look so good in papaya baby 🧡

tagged: patriciooward

redbullracing come home the kids miss you

ynln otw admin 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀��

patriciooward ditto 😉🧡

ynln the only time I will ever be seen

elbaoward hands a little low 🤨

ynln heard loud and clear, won't happen again 🫡

user1 I love that she didnt post a single pic of herself in Mclaren merch/colors

user2 pr dream

user3 I love the first pic

load more

patriciooward

liked by ynln, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 928,203 others

patriciooward great results+great company=perfect weekend 🧡🤍

tagged arrowmclaren, ynln, oscarpiastri, landonorris

ynln wonderful race!! I love you

patriciooward thank you for the support! I love you too

landonorris great race!

oscarpiastri it was wonderful meeting you!

arrowmclaren we agree, great company 😁

user1 Im beginning to think Mclaren photoshopped their photo of her, because Y/n hasn't been seen in papaya since 💀

user2 the second photo hand placement 🫠🫠

user3 my fav Mclaren boys all in one place

load more

ynln

liked by danielriccardo, elbaoward, user94, and 929,0292 others

ynln who doesn't love watching your best friends get married??

tagged patriciooward

patriciooward gorgeous girl 🤍

ynln pretty boy 🤍

user1 ugh they are so attractive

user2 im gonna cry the way he's looking at her in the second pic

user3 so when will y'all attend your own wedding??

user4 fr

elbaoward I second this

ynln LMAO ELBA GET OUT

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patriciooward posted a story!

caption: be my forever wedding date? @/ynln

replies

ynln

anytime baby 🤍

Time Skip

patriciooward

liked by elbaoward, user54, landonorris, and 829,292 others

patriciooward what a season! Thank you @/arrowmclaren for everything!

tagged arrowmclaren, ynln

ynln so so so proud!!!!

patriciooward 🤍

arrowmclaren can't wait for next year 👏👏

patriciooward right back at you!!

user1 next years champion- I can smell it

user2 lets go Pato!!!

user3 ugh this man is too fine

user4 that middle picture is actual goals

user5 my fav couple fr fr

load more

ynln

liked by elbaoward, user43, user92, and 928,029 others

ynln IndyCar, what a season

tagged: patriciooward

ynln alternate caption: save a horse

user1 LMAO Y/N

danielriccardo im blocking you

maxverstappen1 how would admin feel about this

pactriciooward 🤠

pactriciooward thank you for being here for it, near and far 🤍

ynln 🤍🤍

user2 that last photo ma'am 😫

user3 omg their captions match

load more

ynln

liked by danielriccardo, yukitsunoda0511, user25, and 981, 918 others

ynln last moments of peace before its back to work

tagged patriciooward

redbullracing we hope you enjoyed it!!🏕️

Patriciooward unplug and unwind

user1 awww Norbi

User2 I love this!!

User3 this is such a them thing to do

user4 right only Yn and Pato would go camping with his dog on a off week

Load more

patriciooward posted a story!

caption 🤍🤍, 🎶 Keep Driving by Harry Styles

Replies

User1

Orange backpack?? We caught her

User2

Enjoy offseason!!

User3

please travel with Y/n to f1 stuff!!!

f1_updates

liked by user82, user91, user 9, and 718,828 others

f1_updates: Pato O'Ward, Y/n L/n's boyfriend and Arrow Mclaren Driver, has posted several stories proving rumors he's in the paddock today dressed in Red Bull Blue...

tagged no one

User1 please not the selfie in the hospitality bathroom

User2 he may have blue on but we all see the nods to McLaren

user3 they’re both so stubborn abt their teams 💀

user4 OMG OMG OMG

user5 they are literally couple goals

User6 if he wanted to he would

Load more

ynln

liked by user3, danielriccardo, redbullracing, and 918,992 others

ynln the best company in the paddock this week! So happy to get P4, but rest assured I'll come back stronger next time

tagged redbullracing, patriciooward

user1 the last pic HELLO???

user2 they’re too cute

lilmhe glasses Y/n is too cute

Ynln love you lils 🫶🫶

Patriciooward 🤍

Ynln 🤍

user3 such good driving this weekend!!

user4 podium next week??

Load more

patriciooward

liked by Ynln, user42, arrowmclaren, and 982,992 others

patriciooward in a sea of blue I'll bring the papaya

Tagged Ynln, redbullracing

Ynln can’t take the McLaren out of the boy

patriciooward sorry not sorry babe!

redbullracing after our hospitality?? Were hurt

arrowmclaren @/mclaren we’ve trained him well

landonorris right on mate

user1 only Pato

user2 I swear 💀

Load more

Time Skip

ynln and patriciooward

liked by danielriccardo, landonorris, elbaoward, and 918,929 others

ynln 10.13.24

tagged no one

elbaoward my favorites!! I love you guys ❤️❤️

danielriccardo best night ever!

landonorris beautiful couple!!

User1 welp we now know where they’ve been

User2 STOP THEY GOT MARRIED

user3 this was not on my 2024 bingo card

user4 im gonna cry

user5 you know this was a party between all the F1 and indycar drivers 😭

user6 Y/n IS the life of the party

user7 what a power couple

load more

[dont-tell-anyone-im-here]

Obsession

You may be attracted to your career counselor, but he was obsessed with you.

***TW: Power Imbalance; Stalking; Obsessive Behavior; Breaking and Entering; CNC; Choking; Dirty Talk; Rough Oral; Forced Penetration; Afton/Raglan are not good people so they're written as such***

Tags: Reader Has No Specific Genitalia; Oral M Receiving; Masturbation; Sex Toy; Pet Names (White Rabbit/Bunny); x Reader; Blowjob; Penetration; Cross-Posted AO3

It was hard looking for jobs on your own. Especially in this day and age with the classifieds drowning in ads that aren’t even job listings. You are known as a, “job-hopper”, and in the somewhat-small town that you lived in, it was starting to get difficult to find a position that you hadn’t already filled. Luckily, you were the ideal customer for Mr. Steve Raglan, “Career Counselor Extraordinaire”. (At least that’s what he introduced himself as when you had first met.) Other career counselors had given up on you, not seeing a reason to try to get someone employed if they’re just going to quit within a month. However, he saw dollar signs with you. Why would he push away someone who’s a repeat customer? He’d be more than happy to help you, as long as the checks cleared.

You sought help from this man to find work and it was unfortunate that things had to be professional. Steve Raglan wasn’t the usual type to be the object of your sexual desires. It was rare to find yourself fantasizing about older men that weren’t celebrities that littered magazines and the big screen. Silver foxes of the real world were few and far between, and most didn’t age as gracefully as your career counselor. You admit, you weren’t attracted to him when you had first met. He seemed to be like any other middle-aged man trying to get by with an office job that he hated. The second time you met, he was surprised to see you back, joking that he must be losing his touch if you were back so quick. You found that this dry sense of humor was something that you would look forward to hearing at your appointment by the fourth time you had met. It was during the fifth appointment that you noticed how intensely he looked at you from across the desk when you spoke. You noticed the veins in his forearms as he would hand you paperwork. He had strange, patterned scars burned into his skin that sparked curiosity within you, but you never dared to ask. You noticed how he studied every move you would make, like he was dissecting you in his mind, trying to figure out what exact muscles were used to make your body move like that. After you started to notice the little things, you couldn’t stop. Every time you’d come into his office, he’d shake your hand, and every time you’d try not to pay too much attention to how easily his hand enveloped yours. You’d try not to stare as he would look over his files, even though it gave you a moment to watch him when he wouldn’t notice. You’d try not to squirm in your seat when he’d stare you down from across his desk, tutting about only staying two weeks on the last job.

As much as you had a little crush on your counselor, you were also a little afraid. That intense stare sent shocks to your core but it always left a part of your stomach churning. Those scars made you worry about how strong he had to be to survive what caused them, strong enough to do something to you. Him studying your body as if for dissection could very possibly be the reality of what was going through his mind. His hands were a reminder of how much bigger he is than you. You weren’t sure if your infatuation gave you rose-tinted glasses to ignore those feelings of danger when with him, but it had seemed that way, because what you felt for your counselor was pure lust. It was becoming near impossible to be able to sit through those meetings, to be under his scrutiny and not beg for him to take you on his desk.

This was now the tenth time you’ve met with Steve Raglan. Or, it will be the moment he calls you back to his office. Your knee bounced as you waited, impatience starting to eat away at you as you looked around the waiting room, seeing that you were the only one in the lobby, the office secretary the only other body in the room. The secretary told you that your counselor would see you in ten minutes when you had arrived, and when you checked your wristwatch, you saw that a half hour had passed. You weren’t upset, moreso annoyed. Why have you show up at a certain time if he’s not even going to abide by it? You fidgeted in your seat, switching the bouncing knee to tapping your fingers on the armrest of your chair. The door to your crush’s office opened and the crush himself stood on the other side, extending an arm to hold the door open for you as you as he called your name. You tried not to look too eager as you jumped up from your chair. You quickly made your way into the office, trying to keep your eyes on your feet as you ducked under his arm to get past. You saw in your peripheral that he held out his free hand for a greeting and you expertly ignored it. There was a subtle frown when you passed him without a handshake, putting his hand into his pant’s pocket without a comment on how much he didn’t like that.

“Late for somethin’, white rabbit?” Mr. Raglan asked as he closed the door behind him, watching you take your seat in front of his desk. He went to his coffee maker, and began pouring himself a cup. He looked over his shoulder at you, raising the coffee pot with a quirked brow. You wave your hand, dismissing him as you got comfortable in your seat. Steve sniffed, putting the carafe back in its place then turning, a mug in hand. You shook your head, ‘tsk’ing as you pulled an exaggerated disappointed look.

“You’re the one that’s late. We were supposed to meet 20 minutes ago.” You chided, picking at your nails. A part of you liked being the one to tease him for once. He let out an, “Ah!” as he understood, taking a brief sip of his coffee before explaining himself.

“Last appointment was rough- desperate for a job and can’t even do nights? You’re makin’ me push a camel through a pinhole.”

Odd. You didn’t notice anyone walk out of the office when you were called back. Maybe you just hadn’t seen them- you were looking at the floor when walking in, they must’ve just slipped by. As rational as you found that explanation, something still seemed off. There was a slight unease in your stomach that you fended off with your rationalizations. You were so busy figuring out your thoughts that you didn’t notice your career counselor place himself between you and his desk, leaning back on it and sipping his coffee as he turned his torso to open your work file, angling it so he could read it better at the position he was in. You came back to reality when you felt his leg press against yours. You couldn’t help the wave of heat that rushed through you upon seeing how close he was. His desk was no longer an island keeping you away, he was right there, you could take him, right then. You wanted to, but kept your face to your lap, still picking at your nails. You didn’t want him to see the growing blush on your cheeks, feeling embarrassed at the thought of him seeing how much you worked yourself up over something so insignificant. He frowned. He didn’t like that you weren’t looking at him.

“So-“ He started, taking a quick glance back on his desk to read something on your file then turning back to you, “- serving drunks ‘til 3 am wasn’t the dream job?”

“More like a nightmare job.” You said as you inched your leg away from his. He didn’t like that either, but his quick flame of anger died out when your eyes finally met, able to look at him without a blush caused by his limited touch. He had raised a brow at your comments, waiting for you to elaborate as he took a sip from his mug.

“It would’ve been different if the drunks were at least cute.” You joked, when the counselor didn’t laugh, you sighed. “But the real answer is that I was tired of the bouncer walking me to my car- most nights he’d try to take me to his car instead.”

“Sounds like the perfect gentleman.” Mr. Raglan muttered, taking another sip of his coffee then setting it down on his desk. “So, cross ’bartender’ off future lists?”

You bobbed your head side to side, thinking, “… All the ones with creepy bouncers and customers.”

“That’s all bartending then.”

You slumped back in your seat, caught up in your own defeat as yet another job became unattainable to you. You slipped further in your chair as you thought of anything else you could possibly do as a career, your mind so preoccupied that you didn’t notice your legs interlock with his. But he did. You were advancing his touch, clearly you wanted him. Images and scenarios clipped through his brain of all the terrible things he wanted to do to you. Bend you in half over his desk, tie you to your chair with your legs spread, push your head into the coffee stained carpet and pound into you until your rug-burned cheeks bled. The things he wanted to do to you just in his office.

“Is there anything like stocking? I could put stuff on shelves.” You broke the quiet of the room. As Steve took a couple extra milliseconds to answer, blinking a few times to bring himself back to reality, you finally saw how your knees had pinned him to his spot.

“Sure- we’ll just trade in the pervy bouncer with a pervy grocer.” He said once he got the image of your crying, naked, marked body out of his imagination.

“I feel like a pervy grocer would be more mild-mannered.” You sat back up, freeing his legs from yours, trying to get rid of the sexual power you felt keeping him in his place. He really didn’t like that. You had somehow managed to piss him off for the third time and you’d only been in his office for five minutes. He was going to have to do something about that.

“Seriously though, do you have any stocking jobs? I can ignore whatever awful thing there is about the place- I just need a job.” You sounded desperate. Oh, that was what he was going to do about that, perfect.

“I don’t think I have anything like that.” Mr. Raglan said flatly, knowing damn well that he had about five different offers of exactly what you were asking for. He just wanted to see you beg, something that he could take home with him for the late hours when he can’t sleep.

“Could you check?” You asked, just as flat, annoyed that he seemed to not care. When he just brought his mug to his lips and drank the last few gulps of his coffee, you added a, “Please?”, as sweetly as you could. He sucked air through his teeth, holding a now empty mug, looking at the coffee remnants pool at the bottom, debating whether he wanted to get another cup or not.

“C’mon, for an old friend?” You joked, adding another “Please?” that dripped with melted sugar. He could listen to you say please like that for the rest of his life and not get enough. He hummed as he weighed the nonexistent options. You looked up at him with clasped hands and a slight pout. You were only being silly, you didn’t know that it was just what he wanted. He wanted to see you pout and beg, give him puppy-dog eyes and look up at him pathetically. It would’ve been picture perfect if you were on your knees. He hid his mischievous smile behind a hand as he pretended to rub his face in thought.

“Lemme take a look.” He ended his sentence by putting his mug behind him on his desk. As Mr. Raglan stepped away from his desk, he patted your knee as he passed. It was something subtle, but it was an action that you’d be thinking about for the rest of the week. The counselor went to one of his filing cabinets, flipping through the files until he found what he was looking for. He closed the cabinet then opened the file, glancing through to make sure it was the right one. It was full of blank applications for a grocery store in town, just what you had asked for, but he wouldn’t let you get them that easily.

“Looks like things are already full of hard-working employees.” He said, flipping the applications about in the file as if he was reading documents. You felt that the ‘hard-working’ bit was a jab at you.

“Is there anything you can do?” You asked, your hands still clasped, your pout a little more severe. He wished there was a way to get you on your knees without outting himself as the actual perv that you should be worried about.

“I may be able to pull a few strings.” He gave a small smile and he closed the file, moving to his desk and taking a seat behind it. He picked up his phone and he dialed the number on the applications.

“Let me make a call.” He winks at you as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he listened to the ringing line. No one would pick up though. The number he put in was nonsense, he just wanted you to think he was doing a huge favor for you.

“The number you’re trying to reach is unavailable-” The automated message began, but Steve carried on conversation as if someone was on the other line. You squirmed a bit in your seat, his gaze not leaving you as he began to talk into the blaring receiver.

“Yes, this is Steve Raglan, the career counselor? Yeah, how’re you doing today?”

As your career counselor spoke on the phone, convincing this imaginary person to hire you, you tried to look around his office. Your eyes went from each object in the room. The coffee maker, the little table it sat on, the little trash can under it. But his eyes felt like they were burning into you. Your gaze was magnetically drawn back to him whenever you tried to focus on something else, you felt like you couldn’t look anywhere else but at him. When you finally gave in, making eye contact, he grinned. A chill ran down your spine.

“I know- I know you said that you’re full of stockers over there but I got a very hard worker here that is in a bind.” Mr. Raglan sat back in his chair, uncrossing his legs to push back a bit from under the desk to make room for his long legs. You immediately looked at how his legs spread apart to get comfortable. You could fit perfectly between his thighs, hide under his desk and quietly suck him off as he tried to keep a straight face as he met with his clients. You looked back to his face and he was still staring at you, his grin growing. You looked down to your lap, embarrassed, beginning to feel like it was too hot in this office.

“They’re very experienced with dealing with authority, they take orders well.”

You couldn’t help but think that he meant more than what he was saying. You took a glance back up to see that his eyes never left you. You felt like you were sweating buckets at this point. You started to pick at your nails again, needing something to focus on besides his searing gaze that somehow still felt so dark and cold. Mr. Raglan’s voice picked up, your ears perking to his tone, yet you kept your gaze to your hands.

“I’m willing to put my reputation on the line here- if you can’t hire them, you can take me off your call list.” 

There it was. He was putting his credentials on the line for you. He almost felt too prideful when he saw your eyes widen hearing him. You were convinced that he was willing to go so far for you. He watched you fiddle with your fingers, knowing you were trying not to look at him.

“Yeah, send a fax of the application and I’ll have them fill it out, and I’ll send it right back.”

Steve put the phone on “hold”, pushing a button and setting the phone back on the receiver. His elbows propped up on the arm rests of his chair and he raised hands up, giving the air of a humble brag for his technique of negotiation.

“Am I good, or what?” He said, flashing a smile before getting up, picking up the file of all the applications he had and leaving the room. He had to kill a few minutes to make it look like he was picking up the fax from the secretary. He walked back to the employee common area of the offices, going through the cupboards for the sake of doing something, saying a quick hello to the coworkers that passed him. He walked back out and went into the bathroom, the file still in hand. He felt too clever for this, feeling sinful for being so proud of himself for how smart he was. It was the little details that made the lie all the more believable. Taking out one of the applications, he tucked the file of remaining papers under his arm. He activated the hand drying machine, holding the paper underneath the fan that loudly roared hot air onto it. He ran each sheet of paper under the fan for the allotted time of the machine, getting off-looks from the other employees who had come in to use the restroom or were leaving, (who opted for drying their hands with the paper towels).

When your counselor handed you the application for your new job, it was still warm off the printer.

“Oh thank you, Mr. Raglan, thank you!” You said as you quickly filled the papers out, thanking the counselor over and over in a mantra of gratitude. He took in your thanks, wanting to remember you thanking him repeatedly for when he’s by himself with wandering hands. You have an excited grin when you hand back the papers, his smile felt so genuine as he took the application to fax back out to the employer. You still couldn’t believe that he had stuck his neck out like that for you. You watched as he got up and left the room once again. Your eyes wandered as you waited. You noticed the counselor’s desk phone, and that there wasn’t the usual blinking light of a call on hold. Odd. That unease in your stomach returned. It felt like a primal sense of dread. It disappeared when the door opened, Mr. Raglan smiling as he came in and sat back down at his chair, following your gaze when you glanced at the phone again.

“Ah, looks like they hung up on me.” He frowns, but his smile returns when he gives you his full attention.

“I’ll have to give him a call back.”He placed his hands on top of the files on his desk, folding them neatly as he looked you in the eyes. “I’ll let you know if you got the job or not when I can.”

“Thank you Mr. Raglan! You don’t realize how much this means to me.” You say, slightly bowing your head in gratitude. “Please, if there’s anything I could do for you to repay you- let me know.”

That chimed in his head like church bells. Oh, he could use that. You probably thought maybe a fruit basket or a cheap ticket to a game, but he had other ideas.

You got up from your seat, seeing that now was the right time to leave.

“I know you kinda put your reputation on the line for me, I’d really like to be able to show my gratitude somehow.” You add with a smile, making your way to his office door, him following you to it.

“Oh, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He smiles, opening the door and holding out a hand. You gladly took it, shaking it with a newfound giddiness that could only be from getting a chance that was undeserved. You didn’t know how much he would be thinking about this, going over every single second in his mind over and over, reading too deeply into how grateful you were. You were indebted to him now, and you were going to have to repay that debt, whether you wanted to or not. He watched you walk out of the office, and you could feel his hot gaze on your back as you did, you tried not to shiver.

When you had completely gone, Steve looked at the clock and pretended to debate in his mind, acting like he was trying to make a tough decision before telling the secretary that he’ll be in his office the rest of the day, so he’ll see them tomorrow. They bid their goodbye, giving a small smile and wave as he closed the door and locked it behind him. He reached to his neck and loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, and stood in front of his desk, leaning back on it as he had done when you had first walked in. He stared at the empty chair in front of him, imagining you sitting there, naked, legs spread, and mouth open. He shuddered a breath as he couldn’t help himself undoing his belt buckle and reaching into his pants. God, he was rock hard. He replayed in his mind you begging for him to help you, hearing your pleads echo in his ears, only now asking him for help to make you cum. He didn’t realize he was so close until it was too late, cumming on the empty seat and imagining he had done so on your face, once again, your voice echoing in his head your repeated gratitude of before, now thanking him for his seed decorating your body. His grip on his desk was hard as he panted, your figure fading away as he came down from his high. He rubbed his face with his clean hand, taking a deep breath before finally calming down and out of sheer curiosity, he checked his wrist watch. You had only left his office 7 minutes ago.

As he cleaned up, the inner cogs and mechanisms of his brain began to turn and devise a plan. A plan on how he was going to get that payment out of you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a beautiful day outside, perfect for a nice walk in the neighborhood with a dog on a leash and nothing but the sun and the birds to tag along. Yet Steve Raglan sat in his car, parked at the side of the street in a suburban neighborhood. He looked down at the file in front of him. Its papers were unorganized but he easily found what he searched for, as if he’s been studying the pages for months.

That was because he had been, and it was your file.

Since you’ve become a repeat client of his, he’d become more intrigued by you with each meeting. The intrigue became a dark obsession, and it has now come to a head. He was parked about a block away from your home, feeling that overwhelming self-pride at figuring out when your neighbors were usually out, leaving a suspicious car to go unnoticed in your neighborhood. (At least for the amount of time he predicted he would have with you.) He really was too clever. 

As he glanced at the sidewalks around him, seeing how many people were around, he thought of how long it had been since he had last seen you, and how it was because of the absence of you that he was there. It’d been over five months. You’ve been excelling at your new job at the grocery store. The store manager had called him to say that “he had sent a great employee to him”, and that if “he had any others like you to send them right over!” He scoffed after he had hung up the phone. There wasn’t anyone else like you. That’s why he was obsessed with you.

He got out of his car, closing the door and locking it before pocketing the keys. He began a walk down the block, something he’s grown familiar with. This wasn’t the first time that he’s walked your streets. He preferred to do it at night, memorizing the walk to your house in the dark and taking peeks into your windows from the view of the sidewalk, not wanting to draw too much attention if anyone happened to be looking out the window. He wanted to stare into your windows desperately, to watch you, but he couldn’t hurt this good thing he had going. He could walk past your home at night and see you lounging in your living room, completely unaware he stared at you as he passed your home, it was bliss.

Today, however, was different. He was going to actually go into your home. He really was too smart, he knew everything about you and today he would finally get to execute on his plan. From the outside, it would look like he knocked on your door, and that you let him in. But he was actually going to pretend to knock on your door, and act out you letting him inside. He was going to overstay his welcome, whether you liked it or not, and he was going to get away with it. He knew that you would be home today, he had gotten your schedule from your employer, as an old favor for an old friend. He knew from small talk that you lived by yourself, and that you didn’t have a dog. He had even suggested that you should get a dog, you’re all alone, who knows what could happen.

Steve finally came to your street, holding back his urge to run the rest of the way to your house. As he approached your home he took a quick glance through the windows. You weren’t in the living room. Perfect. As he stood on your front porch, he took a deep breath, taking a final moment to prepare himself for what he was about to do. With the lightest touch, he knocked on the door, his knuckles barely registering on the wood. No response from inside the house. Perfect. He tried the door knob. He hadn’t expected for it to turn with a soft click- he had a screwdriver to jam into the doorframe if it wasn’t- yet the door was unlocked. Perfect. Swiftly he opened the door, peering inside carefully, no one in sight. Perfect. He stepped into your house, closing the door behind him, and locking it. He dropped to a crouch, untying his shoes and leaving them neatly by the entrance, carefully placing his keys in the shoe so as not to make any unnecessary noise. He crept further into your home, sticking to the walls to not creak your floorboards, taking every precaution to not let you know he was there. After checking the kitchen, which was empty, he made his way to the halls, starting to hear a sound he couldn’t quite place. It sounded sloppy, wet. A door in the hall was ajar, the sound coming from there. Another sound joined the wet slapping and he grinned. He realized he actually knew what that sound was. As gently as possible, he opened the door more, slinking inside and quietly closing the door, locking it before finally turning to what was in the room.

He could’ve fallen to his knees seeing the state you put yourself in. Your naked ass in the air, your face pressed into your mattress, unbeknownst to you, giving Steve Raglan full view of you masturbating. One of your hands clawed at the edge of the bed as the other worked between your legs, pumping a dildo in and out of you, desperately trying to get yourself off. Your muffled whimpers could still be heard through the blankets, pulling your head up only to breathe and plead to the open air to make yourself cum. Your arm ached, but your need to satisfy yourself overpowered what fatigue ailed your muscles. You found a compromise by slowly pulling the sex toy out, your moans drawn out like a song, before slamming it back into you with a guttural cry.

“Misterrr...” You drawled from deep in your throat. Steve’s ears perked. He was more than interested in knowing who you were imagining as you fucked yourself, jealous bile rising in his throat at the thought of you thinking of someone else. He could easily walk forward, spread your ass apart and have his way with you, teach you a lesson for thinking someone else could make you like this. His envy quickly changed to pure hunger when you continued your lustful ramblings.

“Mr. Raglan, please…” You begged into the bed, repeatedly pulling the dildo then bottoming out, each squelch punctuated with your helpless whimpers. His mouth went dry when his name left your lips, your words going straight to his cock. He was already erect seeing you in this position, but now knowing that you were in the throes of ecstasy because of the mere thought of him? He couldn’t take his dick out fast enough. His grip was hard on the metal of his belt, not wanting to alarm you of his presence. He didn’t want you to know he was here, not yet. This was a surprise for him, and he wanted to return the favor with a surprise of his own. He felt he could already burst watching you lose yourself over him. He wanted to make you never forget him, no matter how hard you tried to fuck yourself, it could never be him. He was more than happy to remind you. He carefully took off his belt and set it aside, rarely taking his eyes off you, especially when your pace began to quicken. His hand wrapped around his hard cock, swiftly pulling it over the waistband of his boxers and matching your pace, watching intently how tightly you wrapped around the sex toy. He bit back his own moans as he imagined it was his cock you were rocking back into, his teeth scraping his bottom lip to hold himself back.

Your hand became erratic, your rhythm lost to the coil in your stomach tightening to a point you felt sore. You planted your face into the blankets as you pushed your arm through the last bit of energy it had, you cried out. A warm liquid coats your legs as you finally came, your back arching as you rode out your euphoria, panting as if you haven’t breathed in hours. Your hand fell to the bed, leaving the dildo to slowly fall out of you and thump to the mattress. Steve could’ve screamed watching your relaxed muscles push the toy out of you, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and with a long stride, he was directly behind you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, finally out of your stupor enough to feel like you were being watched.

But it was too late.

A cold hand slapped across your mouth and you felt a weight on your back as someone leaned onto you. You could feel something hard rubbing against your ass and you whimpered against the strong hand, feeling tears begin to prick your eyes as the situation settled in. Who is this? How’d they get in? What were they going to do to you? Were you going to die before or after they were done with you? Your nose stung as the tears pooled in your eyes, you felt so vulnerable, so scared, starting to feel sobs build in your chest as you found yourself begin to pray to whatever higher power existed to save you from this. You felt there was no other option. You were cornered and you were alone with someone who had intentions that you didn’t even want to fathom.

“Aww, what’s wrong, white rabbit? I thought this was what you were fantasizing about.” A voice cooed into your ear. Your eyes went wide, your tears sliding down your cheeks as you recognized the voice. You knew who was behind you, and you were sure you didn’t find  that comforting. You looked over your shoulder to see Mr. Steve Raglan. He was so close to you, your lips could’ve met if it wasn’t for his rough hand muzzling your lips. There was something in his eyes, something that made fear shoot down your spine to the bottoms of your feet. You felt disgusted with yourself as a tinge of excitement pooled in your groin as you saw he was naked from the waist down. Of course this would turn you on.

But, he wasn’t wrong. You were fantasizing about him, wanting him behind you in this exact position, fucking you. It could become a reality now and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As much as you wanted to fight against this, a part of you knew he didn’t have to take you by force. You wanted to say something, to tell him all he had to do was ask and you would’ve let him have his way with you, but his hand was firm on your lips, muffling what little noises you could make. You watched him as his other hand started trailing up your thigh to your ass, spreading one of your cheeks apart for his dick to slide right in between. 

“Perfect fit.” He grunts, leaning back for a brief moment so he could take in how neatly your ass wrapped around his cock. You couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into him, an animalistic instinct wanting him to be pressed against you once more. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned back down, it felt degrading.

“So quick for your next fix.” His teeth ran along the side of your neck before placing a chaste kiss behind your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “But you want the real thing, don’t you?”

You nodded, whining against his hand as your ass ground his hips. He let out a breathy moan, desperate, wanton. He was as needy as you were, his free hand beginning to roam your naked body as if he couldn’t feel enough of your skin. It was as if he was starving, a crazed man who couldn’t be satisfied. Your fear, though still very present, ebbed away at the edges, feeling a wave of authority surge through you as you realized just how desperate Mr. Raglan was.

You could control this situation if you wanted to.

But right now, even though you knew how fucked this was, what you really wanted was for him to do whatever he wanted with you. His free hand came back up your hips, slowly reaching around, calloused fingertips tickling your skin as he teased you, only touching your pelvis, somehow scraping past without actually touching you. You felt his dick pulsing between your ass cheeks and you moaned against his hand. He let go of your mouth, moving down your jaw, down your neck, gripping your shoulder tightly as a new way to keep you in place underneath him.

“Mr. Raglan, please-” you breathed, pulling your hips away from him to allow his dick to slide right against your entrance, getting onto your elbows to ready yourself. You heard him laugh aloud at how ready you were to have him in you. “I want you to-”

You didn’t even finish your request. He grabbed himself and was pushing into you. You gasped. It was burning. It was burning inside of you and you loved it. Fuck, you wanted this burn to overtake you, to completely consume you. As you caught your breath, Steve groaned, blinking hard as he gathered himself. His plan was going perfectly. This was everything he wanted and more. (Well, he kind of wanted more of a fight, but beggars can’t be choosers.)

He was the perfect size for you, fuck, his dick felt exactly like you had imagined it would, if not more amazing. He filled you completely and you couldn’t ask for anything better. His fingers drummed once before gripping your hips, finally back in his own body after the thrilling experience of just entering you. You felt better than he had imagined, if not more amazing. He had been dreaming about this, obsessing about this for months on end, never leaving his train of thought, and he finally had it. He leaned forward against your arched back, one hand moving slowly up your body from your hips, and wrapping lightly around your throat, his lips by your ear, breathing lowly. You felt his fingers begin to squeeze your neck, your breathing hitched into a moan.

“This is what you get for teasing me with that body of yours.” He says into your ear, his hold on your hip growing tighter. “You come into my office, sat there with your legs spread- god, you wanted me to fuck you right then and there, didn’t you? You’re such a slut.”

Steve began to move his hips.

He wasn’t slow or gentle and it didn’t matter if you weren’t ready, he did as he pleased and you were meant to just go along for the ride. His grip was tight around your throat and you could feel your face growing hot with blood gathering in your head. You felt amazing. Your eyes rolled back as you wasted what little air you had on uncontrollably moaning. You choked out a whiny, “Please,” that he rewarded by releasing his vice, allowing you to take a few deep breaths before his grasp tightened once again, earning a moan that he found particularly delicious.

“Listen to you whine- it’s pathetic.” He grunts under his breath, slowing down for a moment so that you can actually hear him over the sound of your skin slapping together with each thrust.

“I knew you wanted me to destroy you the moment your skin touched mine- that first handshake was enough to tell me just how desperate you were for someone to show you how it’s done.”

You can’t respond with words, only able to whimper and groan the more he choked and fucked you. He released his grip around your throat and as you gasped for air, his fingers massaging the sides of your throat. It was almost a nice feeling, especially coupled with the quick pecks he left at the corner of your jaw. But then his hand moved up under your chin, his fingers digging into your cheeks to force your mouth open.

“I want to hear you. I want to fucking hear you tell me how desperate you are for me.” He demands, his pace picking up again, throwing you into moans. Your jaw hurt from being pried open, his nails stabbing into your skin, but you still couldn’t give an answer. Not getting what he wanted, you felt his hand on your hip let go, then his arm wrap around your waist. You felt yourself being lifted off your elbows to an upright position on your knees, his dick reaching a new spot inside of you. The moan that escaped you was almost unnecessarily loud. You felt a chuckle rumble against your back, he was laughing at you, though it was between his own quiet, breathless moans.

“That’s not what I told you to do.” He hisses, though he didn’t let up, knowing you’d struggle to get anything out other than sounds of ecstasy.

“Hng- I was- fuck- so des- ah!- ‘perate,” You’re finally able to spit out. He slowed, allowing you to speak more. “I wanted you- fucking christ, I want you so bad-“

Steve took a hefty bite into your neck, sucking and grinding his teeth with your skin between, your groan mixed with the sound of his pelvis hitting your ass over and over in an unrelenting fuck that made you feel as if your body would soon give out. When he pulled away, it was already beginning to bruise. He thought the hue of red looked wonderful on you.

“If you want my dick so bad-” Without warning he pulled completely out of you, making you cry out upon feeling an emptiness you’ve never experienced before. He let go of you, your body collapsing onto the bed, you hadn’t realized he was the only thing holding you upright. As you collect yourself, whining about how close you were to cumming, you looked up and found him standing at the edge of the bed, hovering over you. You licked your lips at the sight of his treasure trail to his erect cock, glistening from being inside you, now inches away from your mouth.

“Why don’t you choke on it.” He finishes, grabbing the back of your head and forcing your gasping mouth around him. For the first time you heard him moan. Really moan. It was intoxicating, you instantly wanted to make him do that again, you needed to hear him make that noise again. Maybe if you were good, you would. His dick tasted like you and you hated how much you loved it, living up to being a so-called “slut”. You opened the back of your throat, doing everything you could to take him in entirely. You let him hold your head in place as he fucked your mouth, more moans escaping him that you rewarded by taking him even deeper. Your teeth dragged along his shaft and you heard him hiss- the sharp sting of his hand slaps your cheek.

It wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark, but it was hard enough to tell you to, “Knock that shit off.” The sudden slap did, however, cause you to lose focus on keeping your airway open, and you were now choking on the dick that was halfway down your throat. Your chest seized, but he didn’t let you move, still deep in your mouth. It seemed your struggling only made him more excited, his grunts increasing the more you gagged. You were able to wiggle your arms out from under your body and reach for his legs, tapping one of his thighs twice as if asking for a tap out in a wrestling match.

Surprisingly, Steve listened, pulling out of your mouth, letting you cough and catch your breath. You could feel tears streak your face as you looked up at him with bleary eyes, and he grinned. The very same grin you saw when he had gotten you the job at the grocery store. That familiar feeling of unease churned in your stomach, if it was anymore intense you would be nauseous. It was then the fog of hormones cleared and the reality of what was currently happening came upon you.

Finally, it registered to you that he had been planning this.

What was happening right now, at this moment, was all part of a scheme he designed. Him getting you the job, him breaking into your home, him fucking you. You weren’t sure what the outcome of the plan would be. You hoped it wasn’t with your dead, naked body in bed.

But you’d be damned if he murdered you because you were a bad lay.

Not knowing if you were doing this out of your own will to survive, (or if you were just so horny you couldn’t help yourself,) you looked him in the eye, and took his cock into your mouth to the hilt. You saw his eyes roll back, and the moan that emitted from him was enough to tell you that you would not be dying tonight.

“Oooh, white rabbit,” He purred, his eyes returning to yours, watching as you drew back and pressed the flat of your tongue to the underside of his dick, allowing him to easily slip in and out of your throat.

“You’re everything I’ve dreamed,” He continues, holding the sides of your head as he gently rocked into your mouth.

“Keep doin’ that an’ I might just keep you with me forever.” He managed to wink at you. You weren’t sure if he meant that as a life partner or as a prisoner.

Your spit collected in his pubes, your chin now coated with a mix of your spit and his pre-cum, not breaking your eye contact with him. Your tongue wrapped around his dick, enjoying the sweet noises he was making. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him more, the grunt he made was almost primal. His grip on your head grew and his pace quickened, you knew he was going to cum, and this time he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Your lips pressed tightly around his cock, keeping it in your mouth when he finally came down your throat. You took it completely and compliantly, gratefully swallowing all of his cum. You licked your lips and upon realizing that some had dribbled out of the corner of your mouth, your tongue darted out to finish your meal. But Steve’s strong hand grabbed your jaw, stopping you. He leaned down, pulling you up to meet him and the flat of his tongue licked away the cum before you could, continuing its stripe onto your lips, and into your open maw. You moaned into his mouth as your tongues curled around each other and he sucked yours as he pulled away. He finished with a quick peck on your pouting lips, still keeping you a centimeter away, his words brushing you as he muttered, 

“You’re such a good bunny-” He kisses you again, this time leaving you dizzy- “Swallowing without even asking-“ He kisses you a third time- “Oh, you’re everything to me.”

You weren’t sure you were just playing along with his plan anymore. All the things he was doing, all the things he was saying to you were only making you hornier and hornier. Your core felt like it was on fire, begging to be touched by him, wanting to be fucked, wanting to finally cum because of him. You didn’t care that he had set all of this up, you didn’t care that he had broken into your home, you didn’t care that he was taking advantage of you. You just wanted him to make you cum. So you begged for it.

“Mr. Raglan…” You breathed against his lips, letting him kiss you between your statements, “Please- I need you to make me cum-“ Another kiss, lingering longer, his harsh lips making yours feel pillowed when he pulled away.

“Please make me cum.” You pleaded. The grin on his face looked maniacal.

“White rabbit, you only had to ask.” He drops you back down to the bed, pushing your shoulders down, your back flat against the mattress. The air hitched in your lungs when Steve harshly grabbed your legs and pushed your knees damn-near either side of your head, bending you in half as he leaned on top of you, pinning you in the position.

“I’ve been wanting to hear you beg for me to make you cum for so long.” He sighs. “Oh bunny, you look so good under me like that.”

You hissed as he bit into the backs of thighs as one of his hands left your knees, skimming down your body until it fell off, leaving your mind to race as to what it was doing. You were quickly distracted by his sharp teeth in your flesh again.

“It’s too bad that gorgeous mouth of yours sucked me dry.” He tutted. You felt his hand return, along with a familiar feeling of silicone.

“I’ve been dreamin’ of cummin’ in you,” The dildo you were masturbating with when he arrived was in his hand, the tip playing at your entrance, making you whimper.

“Ya know, I should punish you for taking away that pleasure.” He pulled the toy away completely, your whine choked back when his other hand grabbed your throat swiftly and squeezed. Fear pumped your blood, unfortunately only making you want him more. You lifted your chin as much as you could in the position you were in, giving him more access to your neck, your eyes half-lidded and watching him, waiting for him to do what he saw fit. He chuckled, knowing that he had you wrapped around his finger, that you would do anything for him now, just as he had planned.

“But I think makin’ you wait this long is punishment enough.”

The dildo was slammed into you and the noise you let out was garbled between a cry and some noise an animal would make. In the position you were currently in, the toy reached a new spot in you that you’ve never felt before, and each pump drew a whiny moan out of you, you windpipe still being squeezed by his strong hand.

“Those noises you make- I could get hard again just hearin’ ‘em.” His hand let go of your throat, his fingers now playing at your hairline at the nape of your neck, his thumb on your bottom lip, playing with how swollen it was. He bit into your thighs again, leaving behind dark marks that made you cry out in pain that sank down into groans of pleasure the more he fucked you with your toy.

“Oh, make those noises for me, white rabbit.” He says against your skin, his hand moving the dildo faster and harder into you. You had found the more you heard it, the more you loved the pet name he had given you. You didn’t know why he called you ‘white rabbit’ or ’bunny,’ but you didn’t want to bother asking. You loved that it was yours and it was something that you could always be for him. What you loved the most about it was how he always said it so adoringly, bordering on obsessively- and you realized what this was all about.

Obsession.

Steve Raglan was obsessed with you and he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had marked you, until he had claimed you, needing you to only be for himself. No one else will be able to fuck you again. Not only because you knew that he would never let it happen, but also because you knew that you would only be thinking about him. Considering everything, that wasn’t a shock. How could you ever be with someone else after this?

His thumb on your lip dared to enter your mouth, marveling how warm and wet it was and how soft your tongue was as it lapped the calloused pad of his thumb, the ridges of your teeth biting into it. He sighed dreamily as you sucked on his thumb, a whine in your throat when you felt like your body might give out.

“Are ya gonna cum for me? So soon?” His voice was in a mocking tone yet you still answered with a whimpered, “yes,” and screwed your eyes shut to focus on the knot in your stomach growing so tight it genuinely hurt.

He thought that your head might explode from how red it was getting. From the position he forced you in, the blood collecting in your head was enough to make your face glow and grow hot to the touch. The current image he was seeing of you was something he would take with him for the rest of life. He knew he would be thinking of this encounter on his deathbed, feeling nothing but bliss at the memory of taking advantage of you. (Though, with the way you were moaning, he didn’t really think this could be considered taking advantage.)

“Look at me, bunny. I wanna see you come undone.” He demands. You’re able to roll your eyes open and lock your gaze with his. His eyes bore into your very being and it felt like it was setting your very soul on fire, finally sending you over, the knot releasing. His grip was hard on your face, making sure you kept your eyes on him as your orgasm took over your whole body. Your groan was long and drawn out with a mumbled version of his name, your eyes struggling to keep open from how hard the waves of pleasure hit you.

As you struggled to catch your breath, he pulled you towards him and kissed your forehead tenderly, then allowed you to lay back on the bed, letting your eyes close. His body slowly got off yours, allowing your legs to drop unceremoniously onto the mattress with a slight bounce of the springs. The dildo was still inside you, and Steve watched with a hungry eye as your relaxed muscles pushed it out for the second time today. Fuck, he could never get used to that.

Your breathing finally slowed, your body sore from holding positions for him despite lack of flexibility. You felt him get off the bed and upon hearing the jangling of a belt you lazily opened your eyes. He rolled his shoulders and neck as he tucked his shirt into his pants. He looked back over his shoulder at you, and he broke into a grin seeing you still a sweaty mess on the bed. He came over to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning back to capture your lips with his in a breathtaking, passionate kiss. He pulled away with a soft groan, feeling a raising anger that he couldn’t stay longer, but unfortunately he had business at a certain abandoned pizzeria to take care of, (the new security guard was getting too comfortable to his liking,) and he knew if he left his car any longer it would look more suspicious than it already does.

He looked at you and put a hand on your cheek, kissing you again, more softly this time, as if that was a sufficient enough goodbye for what you just endured. His hand taps your cheek before it slips off your face and he stands, heading for your bedroom door. You watched, dumbstruck that he was just going to leave without saying a word, without saying anything about what just happened.

“Will you come back?” Your voice is so soft you thought he wouldn’t hear it, but he does, stopping briefly to answer you before closing the door behind him.

“Oh, white rabbit,” Mr. Raglan smirks over his shoulder, “I always come back.”

[lemotmo]

Some of them clearly got the point of Tim's call-out.

Q. What did you make of Tim's interview? I realize the bulk was Lonestar but the fandom stuff was interestingly phrased. The fact that so many people involved with the show, and now the showrunner himself, are openly discussing how bad things are cannot be a good sign. I know we had some fans who were saying we could 'bully' Tim and the show into giving us more Tommy but I think that was a massive mistake in hindsight. I think certain people got carried away and went way too far. Weather their intentions were ever bad or not I just think some people took the bullying idea too far. I'm a little worried we may not see Tommy at all now.

A. The bullying idea was always going to be a massive mistake. Normally you can take Tim's interviews with a bit of 'lol, why is he so dramatic' because he's not immune to getting his feelings hurt, and using his interviews to tell people that. In this case though it was definitely a direct callout. I have been here from the beginning and the show has never experienced anything close to what they have experienced this off-season. It's one thing to root for a particular show ship it's another thing entirely to openly send, and openly encourage others, to send hate to the cast and creators of a show. Then those same fans dragged the lighting director, director of photography, show directors and professional media members who have covered the show for years into their bullying game as well. It was insane, pathetically immature behavior. At times it was also incredibly disturbing. And every single bit of it can be traced back to the cameo videos. The second the storyline they were paying to be told didn't match the storyline we were actually watching they revolted.

And unfortunately because I think Tim, and ABC, just didn't think they were anything worth paying attention to initially, he was allowed to do them way too long. The more he did the more obsessed with him that particular group of people became. This has nothing to do with 911. Those people aren't at all interested in 911. Their entire interest is Lou and Lou alone. It's a small group of people. A small sick group of people who created a bunch of separate accounts in order to appear to be more people than they actually are (and they were stupid enough to openly admit that is what they did). Then that small group of people got together and from every single one of their many accounts they attacked as a group. They started with Oliver. They pointed out that Oliver wasn't interacting with Lou or engaging with any of them, or B/T content, and decided, at least initially, that he was solely to blame for B/T not getting the attention they thought it deserved, again the Buck part they don't care about. They were upset that they weren't seeing more of Tommy and they blamed Oliver for that. Suddenly Oliver was being tagged in posts that were calling him unprofessional, immature, bratty, selfish, and because of course, homophobic (they're really not a bright group of people). However instead of taking their bait and engaging with them, Oliver, rightly, blocked them. Meaning they needed a new target. Briefly it became Tim because their moronic leader screenshot a message she sent him that he, stupidly, responded to. She took that and spun and ENTIRE relationship theory and spread it through her many accounts. Tim then admitted in another comment that he actually didn't know what she was talking about but didn't want to be rude by continuing to ignore her so he responded to her. He then said that was a mistake and he wouldn't be responding to anything else. And he hasn't (she should be very embarrassed by his interview today because he may as well have used her name). And the show also continued to not align with her/their theory and they got more upset. Then found a new target.

Throughout the season Oliver did what Oliver has always done. Oliver posted, liked and promoted Eddie/Buddie/Buckley Diaz family content. He has always done this. This was nothing new. But it infuriated Lou's fans and they turned their anger on Ryan. Suddenly Eddie was the worst character in the history of television. He was an abuser (to Buck especially), he was a user (of Buck especially). He was a terrible friend (to Buck especially). Depending on the day he was either a deadbeat dad or obsessed with his kid in an unhealthy way (they couldn't ever really decide which way to go on this one. That opinion was dependent on how the poster felt about Chris). When that attack didn't really get the attention they were begging for, they changed direction and made it personal. Post after post, that Ryan was always tagged in, calling him racist, a deadbeat dad, an asshole, unprofessional, manipulative and controlling of Oliver (wtf, god they really are a stupid group of people), a whore (I actually read that one myself, it was a trip), a terrible actor that only has a job because Tim thinks he's hot. And so on and so on. At first Tommy didn't kiss Eddie because Ryan is homophobic and refused to do the storyline, then Tim, very publicly, corrected that lie so Lou's fans had to pivot and said Lou actually refused to do the Eddie storyline because he knows Ryan isn't a good guy ( a special kind of crazy that makes me need to drink ). Then they sunk to their sickest, lowest, most pathetic, vile, disturbing, and inexcusable moment. Ryan did a podcast where he discussed his past mental health struggles and suicidal thoughts. They went into the comments on the podcast and told Ryan that they wish he had committed suicide. That if he had killed himself then Tommy could have his screen time and they wouldn't have to see Buck have scenes with Eddie. Not only did they leave those comments (the podcast has since deleted most of them, thankfully), they sent similar messages directly to Ryan on Instagram. Knowing he would see them. It was appalling and very, very disturbing. The cameo videos ended fairly shortly after. These people are sick. They get zero sympathy or understanding from me. It's a fucking television show. Tommy is not a real person. Ryan is a real person.

As for maybe not seeing Tommy at all, I would imagine conversations have certainly taken place. He was never sticking around permanently. The conversations most likely involved deciding if they needed him at all, and if they did, how many actual scenes did they need him for. I don't work on the show, but if they decided he wasn't necessary to the storyline, and they could get away with his stuff happening off screen I would imagine he's been dismissed. They probably decided they needed him at least for a few scenes though. Unless other things happened behind the scenes we're not aware of he will be around the first few episodes at least and then and probably no more. He can take his tiny army with him when he leaves. No one will miss them.

Okay, just ... yeah, all of this. It's crazy how these people did all of these horrible things in the name of... a ship? I mean, what?

I've been in fandom for a very long time and I have been shipping characters for a very long time, but I've never seen behaviour like this. Behaviour where people think they are justified to bully, harass and vilify the actors playing a character on a TV-show. To the point where they get blocked by the actors and crew.

I don't understand what would drive someone to do that? I genuinly don't.

These are the kind of people that need to put down their phones forever, go outside and touch all the grass they can touch. After that they should never watch 911 again. If you don't like something, just walk away. I have done that before. Shows don't always go where a fan wants it to go.

Look. I want Buddie. You all know that. I'm 99% certain that we're getting Buddie in season 8. But, if it turns out we won't, which is always a possibility since I don't know what Tim is cooking up, I will be disappointed, but I won't start spewing hatred all over the place. I will just take a step back and focus on other things in life. I'll keep shipping Buddie and read fanfiction. I'll be fine here in my Buddie corner of the Internet with my Buddie mutuals.

So yeah, this is insane behaviour to me. I truly don't get it.

Thanks Nonny for dropping this in my inbox!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting these anon OP updates instead of reblogging. Don't get mad at me. There is a reason for it and it's all done with consent from the OP. You can find out more about that here.

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

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You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you. 

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted. 

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you. 

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother. 

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off’ you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar. 

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.” 

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned. 

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes. 

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned. 

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

“So…”

You went silent again. 

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with. 

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups? 

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him. 

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you. 

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean. 

“Come on!” Dean urged you. 

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered. 

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked. 

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?” 

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man. 

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture. 

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

“What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed. 

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh. 

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!” 

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention. 

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up. 

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s. 

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly. 

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently. 

“Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her. 

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded. 

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it. 

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.” 

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates. 

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered. 

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow. 

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse. 

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body. 

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body. 

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it. 

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again. 

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison. 

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door. 

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case. 

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said. 

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling. 

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply. 

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

[shibaraki]

PUT MY LIPS TO SOMETHING ┊  MIYA OSAMU 

synopsis: after a string of terrible dates taking a break sounded ideal. then Miya Osamu happens, and you find yourself back at square one. foolish, hoping, and hungry.

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, (blind) first date, reader is a foodie (and has a big appetite), implied bad past experiences (ppl mean about said apetite), insecurities (not about weight), strangers to lovers, sharing food + feeding each other, flirting, romantic + sexual tension, first kisses, *slaps roof of kitchen* you can fit so much Love into this thing!!!!!!!

wc: 5K

The evening laid bare in strokes of colour. The air is tepid. People part around your inert figure as you stand to the side and watch, shifting awkwardly between each foot. You were ten minutes early. And it seemed so was your date.

You exhale, palm laid over your rapidly beating heart. You’re not sure what your expectations were after agreeing to let Saeko set you up on this blind date but Miya Osamu exceeded. A beautiful stranger. Tall, broad shouldered with dark hair and hooded eyes. The dress shirt he’s wearing is close to a second skin, drawn tight around his back and clinging just slightly to his soft middle, shirtsleeves rolled to the crook of his arms.

On a whole you trusted her judgment. Apparently he owned the small restaurant she and her colleagues frequent for their lunch hour. She promised that he was handsome, which was plain to see, and effused repeatedly that the two of you would work well together. Nevertheless you can’t help feeling cautious.

Dating has been… tricky at best. A game to some, a way to keep score. The search for validation. A means to an end. A fleeting cure to boredom. You don’t think you’re particularly bad at meeting new people, but it can’t be ignored that you don’t have much to show for it thus far.

You’re aware enough to discern the root cause. You loved food—that’s the long and short of it. You savoured meals to the very last crumb, seeking out the various flavours on your tongue to really get to the heart of the dish. Because that’s what food did: it loved back.

Dates often treated you like a different creature entirely upon witnessing your appetite. Poorly veiled embarrassment, or concern, or disdain as you sat across from one another and ate. Different in a lesser way, in a distasteful way, as though they were sampling fine wine for the flavour and you were just drinking for the sake of getting drunk, when it was quite the reverse.

Anyone would think you behaved like an animal. Your table manners were fine. You treated the staff with respect. You made conversation and asked questions, even when they made no effort themselves, and tried to make the best of the evening.

With every failed attempt at making a connection you were beginning to grow lonely. The presence of your loved ones and their families, their partners and their children, never truly filled that cavernous ache in your chest. Poured in like morning sun with hopes to warm you from the inside out, perhaps, only all that ever did was make the hole more obvious to you.

Taking a break from the scene sounded ideal. Then Miya Osamu happened to see a photo of you over Saeko’s shoulder, expressed his interest, and you found yourself back at square one. Foolish, hoping, and hungry.

There’s phantom heat around your fingers. The gentle squeeze of Saeko’s hands as she sent you off. “This one will be different,” she told you. With her words echoing in your thoughts, you pat down either side of your hips, ironing out the creases, and start toward him.

Osamu is leaning against the outer wall now, scrolling on his phone. A warm musk fills your senses as the distance shortens. Smooth notes of oakmoss and vanilla. He must notice your approach in his periphery, because he straightens up and steps forward, turning to face you with an apprehensive smile. The attraction between you becomes tangible before either of you speak a word.

"Hi," you smile back, oddly at ease to see that he is equally nervous. "Miya, right? I think I'm here to meet you".

The tension slips from his posture and from yours in turn. His smile grows and deepens the crinkles by his eyes as his gaze sweeps over you. Dawn casts the street in a peachy tint and it dapples across his cheeks in a  faux blush. "Sure hope so," he says. "Call me Osamu. Ya look beautiful, by the way".

Something rouses in your chest. You're warm now. His accent is unfairly charming, like the rest of him. "Thank you," you reply, lingering on the delicate silver chain around his wrist, and how the folded fabric of his sleeve strains around his forearm. "So do you".

"Beautiful?" Osamu echoes, brow arched with the teasing lilt in his voice.

You hum, drawn to the natural heat emitting from his body. "S'what I said, isn't it?"

"So you did," he murmurs, the low timbre settling over you like silk. When your eyes meet he rocks back on his heels, clearing his throat and gesturing to the restaurant he picked for tonight. "I made a reservation for us. Wanna head in?"

"I'd love to".

As if entering another world, the noise lowers into a pleasant din. You step through the tall latticed doors into what appears to be a bistro-style restaurant. All autumn pigments and harmony. Family owned, from what you recall after searching it up last night. The main dining area has a romantic ambience to it, balmy toned lanterns centred on each table and an open kitchen where the chef is lovingly making a yakisoba dish.

"Tanaka mentioned yer a bit of a foodie," you blink from your appreciative stupor and glance at Osamu. "Apparently they serve really good European food here so," he rubs at the back of his neck, a little pink and unsure, his shoulder jerking in a loose shrug. "Thought'cha might like it".

Your heartbeat floods your ears. "I really like it," you say, hushed, flustered at his thoughtfulness. Before he's able to respond a host has approached, young and dressed in a well pressed black vest, not a thread out of place. He bends into a perfect bow.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you this evening. Will it be a table for two?”

Osamu sidles closer. There's presence at your lower back, his hand lingering, and you decide to lean into it. “There should be a reservation for two under the name Miya,” he nods. The host brightens.

“Of course! Right this way".

The host takes off toward the rear dining area, hidden from view. Osamu encourages you forward and as you walk together he leans to whisper in your ear, "We haven't seen the best part yet".

You immediately understand what he's referring to as you're led through a pair of golden drapes and into a conservatory space that looks out on a lustrous bamboo grove and a small koi pond. Your table is right by the stretch of windows, offering a lovely view. It steals the breath straight from your lungs, “Osamu…”

Once seated the host returns to offer you a pair of damp towels on a tray. Osamu orders a drink while he wipes his hands, and then you do the same. You sink into the cushioned back of your chair. A shoe brushes your ankle and retreats to settle alongside it, just a couple of inches. The centrepiece gently breathes to life, illuminating the table.

Anticipation trickles back in as Osamu voices his gratitude and you realise you’ll need to order in front of him. His focus turns to you as the host departs, discerning your expression. “D’ya wanna order a starter first?” he asks, sliding a menu to you.

The menu is thick and glossy. You make a commiserate sound, thumb plucking at the corner of the card. “Everything sounds really good. I’ve never had carottes ra—âpées,” you murmur, skimming excitedly over the dishes and listing off the things that catch your eye.

A low chuckle interrupts your train of thought. Rather than underlying irritation, you’re met with amusement and curiosity. “Really do like yer food, huh?”

Heat floods your body, and you resist the urge to grimace. “Sorry, I can get carried away. Is there anything you want to try?”

“Thinking of getting grilled octopus and canola to start and the sea bream for main,” he recites, studying you in the low light. Muffled are the far off sounds of meat popping on the hot stove-top and you can smell a sweet, coconut-like aroma. “Don’t need to be embarrassed y’know. I’m a food lover too”.

You perk up noticeably in your seat and Osamu’s expression near melts into sheepishness. “You run a restaurant, right? Saeko mentioned”.

“Ah, yeah. Onigiri Miya. Nothin’ as grand as this,” he gestures to the surroundings offhandedly. Your eyes linger on the flex of his throat as he swallows, pride bleeding into his voice. “Won a Food Made Good award though, just last month”.

“No kidding. Congrats Osamu, that’s amazing,” you grin, instinctively leaning into his magnetism and resting your hands on the table surface. Osamu seems to mirror your movement without meaning to. “Have you always wanted to run a restaurant?”

“Never really thought about it. Up to the end of my second year I assumed I’d fall into somethin’,” he admits. “I sorta hit the ground running after graduating. My brother too—”

“Excuse the interruption. I have your drinks,” interjects a new timid voice. The server shuffles forward to set the glasses between you on the table and then fumbles for her notepad, clicking the cap down. “Are you both ready to order?”

Osamu recovers and recites his choice for starter and main, and you do so afterwards without second thought. It’s nice, being at ease. Sitting opposite Osamu feels natural. The glass is cold against your palm, ice cubes clinking softly as you bring it up your lips and drink. You nudged the conversation forward before it could wilt. “You were saying, about your brother?”

“Atsumu. He’s my twin brother,” Osamu begins with a small smile, poorly hidden behind the rim of his glass. He sets it down, watching the amber liquid ripple. “Played volleyball since we were kids, but he always loved it a little more than I did. So while I racked up every business permit and licence I could get and he dove first into division one”.

“You both sound pretty brave, in your own right”.

“Thanks,” Osamu grinned and you got the impression that you very much said the right thing. “Brave is a new one. We’re used to bein’ called reckless idiots”.

“Tomayto tomahto,” you tease, lifting an arm and crossing your fingers together. After another sip, “Gotta be a little bit of both, right?”

“You’re right about that,” he conceded. Mouth thinning as if to rein in his smile, he reached up to needlessly fix his hair. “How about yerself, what do you do?”

Attraction hung over the table, an incorporeal anticipant thing that swells as the evening unfolds. Darkness enveloped the bamboo grove and activated the small aureate floor lights placed between the culms. You fall into natural conversation over your starter dishes. You share laughter. Tender and succulent; you share food, too, leaning forward to pluck a sample from his plate, offering your own. Not a single grimace.

Every other first date pales in comparison.

Osamu watches you with a hooded gaze warmed by his second pint of beer. There’s a certain satisfaction to him, contentment. The tip of his tongue peeks out to catch an errant drop. He nudges his ankle to your calf again when the server returns to clear away your starter plates, and you don't move away.

“Can I ask why you’re single, and what you’re looking for?”

“Finally, the hard hittin’ questions”.

You laugh, “We’ve got to get over the boring first date spiel at some point tonight”.

Osamu rumbles his assent, rests his chin in his palm, casting an idle glance to the garden as he thinks. “Think my answer’s kinda standard. At first I never had the time ‘cause of the restaurant, didn’t think it’d be fair,” he  begins, and his mouth twists into a little self-effacing smirk. “When I thought I was ready I tried some’a those dating apps but nothin’ ever clicked for me”.

“I get it. Gauging chemistry is harder online,” you affirm softly, readjusting your seat as the server steps up to set down your main dishes, inclining her head in greeting but with enough grace not to interrupt. Osamu voices his gratitude, sliding his plate closer. The grilled tai is a beautiful fleshy pink colour, garnished with sprouts and hosta leaves.

“Ma says I’m a romantic,” he continues sheepishly, plucking up his chopsticks. “I’d prefer to meet someone naturally, face to face. To really feel it when ya click with each other”.

“Yeah?” there’s an ache blooming in your cheeks as you glanced down at your food. The plate is still hot to touch. You pinch your chopsticks and inhale the rich scent of saffron, garlic and onion, and beneath it all sharp notes from an open flame. “I think we’re doing pretty good on that front”.

“Better than I hoped,” he murmurs, supple and full of promise. The hair on your arms prickles. When was the last time anyone looked at you like that, you wonder. “Soon as Tanaka caught on that I saw your picture on her phone she was determined to appeal ya to me. Thought it might be too good to be true”.

You hum around your first mouthful, feeling much the same way. Saeko had worked hard to strong arm you into meeting him. The food falls apart gently on your tongue and suddenly your agreeable noise becomes a pleased crescendo, taken by the rich smoky flavours.

After swallowing you grow self-conscious; the weight of Osamu’s focused attention is heavy. Rather than embarrassment, the flush tinting his cheeks seems to be something else entirely. He has a chunk of grilled tai between his chopsticks, halted halfway to his lips. “Is it that good?” he teases, strained.

There’s no true malice or ill intent behind it. It’s lighthearted—you could even delude yourself into thinking he sounded fond. You kick your lips, inhibitions worn a fraction after a glass of liquor. “I’d say that’s obvious,” you smiled. “It tastes amazing. Thank you, for picking this place”.

“S’been my pleasure believe me,” he says, finally taking a bite of his own. Like him, you observe how his expression flickers as the flavour fills his senses. A flare in soft surprise, rippling as he chews and discerns the texture. His eyelids flutter closed, lashes fanning out over the high point of his cheeks, and open in the next breath to catch you staring.

“Is it that good?” you echo coyly. Osamu smirks, a glimmer in his eye. He picks up a small piece of the tai sandwiched with a hosta leaf and cups his hand beneath it while offering you a try.

“See for yaself,” he says. Energy simmers under your skin, all buzzing heat and jitters. You quickly sip your drink, rinsing your palate before shuffling closer to the table's edge and lean forward, lips eagerly parting to take the morsel into your mouth. A hitched breath. Osamu holds your gaze while you parse the hints of dashi broth and ginger.

“God. You weren’t wrong. The texture is perfect…” you stop yourself from rambling further and swipe your bottom lip as you recline in your chair, chopsticks poised like pincers. Pulse quickening behind your ribs you copy his actions, taking a sample of your dish for him to try. “Try mine too?” you offer, abashed.

Osamu struggles to temper his grin. Words aren’t necessary. He props himself onto his elbows and stretches forward, pink mouth wrapping around the end of your chopsticks. Closer now you notice the soft cupid’s bow on his top lip. He draws back with a soft groan as he chews—the sound ripples down your spine.

“Never tasted anything like that. Almost has a tangy bite to it,” he praised.

“Right? It’s amazing how they managed to marry earthy and briny together. I think it’s a Spanish dish, maybe,” you wonder aloud, eyes sweeping over the table. “How have I never been here before?”

“It’s my first time too, a friend recommended it. Heard they’ve only been open a year and some,” he tells you. Eventually the conversation slows as eating takes precedence. The server flits in and out to take your empty glasses, bringing refills. Sitting there, now with an empty plate and your third drink half full, a different spirit entirely sifts inside you.

Osamu admires you over the rim of his beer. “I never got to ask earlier,” he mused. “Are ya looking for a serious relationship or…?”

You scarcely hear him, preoccupied with staring at his other loosely curled hand beside the centrepiece. If he notices he doesn’t mention it. “I am. I’ve been trying. Any more than this I might actually fit the definition of a serial dater,” you admit, in an attempt to reciprocate some of his prior vulnerability. “But all I want is to settle down. Find someone”.

About to take another sip, Osamu's fingers slip slightly on the condensation around his pint. “Yer serious?” he baulks. His accent is thicker, rough. You wince at his tone. “Sorry, sorry. I just have a hard time believin’ nobody snatched you up yet”.

Feeling a little like a damn has broken in your chest, you nod. “Maybe I tried too hard. Somehow showing genuine interest only ever puts them off more,” a brittle bout of laughter breaks the delicate quiet, and you begin tearing at a napkin to distract yourself. “And most of them didn’t really… like my appetite. I embarrassed them sometimes, I think”.

Agitation on your behalf flickers in his expression; brows drawn taut, jaw clenched, it flies over his face and smooths out just as quickly. “That’s bullshit,” he said, sounding far calmer than he had looked. Warmth encompasses your hands and your fingers pause their repetitive motions. Osamu runs his thumb over your knuckles. “‘Scuse my manners. But ya not embarrassing in the slightest. There’s nothin’ more satisfying than watching someone eat well”.

A slow smile pulls at your lips. The napkin is in pieces. You sense his caution in crossing any boundaries, pressure alleviating as though to pull away, so you overturn your wrist and thread your fingers together. “I think so too,” you reply. “Not much better than good food and good company”.

“Guess we’ve covered all the bases,” he murmurs, squeezing until your palms kiss. “Feel like sharing some desserts with me?”

The hunger in your heart rears its head. Mentally you send a good word to Saeko, knowing you owe her more than a drink or two for this. “Can’t say no to that,” you return, voice a little thick. Whatever will prolong the night.

Dessert ends up being a beautiful burnt honey cake. It comes with a creamer of liqueur laced chocolate sauce that strays as you pour it. Osamu watches you clean a wayward thread of melted chocolate from wrist to heel with your tongue, grey eyes overcast with something heady. You feel a pulse of magnetised desire where there’d been none before as wet fingers popped free of your mouth.

It’s delicious, you're sure. You can hardly remember anything beyond the face he makes as he tries it.

The end of the date looms with dreadful finality. Osamu pays the bill in full despite your countless protests. You walk through the front dining area, busier than it had been, and in passing you bow your head toward the chef working behind the bar and the host at the entrance.

“Thank you very much,” he acknowledges politely. “Please come again”.

It’s jarring to step back out from the restaurant’s welcome embrace into the street. “Guess this is it,” you inhale deeply and move to Osamu’s side to sap him of his warmth, wrapping yourself around his arm. He pulls you closer and you yield like putty, partly the need to shield from the crisp, late night air and partly the desire to prolong your time together.

“Did you walk here?” he asks, rubbing your hip. Your hand is splayed over his chest, heat seeping through the fabric, heart tapping against your palm.

“I got dropped off,” you reply. “I’ll have a car pick me up”. Osamu dithers for a moment, visibly searching for the right words. He rubs at his neck—a nervous habit you’ve noticed.

Whatever you were expecting it wasn’t, “Are ya still hungry?”

Your mouth opens and closes. True, there’s no real physical ache of hunger but you would hardly describe yourself as full, or sated. “…I could eat,” you confess. Osamu grins at that, dark hair haloed by the streetlight. “Why?”

“My restaurant isn’t far from here. If yer comfortable with it, the cab can pick you up from there and I’ll make a treat for the ride home,” he says. He must take your brief silence to mean discomfort, because he continues on. “Ya can say no,” he murmurs, thumb stroking back and forth at your waist. “Just didn’t want the night to end yet”.

The offer strikes a chord within you, and you feel like you could burst. You want. Guided by fleeting impulse you press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He startles and then moves as if to chase it. Your breath catches as you come together in a soft, chaste press of lips.

“I’d like that,” you rasp, patting at his chest and unwilling to part. There’s relaxed, padded muscle underneath. “What’s the address?”

After receiving the address you input it into your phone, scheduling the taxi to pick you up in around thirty minutes—at Osamu’s suggestion. As promised the restaurant is no more than a five minute walk, tucked away alongside a few other establishments. You notice the Onigiri Miya sign fixed above the door displaying his logo, but the shutters are down.

“Gotta head in through the side,” he explains quietly. You nod, clasping both hands around his forearm and letting him lead. The clink of his keys fills the silence, followed by a series of clicks. The door opens and he flicks the switch on. You squint at the intrusive light that floods the space, blinking to adjust, and make a low inquisitive noise as you meander through.

The interior errs on traditional, and it works well. Hanging along the accent wall is a banner of the shop name written in calligraphy, and other various artworks are littered throughout showcasing appreciation for the local agriculture.

Osamu disappears into the back amidst your exploring. You duck beneath the curtain draped across the doorway to find him. The kitchen is small, an obvious compromise to make room for more dining space. Food preparation is dedicated to the heart of the kitchen on an island-like setup, while dishwashing and such are pushed to the perimeter. Osamu embodies it comfortably and confidently.

Hands wrung against your stomach, you lean to get a closer look at what he’s doing. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Osamu stops, still poised to reach for the water bowl next to his workstation. There are multiple others set out, each seemingly with a different ingredient. His mouth pulls into a boyish grin. “Don’t worry about that,” he says, inclining his head to the stool opposite. “Just sit there looking pretty and I’ll feed ya something good”.

You bite the inside of your cheek and wonder if it’s possible for butterflies to hatch in your chest. A fuzzy giddiness that spreads to the tips of your fingers, and you want to kiss him again. “Promise?”

“Promise”.

Lowering onto the stool, you watch raptly as he wets his fingers and takes a pinch of salt to rub into his  hands. Skin glistens under the pale florescence. Osamu's visage wanes, and you're struck by how at home he looks.

“So,” you speak, if only to fill the silence—and to hear his voice again. “What made you fall in love with food?”

Osamu scoops the cooked rice from a nearby bowl into his palm and starts to shape it. He doesn’t pause in his motions, even with the contemplative tilt of his head. “Lots’a reasons, really,” he says. “Earliest one I can remember is when I made breakfast for my gran for the first time. Ma helped out, ‘cause I was only five or six, but I was real proud of myself”.

“That’s cute,” you murmur, a nascent fondness stirring inside your body at the imagined young Osamu that flashes through your mind. “Did it turn out any good?”

Deft fingers knead a shallow dip into the centre of the rice ball. “Course it didn’t, I used way too much salt. But she still ate it, and it made her feel better”.

“Because she loves you”.

Osamu meets your eyes. Outside, droplets stutter out a drowsy staccato against the windows, cohesive with the beat of your heart. The moment feels pheromonic, like when you know something is just right the second you find it. “Yeah,” he murmurs. His mouth curls up and he tucks some of the nearby ingredients into the rice. “See, yer getting it”.

That's what it is. Osamu likes to take care of people. Your focus falls to deft fingers, gently folding the rice over, as though tucking it in. He gives it a triangular shape, adorned with a slice of nori, and sets it into a small cardboard tray. Without preamble, he reaches to start another.

"Y'know, first time I ever confessed to someone it was with onigiri," Osamu tells you, unheeding of the wellspring he opened in your chest. "Made 'em that same morning, had a speech and everything. Never told anyone I was gonna do it".

You hum and scoot closer, folding your arms atop the island. It's cold ot the touch. Osamu appears to blossom further under your avid attention. He repeats the steps, pressing new filling carefully into the heart of the rice and admits, "Got rejected, though".

Your face falls. "I'm sorry, Osamu".

"It's fine. In the end I gave one of 'em to 'Tsumu, and I ate the other," he shrugs, looking rather happy for someone talking about their botched first confession. "Know what he told me?"

"What?"

"Looks me dead in the eyes and goes 'What the hell, 'Samu. Are ya holdin' out on me? These taste better than usual'," Osamu pitches his voice as he recites the memory, presumably mocking his brother. You laugh, and he ducks his chin to hide his grin. "I remember missin' three serves that day. He told me since I suck so bad at volleyball I should be a chef instead. Idiot doesn't even remember he said it, but..."

While he had meant his words to be light you heard the significance beneath it. You rise from your seat. Osamu tucks the third and final onigiri into the tray and lets his focus stray toward you. Featherlight strokes up his forearm, you rest your cheek against his shoulder. You peer through your lashes and look at Osamu's face, at a tentative beginning.

"And now you're here," you say, reaching to cup his warm cheek. He leans into it, lids fluttering as your thumb traces an arc beneath his eye. His ears are warm against the tips of your fingers. "You did it".

"Yeah," Osamu releases a shaky breath. "Is it—can I kiss ya again?"

Your answer comes with the tilt of your head. Osamu kisses you, solemnly sweet. You can faintly taste the beer he drank. He's warm, firm under your hands. You feel him smile against your mouth and smile back, nipping at his plush lower lip. The intensity grows as a strong arm coils around your waist, his wet, rice soiled hand held away from your clothes. Your fingers slip into his hair as his tongue dips into the seam, slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, drinking the whine right from your mouth.

"Osamu," you sigh, pushing harder, needing to be closer, and yet he is pulling further away. "Noo, come back".

"Greedy thing" he rasps. His voice is infused with warm laughter. You hum as he kisses you again, similar to the first. It's quick and chaste, and with too much finality for your taste. "I know. But I'm pretty sure that's yer ride waiting outside".

You sniff haughtily, following his line of sight to the car headlights filtering in through the windows. "Wait. Let me walk ya out," he mumbles, turning away to find a towel to wipe his hands on. Meanwhile you gingerly pick up the takeout tray of onigiri and cradle it to your front, as though something precious.

"Ready?"

The night is colder than you remember, and you'd only been out of it for a short time. Sparse raindrops pitter patter on the pavements, leaving dark little dots on the concrete. Osamu walks ahead to check with the driver and then waves you over, opening the door himself.

"What a charmer," you tease, turning into him once more and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Osamu. I had a really great night".

"Good enough to see me again?"

The crinkles by his eyes are knowing, aware that he needn't ask at all. And the thought that you could be another person for Osamu to take care of—it satiates the ache.

"Maybe I can cook for you next time," you say as you climb into the backseat. Osamu bends, peering into the car.

"Promise?"

Loneliness is just another form of hunger. You realise that now.

"I promise".

[littlexscarletxwitch]

Hi, would you be able to do a mutual pining yelena x avenger!reader kinda thing where yelena has been ignoring reader because she doesn’t know to how to deal with her feelings and when reader confronts her, yelena admits that she likes her? Mainly angst with fluff at the end if possible. Love your fics!!

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂

paring: yelena belova x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, some angst, mutual pinning, nat being the big sis

warning(s): yel having a hard time admitting her feelings, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 1.8k

note: Soooooo sorry it took me soooo long to post this. I FUCKING LOVED THIS REQUEST btw. Also guys, it's taking me so long to post fic because a) my laptop is just a bitch and won't work, and b) I guess I'm going through a writer's block and it's kinda hard to find the motivation to write. But I'll try my best. Lots of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

Your legs were sore, you couldn't feel your arms anymore and you were gasping for air, but it wasn’t over until one of you was down.

“Can’t we take a break?” you whined out as you tried dodging Yelena’s fist but still made contact with your body and you groaned out in pain. 

“Focus, Y/n,” Steve called out, before Yelena would punch again. 

You knew she was holding back, measuring her strength, she always would when training with you. And you didn’t know if you found that reassuring or mocking. You kicked her in the stomach, but it still did not affect her, it was quite the opposite really. 

“That’s all you got?”

“Why? Wanna try something else?” you teasingly said while winking at her. 

You got her off guard, she wasn’t expecting your cocky self to show up while training, and seized the moment to swift her off her feet and got on top of her. 

“Was this what you had in mind?”

Your hands quickly found her wrists while your body pressed into her abdomen pushing her down so she wouldn’t get out of your hold. 

“Okay, I think it’s enough,” Steve called out, sensing you had gone off track. 

Both you and Yelena knew that she could easily get out of your hold, but still it took her two minutes to do so. You didn’t want to let her go that easily, you felt your whole body burning just by the thought of her skin against yours, still you stood up and got on moving before the two of you could have a say on what just had happened. 

That was how it always went with Yelena, one moment you had the courage to openly flirt with her and a second later you would run back to your dorm second guessing the whole interaction. You wanted to do more, each and every time, but she was so nonchalant about you flirting with her that you convinced yourself that it was just that, a flirty friendship. 

And most of the time you were okay with it, playing dumb about your own feelings. But then shit like that would happen, you would brush her skin, or would make her laugh, or just look at her, and the thought of a friendship would fly out of your mind. That was why you would lock up in your room, trying to calm and persuade yourself to not let your stupid feelings get in the way. 

And the same stupid thing would happen to Yelena, which you didn’t know about. 

“You want to talk about it?” Yelena heard her sister's voice as she watched you heading out the training room. 

“I wasn’t holding back, I swear.”

“Not about your punching,” she raised her brow at her little sister. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yelena shrugged it off as she grabbed her bottle of water and took a big sip. 

“Lena, I know you,” Natasha took advantage of the fact that her sister was chugging down water. “I know we don’t do feelings, we don’t trust people. But that was the old us, that was the red room. We have to put that shitty part of our lives behind us for good.”

“And I have,” Yelena scoffed. 

“Then why haven't you done something about it?” Yelena knew her sister meant you, she didn’t have to clarify. “At least, give it a go,” Natasha sighed. “If not for you, then for her.”

“She doesn’t—.”

“You never know, Lena. Neither will she, if you don’t tell her,” and with that Natasha left her sister to her own thoughts.

“Suka,” she mumbled under her breath, because Natasha was right. She was always right about everything, it was the power that came with being a big sister—her big sister—, and she hated it when she was right. 

She knew she had to do something about it, about you. But the fear of rejection, of feeling unwanted felt too much to bear. She wasn’t going to open up her heart just for someone else to crush it. But maybe, just maybe she could trust you not to crush it. 

[...]

Still, it was easier said than done. It took her a full week to finally come to the conclusion that she was, actually, madly in love with you. A week full of stress and anxiety because deep down she felt like she didn’t deserve to have these feelings towards you. 

And now that she knew exactly how she felt about you, it fucking terrified her. So she did what she thought was best and put some space in between the two of you. The thought of you clouded her brain and it was starting to affect her line of work, and she couldn’t have that. Being part of the avengers gave her life meaning, and she was not going to let her stupid feelings ruin that for her. Even though she wanted to be close to you, and just melt into your arms.

Of course, her coldness didn’t go unnoticed by you. You were confused, though. It wasn’t like Yelena to just shut you out. Even though you wanted more than just a friendship out of her, you wanted to consider yourself a friend of hers and it hurt that she was just avoiding you. 

You didn’t know what was going on, she just felt out of your reach. You asked her sister about it, she just told you to give her space and she would be okay, before muttering something under her breath and went on with her day. You asked Kate and she just completely avoided the topic and changed the subject.

The more she didn’t talk to you, not even glance at your direction, the more you felt like you had done something wrong, maybe she had found out about your feelings and now she was avoiding you because of them. She probably felt uncomfortable about them, she probably wanted nothing to do with you. And who were you to decide otherwise?

You talked to Steve, making sure to not have more training lessons with her, only to find out she had already asked the same thing. You knew it was stupid to feel as if your heart was breaking since you wanted the same thing, but it did feel like shattering to pieces. You just nodded, a tight smile finding its way to your lips and went to your room before shedding any tears. 

This whole thing was bullshit. Yes, maybe she didn’t feel the same way you did about her. But the both of you were full grown-ups, you should be professional about it and act like nothing had happened. Because in reality it didn’t, not that you were aware of it. So you decided that you were going to give her a piece of your mind. 

You searched for her throughout the entire building and finally found her in the training room. Of course she was there, you should have thought of coming there earlier. 

For a trained assassin she didn’t notice your presence, too caught up in her own mind, focusing on her breathing and throwing punches at the boxing bag. 

You cleared your throat. “Got a minute?”

She looked over her shoulder, finally acknowledging you there, and you swore you watched as her whole body just tensed up by the sound of your voice. 

“I’m kinda busy right now,” she mumbled before throwing two more punches. 

“It won’t take long,” you insisted, wanting to get this over with. 

“Look, I really need to—.”

You cut her off. “I don’t know who told you or how you found out, but yes, it’s true, okay?” you finally got her attention. “I just thought you would be professional enough to not let this get in the way and pretend like nothing happened. Which is what I also wish for.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You avoiding me,” you quickly mumbled, a tint of concussion in your tone. “I get it, but let’s just put this behind us and act like propper adults.”

“No, I’m aware of that part,” she scoffed, embarrassed to admit to you what she had been up to. “What I mean is, what have I found out?”

Your brows furrowed. “About my… me… and you,” you gave yourself a second to think her words through. “Hold on a second, you don’t know?” 

“What don’t I know?”

“You don’t,” you finally added two plus two and realised that Yelena had no recollection whatsoever about your feelings, but still something was off. “Why have you been avoiding me then?”

You watched her as her mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words. 

“What did I ever do to you for you to completely avoid me, huh?”

“You did nothing, I just…”

“You just what?” you scoffed, now anger filling your tone. “You just decided it was fun to ignore me?”

“No! God, no.”

“Then what is it?!” the two of you were pretty much screaming at each other. 

“Because I like you, damn it!” she finally confessed. “Is it so hard to see?”

Your eyes winded. “You like me? You have been avoiding me because you like me?”

“I know, not my brightest moment. But it's just that you… you just…” she gestured to her brain. “You’re just stuck here, and I can’t get you out. At first I was scared to admit my own feelings to myself,” she took a deep breath. “But then Tasha said something and it made me realise that there’s nothing wrong with having feelings. But then I had to admit to myself that I really fucking like you. And I just… I just got scared because you might not feel the same way, and you might just push me away,” another deep breath. “And I decided that I would push you away first… and so I did.”

“So you like me.”

“Yes,” her brows furrowed.  “Was that all you got?”

“I mean… it’s the part that matters most,” you grinned at her. 

“What do you mean?”

“I really fucking like you too,” you said cupping her cheeks. “I thought you knew and that was why you were avoiding me. But now I get it, I make you nervous,” you said teasingly. 

“I wouldn’t use that word…” you rolled your eyes before shutting her off with your lips, finally giving in and kissing her. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” you whispered over her lips as you deepened the kiss. 

Her lips were soft and rough, and they had some saltiness to them due to her being all sweaty. But you didn’t mind at all, in fact you really like it. 

“Remember last time we were here?” you whispered in her ear, trailing a path of kiss down her jaw and neck. 

“You mean… that time we last trained?” she sounded breathlessly and it sent a shiver down your whole body. 

“If I remember correctly, which I know I do…” you gently bit her skin earning a hiss out of her lips. “You were on the grown and I was on top of you, remember?”

“Yes…” she said as her fingers ran through your hair. 

“Want to pick up where we left it off?”

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[dwellordream]

Parents Should Ignore Their Children More Often

By Darby Saxbe, clinical psychologist and professor of psychology at the University of Southern California

I recently spoke with an anthropologist named Barry Hewlett who studies child-rearing in hunter-gatherer societies in Central Africa. He explained to me that children in those societies spend lots of time with their parents — they tag along throughout the day and often help with tasks like foraging — but they are rarely the main object of their parents’ attention. Sometimes bored, sometimes engaged, these kids spend much of their time observing adults doing adult things.

Parents in contemporary industrialized societies often take the opposite approach. In the precious time when we’re not working, we place our children at the center of our attention, consciously engaging and entertaining them. We drive them around to sports practice and music lessons, where they are observed and monitored by adults, rather than the other way around. We value “quality time” over quantity of time. We feel guilty when we have to drag our children along with us to take care of boring adult business.

This intensive, often frantic style of parenting requires a lot more effort than the style Professor Hewlett described. I found myself thinking about those hunter-gatherers last month when I read the advisory from the surgeon general, Vivek Murthy, warning that many parents are stressed to their breaking point. There are plenty of reasons for this worrisome state of affairs. One is that we don’t ignore our children often enough.

The modern style of parenting is not just exhausting for adults; it is also based on assumptions about what children need to thrive that are not supported by evidence from our evolutionary past. For most of human history, people had lots of kids, and children hung out in intergenerational social groups in which they were not heavily supervised. Your average benign-neglect day care is probably closer to the historical experience of child care than that of a kid who spends the day alone with a doting parent.

Of course, just because a parenting style is ancient doesn’t make it good. But human beings have spent about 90 percent of our collective time on Earth as hunter-gatherers, and our brains and bodies evolved and adapted to suit that lifestyle. Hunter-gatherer cultures tell us something important about how children are primed to learn.

A parenting style that took its cue from those hunter-gatherers would insist that one of the best things parents can do — for ourselves as well as for our children — is to go about our own lives and tote our children along. You might call it mindful underparenting.

Children learn not only from direct instruction, but also from watching and modeling what other people around them do, whether it’s foraging for berries, changing a tire or unwinding with friends after a long day of work. From a young age, that kind of observation begins to equip children for adulthood.

More important, following adults around gives children the tremendous gift of learning to tolerate boredom, which fosters patience, resourcefulness and creativity. There is evidence from neuroscience that a resting brain is not an idle one. The research tells us that the mind gets busy when it is left alone to do its own thing — in particular, it tends to think about other people’s minds. If you want to raise empathetic, imaginative children who can figure out how to entertain themselves, don’t keep their brains too occupied.

An excellent way to bore children is to take them to an older relative’s house and force them to listen to a long adult conversation about family members they don’t know. Quotidian excursions to the post office or the bank can create valuable opportunities for boredom, too.

Leaving kids’ screens at home on such trips can deepen the useful tedium. It also forces parents to build up their tolerance to their child’s fussiness, an essential component of underparenting. Parents too often feel the need to engage their children in “fun” activities to tempt them away from screens. But by teaching children to crave constant external stimulation and entertainment, intensive parenting can actually worsen screen dependence.

To be sure, when kids are upset, in danger or require guidance, parents can and should swoop in to help. But that is precisely the point: It is only by ignoring our children much of the time that we conserve the energy necessary to give them our full attention when they actually need it.

In recent years there has been a lot of hand-wringing about so-called helicopter parents and their hopelessly coddled children. But we rarely talk about what parents ought to do instead. In an ideal world, we would set children loose to roam free outdoors, unsupervised. As a small-town Ohio kid in the 1990s, I spent hours with my brothers playing in the creek behind our house, with plenty of time to get good and bored. When that sort of “free range” experience is not an option, however, mindful underparenting is the next best thing.

This approach can take the form of bringing children with you not just on boring errands, but also when you work, socialize or exercise. I was at my gym the other day when a father came in with his 4-year-old son. The two of them took turns working out with a trainer teaching them martial arts moves. When it wasn’t his turn, the 4-year-old scrambled around the gym and, when he got tired, lay on his belly on the mat and watched his father practice kicks. Observing the boy, his big eyes taking in a ton of social information, I thought about all the parents who say that they have no time to exercise because they’re too busy with their kids.

At the same time, I thought about all the gyms that bar small children. Even as parenting has gotten more intensive, public spaces, especially in the United States, seem to have become more hostile to the presence of children. I wrote most of my Ph.D. dissertation alongside my toddler in a coffee shop in my neighborhood that had a mini play area with stacking toys, board books and room to park a stroller. That coffee shop is gone now, replaced by a sleeker cafe where it’s hard to picture a stray plastic toy, let alone a rambunctious 2-year-old.

Parents have it easier in countries such as Germany and Spain, where you can find beer gardens and tapas bars situated right next to playgrounds, or in Denmark, where parents routinely park their infants in strollers outside cafes while they socialize. In such places you can relax and catch up with friends while children romp around — a reminder of how much easier parenting gets when we enjoy the social trust born from shared investment in care.

In other words, underparenting requires structural change, and not just the obvious changes that we think of as parental stress-relievers, such as family leave and paid child care. It also requires that as a society, we build back our tolerance for children in public spaces, as annoying and distracting as they can be, and create safe environments where lightly supervised kids can roam freely. In a society that treated children as a public good, we would keep a collective eye on all our kids — which would free us of the need to hover over our own

[adorabluesposts]

Hi!

I saw your post for requests and I was wondering if you would do a fic for Jason Todd? I saw you reposted something for him but if not it’s totally okay!

If yes, could you do a fic where he brings his girlfriend to the manor and everybody questions why she is with him? They are like polar opposites with her being shy and kind compared to his blunt attitude?

This might be a stretch but perhaps Damian’s long lost sister? (I’m a sucker for platonic Damian)

But again if you just reposted that and don’t write for them you can ignore this!

-W.P💚

YES YES OMG WP I LOVE YOU WHATT THANKS FOR REQUESTIONG FOR JASON<333 he's my babygirl 💗. Sorry this took so long I'm a menace to society. Maybe I went a bit too crazy with this.

TW: MENTIONS OF suicide, murder, violence, abuse

It's hard to recall how it happened. It took what felt like years for you to get this close to Jason, but you were proud of your achievement.

Ever since you were a child, your parents taught you what kindness meant. Well, your mother did. Even if it was rough at home, and your father made living a hell, your mother managed to teach you how to treat any scar with kindness and not fight back with violence. And, after he killed her, you almost lost hope. But you just swore to continue finding kindness in anything. For her.

Its just that now you were more closed off.

And your feet were now glued to the ground. You saw the reality of Gotham when your dad killed himself after brutally murdering your mother. Leaving you all alone.

Enter Jason Todd, on a lonely night when you were just walking through the sad streets of Gotham. You had stumbled upon a mugging—a terrified woman cornered by two thugs. You couldn’t just stand idly by.

Your mother's kindness had been your legacy, and you would honor it. But before you could intervene, the Red Hood appeared. He moved with lethal precision, dismantling the criminals without hesitation. You watched, torn between awe and fear. When he turned to leave, you found your voice.

"You're bleeding." You commented, looking at his crimson red suit, which happened to be more red than usual. The guys he just fought didn't hurt him.. it must've been someone else.

"I am fine." Red Hood replied, clutching his side.

Somehow, he ended up on your couch. You weren't that much of a fan of it, considering that your landlord would kick you oit if his property smelled like a crime scene. And you were more than scared to have someone like Jason in your room. But you couldn't just... let him bleed out!

"The way you're patching me up isn't very comforting." He broke the silence. You smiled, but let out a small scoff.

“Comforting?” you laughed. “I’m not here to comfort you. I’m here to prevent my landlord from evicting me because my apartment smells like a crime scene.”

“You’re weird.” Jason tried to sit up, but you push him back down.

“Coming from a guy who wears a red helmet and shoots people,” You retorted. “That’s rich.”

Now you were in front of the Wayne Manor, holding Jason's hand like your life depended on it. Your heart was beating oit of your chest. Jason tried to rub your hand for comfort, but you were still nervous.

Bruce was the one that invited Jason to a monthly dinner. He tried to be closer to Jason, and he would've declined evey time of it wasn't for you begging him to give him a chance.

And this time, you decided to tag along. None of them knew. Except for Alfred, who Jason made sure to alert a few days before the dinner. You were contemplating your decisions, though.

As you both entered the Manor, and politely smiled at Alfred, you felt like your knees would just give out. And Jason now had a frown on his face, as if he hated the place.

You heard commotion from the dining room, with a few people sitting at the table already. We're you late?

"They usually wait a bit for us. But the food isn't ready." Jason whispered into your ear, easing your worries, before he cleated his throat. All heads snapped at him.

A few wanted to greet him, but their voices just got stuck as they saw you. "Hi, Jason." One of them still managed to say.

You recognised Bruce as he got up with a nod and walked over. "Who might you be?"

"She's my girlfriend." Jason placed his arm around your shoulder with a small, but proud, smile.

A few of the boys laughed. One of the girls just gasped with a smile.

"-Jason has a girlfriend?"

"-is it April fools yet?"

"-She's so pretty!"

You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling slightly. "Nice meeting you."

"She sounds so sweet," someone whispered.

Jason grabbed you from Bruce's glare, guiding you to the table as he introduced you to the kids. They all looked at you, watching you closely.

That night, with every word you'd speak, the family would look more concerned, shocked or amused.

Damian finally cleared his throat. "Sorry to say, Jason. But your little girlfriend here will get herself killed."

You raised an eyebrow at that.

"Does she even know?" Tim asked. You assumed he was talking about the whole family's secret lives.

"She does." Jason grumbled. "And she'll be fine."

"Damian's right- she's too.. not you." Dick spoke.

"I think she's perfect!" Stephanie comments, where Cass just shakes her head with a smile, agreeing.

"I-" Jason held your hand underneath the table.

"I think she'll be fine." Bruce spoke up, giving you a nod. "Jason could use someone like her."

"We all could." Tim mumbled

“Smooth talker, that Bruce,” Jason whispered to you.

You rolled your eyes with a soft smile. “Says the guy who once told me he’d sweep me off my feet with a crowbar.”

Jason laughed. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

They didn't take long to warm up after that. They were all still so confused on how you made your way there, but they liked you.

The Manor became like a second home after that, considering how often you'd visit. You would help around, goof or just lay there late at night when some were on patrol.

Damian, on the other hand, took the longest to adjust. Jason didn't try to get you two to warm up, because he didn't really want to. He knew how Damian was.

But you made your way to his heart, too.

Well, he secretly started calling you “Sister” when no one was listening. And it made your heart melt. He always acted nice towards you when his siblings were out of earshot.

Jason knew, though. But he swore not to tease Damiam, just for the sake of him not getting mad at you. ❤️

SJJSJSJSJSJ MY BABYYYYY 💗😭

[ourfleur]

「Better Than the Rest」 [Johnny Cage x Fem Reader]

Summary: Johnny allowing you to live with him after coming home from Outworld was a blessing and a curse. You loved it, but… you couldn’t ignore the problematic way your body felt when you looked at him. Stick to friendly flirting and fucking other people, for now…

Tags: johnny cage x fem reader, smut, pwp, masturbation, pet names, blowjob, friends to lovers, johnny being a cocky asshole (i say with love)

An: okay guys my bad for not posting forever… lets pretend something tragic happened to me so i have an excuse

follow my ao3

It had been about a month since you moved in with Johnny. After you both returned from Outworld you didn’t really have a place to stay anymore, and like the “gentleman” he is, he offered you his guest room.

Throughout the month you had been there the two of you became best friends, you pretty much shared everything with him and he did the same with you. But recently being divorced and now rooming with a very… attractive woman, things were hard for him. He couldn’t help but stare at you, cherish every time you touched him, or think about the sounds you made when you worked out late at night when he was trying to sleep. Everything you did replayed in Johnny's mind constantly.

And things weren't much different for you. Johnny was a dickhead but he was also a very charming, funny, attractive dickhead. You hadn’t laughed more in your life until you met Johnny. You also happened to not be able to take your eyes off him, your mind even started wandering to Johnny while you were touching yourself. You thought about it a lot, would he be gentle? rough? Would he whimper? moan? You couldn’t fight these thoughts. Of course they started plaguing you at the worst moments.

And this moment was no different. You and Johnny were sparing, you had been for at least 3 hours. You had been bested by him the last 2 rounds and were beginning to get annoyed. This time was the same unfortunately. Johnny had swept your feet out from underneath you, leading to him winning. You sighed, defeated. Johnny walked over to you, a cocky stupid smile on his dumb face. “Looks like I win again, see I told you, you can’t beat the Cage.” You rolled your eyes. “You only beat me because I let you.” Bitterness in your words. You finally looked up at him, glaring. He didn’t know why but the way you looked at him from beneath him made his dick twitch a bit. He cleared his throat, then helped you up. You groaned, your muscles sore from the amount of sparing you both did.

You both made your way over to your water bottles. Johnny couldn’t tear his eyes away from you though. His throat tightening as he scanned your body, watching as a bead of sweat rolled down your breasts and then disappearing into your sports bra. The way your hair looked, dishevelled from the sparing. Johnny could feel himself getting hard from just looking at you.

“Okay, fuck. This is my last round, my muscles are so sore.” You groaned, rubbing your neck. “And this time, I will beat you!” Johnny let out an exaggerated laugh. “Oh sureeeeee you will.” You rolled your eyes again, pissed by his stupid sarcastic comment. “No I will. Trust me, I’m gonna beat you so bad you’ll be whining about it for weeks.” A smirk on your face, you were determined to win. He laughed again, getting into position. This time you wouldn’t let him best you. You went at him with full force, dodging his quick punches and landing a few of your own. After a few more minutes of you dodging and hitting him back, Johnny found an opening and was able to knock you off your feet. Immediately getting on top of you, and pinning your hands above you. “So, do you give?” You could see a smile forming as the words left his lips. “Fuck that.” before he could respond you wrapped your legs around his torso and flipped him.

You were sat on his bare stomach, your hands on his chest. Johnny couldn’t believe it, one that you beat him, and two, that you were sitting on top of him. You both stayed in the position silent for longer than you should’ve… eventually you broke the ice. “So…” you said through pants, “Do you give?” He groaned, “Fine. Whatever you win, dumb luck.” You smiled, but still didn’t move, wanting to cherish the feeling of his abs on your clothed pussy. A few seconds after you finally snapped out of it, quickly moving off him and getting up. An awkward laugh escaped your lips and you mumbled a small ‘sorry’ before walking away.

Johnny couldn’t believe what just happened, but what he did know is that he needed to take care of his little problem asap. His dick was so hard it was painful, he was even a little surprised at how you didn’t notice it while you were on top of him. You gathered up your things, turning back to Johnny. “I’m gonna go have a shower, don’t cry too hard about losing.” You giggled before turning and leaving. As soon as you got back to your room you let out a long exhale. Your panties were soaked and you were so turned on you could barely think. Grabbing a change of clothes and a towel, you left your bedroom and made your way to the bathroom.

You were so excited to not only wash off the sweat from your skin but also to get some alone time. You were so sexually pent up and you needed a release. You had been feeling like that for so long and you would often go out and find someone to hook up with, sadly none of those hookups gave you what you need. You’d often find yourself getting home from a hookup and complaining to Johnny about how mediocre it was, and wishing for someone to just fuck you right. But nevertheless that wish still hasn’t come true, so you’re left to your own devices.

You turned on the water, stripping your clothes off and stepping into the hot water. Taking in the warmth of the water, your hand made its way down to your clit. Rubbing small circles you couldn’t help but whimper. Your mind filling with images of Johnny, and thoughts of what he would do to you. Your other hand slowly entering your cunt. You tried your best to keep your moans quiet, but the more you thought about what Johnny’s dick would taste like as you fucked your face on it, what his nose would feel like on your clit as you sat on his face, what his tongue would feel like as he lapped at your folds, the more you couldn’t hold back. His name leaving your lips as you sped your fingers up. You could feel the knot forming in your stomach as you reached your orgasm. Yelling his name a bit too loud for comfort. You finished up your shower and wrapped the towel around yourself, hoping and praying Johnny didn’t hear your… exclamation.

As you leaned over the sink to start on your skin care you noticed a text on your phone. ‘Hey, u free tonight?’ It was a text from one of your former hookups. You thought about it for a second, you were still so turned on despite your shower endeavour that a one night stand might be just what you need. Sure they weren’t the best in bed but you were kind of desperate. ‘Yeah, meet you at the usual bar in an hour and a half’ You felt kind of pathetic for giving it up so easily, usually you were the type to play hard to get, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

You left the bathroom, quickly going to find Johnny to tell him you were leaving. Entering the living room you could see Johnny sat on the couch watching one of his own movies. “Hey Johnny.” His head turned to you as you spoke. He was quite the womanizer but when it came to you, you always left him speechless. His eyes glued to your barely covered figure.”Wait… are you watching your own fucking move?” You chuckled, “Yeah, I gotta make sure my performance was top tier, it’s why i’m the best” Johnny responded, the cocky tone in his voice unmistakable. “Anyways… so y’know that guy I told you about?” Johnny chuckled, “You’re gonna need to be more specific.” Your name rolling off his tongue. “Okay the one that was able to make me cum” you smiled, you were so comfortable with Johnny that telling him things like this didn’t bother you at all. For Johnny though, it was another story. He hated hearing about all the mediocre sex you were having. Often thinking about how much better he could treat you. But he is an actor so whenever you told him about your encounters he would do what he does best, act his ass off.

“Ah, gotcha.” He nodded, “So, let me guess, you need me to pick you up if anything goes wrong?” , “Bingo! Thanks so much Johnny, you’re the best!” You smiled brightly before bidding him farewell to go get ready. Johnny quickly taking in the view before you disappeared behind the walls. He sighed, thinking about you. Unbeknownst to you, Johnny had walked past the bathroom door as you yelled his name. He couldn’t believe what he heard. He needed to be sure, so even though every part of his body was telling him to move on, he pressed his ear against the door. Through it he heard many small whimpers and moans, all muffled by the sound of the water, along with you whining his name. Johnny’s lips slowly forming into a satisfied smirk, this was an ego boost beyond any other. But after hearing that, he could barely function. He was so horny he was losing it, attempting to put on a movie to distract himself from how hard he was. When he saw you though, only in a towel, leaving so little to the imagination… he knew he needed to deal with the problem you made.

He made his way to his own room. Stripping himself of his clothes, he moved to his bed. His tip leaking with precum. He brought his hand to his aching cock, stroking it slowly. Sometimes he felt like you messed with him on purpose, but this time… no way. That just made him needier. He sped up his strokes, imagining what you would look like stuffed with his dick. His head fell back, his groans becoming louder. What he would give to taste you, fuck you, love you. It was all too much, the idea of you was too much. Before he knew it, he came. Thick white ropes spilling over his abs while he groaned at the thought of you. Johnny cleaned himself up, and changed, not wanting to risk being caught by you.

You were kind of rushing to get ready, your makeup a bit messy and your hair refusing to stay in place. Sure this was a guy you’ve seen a few times but still, you wanted to look hot. You let out a frustrated groan while going through your closet. You had plenty of clothes but none of them seemed to be what you wanted, until you came across a dress you hadn’t worn in forever. Your fingers brushed along the seam of a short red dress, it was exactly what you needed. The moment you put on the dress you inspected yourself in the mirror. Black lace lining the top of the dress. It was a little short but you were only really gonna be at the bar for a little bit before you leave and get that dress stripped off of you. Not long after you grabbed some heels and your bag and were ready to go, texting your fling that you were leaving. “Okay Johnny I’m leaving! don’t have too much fun without me!” You giggled, Johnny only catching a glance at you before you were out the door.

It had been about 5 hours since you left and Johnny was so close to falling asleep. Just when his eyes closed he heard his phone ding. An annoyed ‘what’ coming out of his mouth before he turned over and checked his phone. Surprisingly it was a text from you, it wasn’t rare for you to text him to come save you in the middle of the night if a hookup had gone bad but he wasn’t expecting it tonight. Mostly because you seemed to really like this guy, and because of this Johnny felt a little happy that it didn’t go well… along with feeling some guilt over the fact he was happy you weren’t having a good time. Your text was as usual, at least for the other guys, a simple ‘come pick me up please’ along with their address.

After driving around for a little bit, trying to figure out where the fuck this guy lived, Johnny found it. Honestly the only reason he was able to was because you were standing outside the building. He pulled up to you, opening the passenger door for you. While you got in his eyes scanned you from head to toe. “Ohmygodthankyousomuchforcomingtosaveme” Your words spilled out of you faster than you could think, your mind still a little fuzzy from having a few drinks at the bar. Johnny laughed, “No problem babe.” His tone coming off more seductive than he meant. “Fuckkk” You exhaled, sliding down in the seat. “I waited outside for like 20 minutes in this stupid dress. I'm so cold.” Johnny was about to say something but before he could speak you were taking off your dress. “Woah there” His hand going to yours to stop you from taking off your clothes. “Listen I know I’m attractive but that’s no reason to take your clothes off.” His joke making you laugh. “Noo I have a change of clothes in my bag.” You explained, slurring your words a bit. “Pleaseeeee let me change, I am sooooooo cold.” You turned your head to face his, your eyes begging for him to let you change. Johnny didn’t say anything, he simply removed his hand and started driving.

There was nobody on the road that night, which was lucky for you because you could change in peace, also lucky for Johnny because focusing on not crashing was a lot easier. Johnny tried to keep his eyes on the road but he could see you in the corner of his eye. He took notice of the lingerie you were wearing underneath your dress, how little it covered. His thoughts were interrupted though. “Johnny, can you undo my bra, I can’t get it.” You whined. “Can’t you just put your clothes over it? We are gonna be home soon..” Johnny really wasn’t the type to back out of taking a girls bra off but he was really trying not to fuck things up. You groaned, “Noo I can’t wait, it’s so uncomfortable, and I need it off now, also I'm freezing here waiting.” Your pleas convincing him. Johnny pulled the car over and turned to you. His focus waning seeing you from behind, barely anything covering your body. You made a noise the moment his hands touched your cold skin, a noise that Johnny couldn’t get out of his head. The moment he unclipped it, in your slightly drunken state, you tore it off of your body, turning towards Johnny to grab your shirt. His breath hitched in his throat for a minute as you turned to him, your bare breasts on display.

“Okay thanks so much, you can continue driving now!” Your cheery tone not making the situation any easier on the poor man next to you. Johnny just tried to get home as soon as possible, because the feeling in his pants was becoming uncomfortable, especially after your took off your panties to put on your sweats. The rest of the ride was so quiet, which you thought weird, considering Johnny never shuts up. The moment you got back to his house you ran inside, almost forgetting your clothes. Johnny came in after you, exhaustion taking over his body. He didn’t even feel like going to his room, so instead he sat down on the couch, his eyes shutting slowly. But just like before, he was interrupted by you. You straddled him, leaning your head into his chest.

His eyes shot open, immediately moving them down to see what was going on. There you were, on top of him, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “I know you’re tired but I didn’t even get to talk about why I left!” You propped yourself up on him and started talking. “Ugh okay so basically everything was fine until he got a call from his fucking girlfriend! can you believe that?” Anger seeping from your words. Johnny was half awake and along with you on top of him, forming words was extremely hard, so he just nodded along. “So of course I go ‘What the fuck!’ and then he starts making up some stupid excuse. Ugh what a dick, I feel so bad for the girlfriend..” A pout forming on your pretty face as you stared at Johnny. “And also! I didn’t even get to finish… this is so stupid…” Your defeated tone got Johnny’s attention. His head perking up, “He didn’t even let you finish? Yeah that guy sucks.” He said, moving his hands to your waist.

“Of course the one guy that can actually make me cum has a girlfriend, is a dick who cheats on his girlfriend and doesn’t even let me orgasm the last time I see him.” You whined, unknowingly grinding down on his lap. He snapped out of his trance the second you did that, realising that if this continues he will lose his self control very very soon. “Okay gorgeous, I think it’s bedtime.” He said, trying to sit up. Your head leaned back, an annoyed sound escaping from you. Begrudgingly you stood up, missing the warmth Johnny radiated. You trudged your way to your room and fell onto your bed, not bothering to even take your makeup off before you fell asleep.

When you woke up your head was killing you, along with all of your muscles. You cursed yourself for going out after doing a hard workout and drinking. Your clothes becoming a bit too warm. You stripped off your garments, and threw on a big t shirt, too lazy to even put underwear on. As you walked into the kitchen you noticed the time, it was already 11am. You sighed, head still pounding. You felt bad for making Johnny do everything for you but also he kept agreeing so whatever, might as well ask him to make you breakfast. So you went on a search, looking everywhere in Johnny mansion for him.

After what felt like forever (5 minutes) you finally found him. “Johnny!” You exclaimed, happy to see him so you could beg him to make you food. He was in his gym, working out with his headphones in. “Johnny..?” Repeated, less excited and more confused. “Uhh Johnny..” You said once more, this time louder. It seemed that attempt worked because he immediately stopped his set and sat up. “Oh hey, sleep well miss homewreaker?” Johnny said jokingly. “Oh fuck you. I didn’t know..” , “Suree” His sarcasm annoying you. “Whatever… since you’re such an asshole to me can you at least make me breakfast… y’know as like a way to amend things.” Your face morphing into an overdramatic begging expression. “Sure, I mean what woman doesn’t want me to make them breakfast after a rough night?” Johnny said, winking after. Immediately you rolled your eyes, “Yeah yeah whatever mr bigshot, go cook me something.”

Even though you asked Johnny to cook you wouldn’t even let him crack an egg without criticizing him. “No! Johnny you are supposed to butter the pan not use oil.” Your head in your hands in annoyance. “Ugh move I will cook it myself.” You couldn’t bear to see him ruining your precious breakfast any longer. You wedged yourself in between Johnny and the stove, completely forgetting about the no underwear thing. Your bare pussy against Johnny's crotch. He pretty much turned into a mess. He fumbled backwards, making up some excuse about having a business call and rushing off to his room. Too focused on food, you didn’t even consider that to be odd.

A few minutes later your food was finally done. You were famished and scarfed down your breakfast at record pace. After breakfast you decided to go around and grab all your things that you left near the door last night. When you went to grab them though, you noticed your shoes were nowhere to be found. You spent a couple minutes looking for them before you gave up. “I don’t know maybe Johnny has seen them..” You said to yourself.

As you approached Johnny’s room you heard noises, they were quiet but there. Against your better judgement, when you got to his door, you opened it. “Johnny have you seen-” Your question interrupted by him moaning your name as he touched himself. “Oh my god!” You exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!” You shielded your eyes, Johnny becoming aware of your presence and quickly throwing a blanket over himself. “Fuck uh sorry?” He said through whimpers, trying to calm down. “Were you… moaning my name?” Your question barely louder than a whisper. Johnny’s bold demeanour seemingly disappearing as the words left your mouth. He was left silent, not sure how to respond. Johnny’s self reflection quickly cut off by your laugh. You stepped closer to his bed, moving your head down to his level and looking him in the eyes. “You have no idea how long i’ve craved you.” Before he could speak you smashed your lips against his.

Your tongues entangling with each others. Subtle moans leaving both of your lips as you got on his lap. His hands falling on your ass. You intensified the kiss, biting on his lower lip, lapping at his mouth as he used his hands to move your hips back and forth over his aching cock. You broke the kiss, a string of spit connecting the two of you. You pulled your shirt off of your body, eager to get things moving. “Stand up” Your breathy voice driving Johnny crazy. You got off of him and got on your knees. “One second babe.” Johnny said while he leaned over to grab his phone. “Gotta record such a pretty view.” He said, a smug grin appearing on his face. He stood up, pointing his phone camera down at you. “Action.” You rolled your eyes at his stupid comment and then turned your focus to something much more important.

You brought Johnny’s cock to your lips, spitting onto his tip. You took your hand and wrapped it around his length, doing slow, steady strokes. Your fingers tracing his veins, looking up at him to see all his reactions.

His grunts making your pussy clench around nothing. To him you were torturing him. The pace you were going had him losing his mind. “Fuckk” His hips thrusting into your hands, trying to get more friction. “Baby I need you to go faster, please..” His begs making you smirk. “Tell me what you want.” Your seductive voice almost making Johnny buckle. “God, you’re evil y’know that?” He chuckled. “Anything, just, just go faster.” He said, exasperated.

You tilted your head to the side, “Anything?” You asked, “Fuck yes anything.” He was so desperate for you. You thought about it for a second, then moved your lips closer to his cock. Doing small licks to his head. Watching as his head fell back in pleasure. You then licked his slit, his entire body tensing up. Slowly, you moved your tongue across his entire shaft. giving extra attention to his veins, like you did with your fingers. Finally, you brought your head back to his tip, and then you slowly took his entire length into your mouth. A beautiful moan leaving Johnny’s lips. You started to move, making sure to look at the camera. Johnny could barely contain himself, hips rocking back and forth with the flow of your mouth. You could feel him twitch in your mouth, he was close. So, like an asshole, you pulled your mouth off of him when he was about to cum. His eyes shot open. “What the fuck?” He was clearly annoyed about his orgasm denial. “Johnny…” Your sensual tone reverberating in his ears. “I need your full attention for this, I need you to look at me.” He panted “Whatever you say.” You stared up at him, his cock in your hand. You opened your mouth, bringing his dick back into your mouth. You took his entire length into your mouth, getting down to the base.

Johnny was losing it. A slew of curses, moans, and your name rolled off his tongue. “Shit, thats perfect baby. Fuck you look so beautiful with my dick stuffed down your throat.” His praises making the aching between your thighs no longer able to be ignored. You started to move back and forth, your body so hungry for his praise. “Just like that… god you’re mouth is like heaven.” The rasp in his voice making you crazy. He wrapped his hand into your hair, pushing you down onto his cock. Your hands shooting to your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud. Your moans felt so good around his dick and he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Fuck i’m so close.” He groaned. His hips thrusting into your mouth so faster you could barely think. He pulled you off of his dick before he came, wanting to see your pretty face covered in his cum. As he finished he moaned your name, releasing his seed onto you, covering your face in it.

“Smile for the camera baby.” Were the last words he said before Johnny stopped recording on his phone, throwing it onto a chair. You licked your lips, lapping at whatever landed there. Johnny grabbed you a towel, grabbing your chin and wiping off all his cum. The second he was done cleaning off your face you stood up, crashing your lips to his again. You pushed him back onto his bed and got on top of him, grinding your cunt against his abs. “You wanna ride me?” He questioned, his confidence returning. “Fuck yes oh my god.” You responded, so excited to finally feel him fill you. You moved yourself down and aligned yourself with his cock. As you rocked down on it you and Johnny both let out a whimper. His dick was the perfect blend of big and girthy, it stretched you in a way you’ve been longing for. You propped your hands up on his chest and started rocking back and forth, eliciting the most beautiful moans.

“No one can ever compare to this pussy.” Your name leaving Johnny’s mouth while he groaned. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do this yesterday Johnny.” You cried, riding his cock at the perfect pace. You kept the speed going up, never faltering. Johnny’s dick hitting all the right places. You were losing your mind already but when Johnny moved one of his hands to your hip and the other to your clit you couldn’t take it. His hand rubbed circles into your sensitive bud while his other was rocking your hips on his cock. You couldn’t take all the stimulation and your orgasm was close. “Johnny.. mmph I’m so, I’m so close fuck.” You could barely keep yourself upright, the pleasure taking over. “Cmon baby, cum, scream my name too, let everyone know who is making you feel this good.” Johnny’s smug voice ringing in your ears. And you listened, as the knot in your stomach came loose your mouth screamed his name, your cum coating his dick. And right after, he came, his seed filling you up, along with his moans filling your ears.

You collapsed beside Johnny, a mix of his cum and yours leaking out of you. He chuckled, words leaving his lips between gasps for air. “If I knew your pussy was that good I wouldn’t have let you leave to go fuck those losers.” You turned your face to his, pulling him into a kiss, “You don’t gotta worry anymore, this is all yours, Mr A-list.” You whispered, enjoying the calm moment. Johnny couldn’t hide his amusement, but he also couldn’t hide his need for more. He grabbed your waist and lifted you back onto his chest. “Come here, sweetheart, why don’t you sit that pretty pussy on this pretty face?” You groaned at his self centredness but still moved your hips up to his face. “You’re the most self obsessed person I’ve ever met, did you know that?” You ask, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Hard not to be obsessed with yourself when you are as sexy as me.” Ending his sentence with a wink. “Okay that's enough out of you.” Shutting him up with your cunt sat on his face. His nose felt heavenly on your clit but when he started licking your folds you started seeing the light.

While he ate you out he also gave himself some self love, jerking himself off. It had barely been a minute since you sat on his face but you could already feel your body going numb. The sensitivity from your last orgasm not worn off. The way his tongue lapped at your pussy had you squirming. Johnny had to use his unoccupied hand to hold you down while he sucked and licked your pussy raw. Your moans were getting out of hand, you were screaming so loud a part of you was worried the neighbours would hear. But when Johnny started moaning into your pussy you fell apart. Legs shaking and cunt clenching around his tongue. You could barely get any air in as you came undone, squirting all over his face, Johnny doing his best to catch your juices in his mouth. You pulled yourself off of him, crawling down his bed to replace his hand with yours. You listened so intently to every noise he made until he finally came, his cum falling over his chest.

Craving more of him, you bent down and ran your tongue along his abs, trying to lick up every last drop of his seed. “You’re such a whore, drinking up my cum like that.” You giggled, licking the last drop from his muscles. “You did the same thing a few minutes ago, I guess we are both whores.” Your hands rubbing at his chest. “You’re dangerous.” Johnny says, a glint in his eyes. You nod, a feeling of pride in your heart. “I’m thinking… one last round?” A playfulness in your voice. “We don’t wrap until it’s perfect baby.” Johnny’s smugness extremely apparent.

He stood up and walked towards you, leaning you back on his pillows. Johnny climbed back into the bed, sitting in between your legs. He leaned in, kissing you on the lips. Unlike the other kisses you shared this one felt different, it was less needy, more intimate. While kissing you he started pinching and squeezing your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. You moaned into his mouth, needing more. Johnny removed his lips from yours and moved them to you jaw, sucking and licking at your skin till a bruise formed. He did that all the way down, from your neck to you shoulders. Johnny stopped at your breasts though. He payed extra attention them. Using his tongue in expert ways around your nipples. You were so obsessed with the way he made you feel, no hookup had ever been like this.

By the time he reached your cunt your body was already turned to jelly. He took a hold of this length and slowly pushed it inside you. The curve of his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you. “Ngh Johnny please..” Your begs replaying in his head. He started to move, slow and steady thrusts. Johnny went deep inside you, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. You were a mess, the erotic sounds of your rendezvous making anyone who might walk by walk a little faster. His pace was so slow, but even thrust was sending you over the edge. The louder you got the harder Johnny would go. It was slow and rough, neither of you able to form any words due to the feeling bubbling to the top. Johnny got slightly faster and his movements became more sloppy, you knew he was close, and so were you. “Johnny, please, I need to cum.” You pleaded with him, your entire body was shaking, ready for release. All he had to do was utter three words and your became a shaking mess underneath him. “Cum for me.”

Johnny pulled out of you, the way your cunt squeezed him when you came was too much. A couple of strokes and he came on your pussy. He fell to your side. All was quiet except for your breaths. You were the first to speak, “I hate you and you fucking cocky attitude but god do you have the skills to act like that.” You both laughed, “Fuck you’re so amazing, I wish I got a piece of that sooner.” An annoyed sigh left your lips, “Sure, whatever, now go be a gentleman or whatever and get me a cloth so I can clean up the mess you made.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss you, “Yes ma’am.”