#.and what happens when you put your greasy fucking hands on their head without warning

[sansloii]

I've always imagined Mikah's hair to either be this shade or a little darker ( especially in the colder/ winter months when they let their roots grow out or just plain give their hair a break ). The styles are also pretty consistent with how Mikah wears their hair -- with the messy bun being and braided ponytail being the closest to their day to day looks It's also why they're so particular about people touching their head or pulling their hair. Because their hair is nice, y'all. It's very well taken care of.

[anisespice]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 3

one || two || four

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ osamu, sakusa ]

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, MDI. literally can’t be bothered to think of anything else, but feel free to let me know lol

notes: sooo i lied <333 i’ve decided to give suna his own chapter later on (srry suna lovers !!!!) i just wasn’t satisfied with how his was turning out, and it was the only roadblock delaying my progress soooo figured we’d just put a pin in his for now lol especially for those who were FROTHING for these two in particular (this for y'all ✨) hope you enjoy :)))

notes ii: nobody LOOK AT ME, this took me an embarrassingly long time lol. i’m not familiar with them, personality-wise, but i tried ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes iii: this one’s got atsumu written all over it LMAOOO

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy

“Aht-CHOO!”

The bowl of popcorn nearly flew out your lap when you shrieked bloody-murder, body in fight or flight from the abrupt sound happening moments before a jumpscare in the movie you were watching. Head on a swivel, you soon realized the culprit wasn’t a psycho-killer in a ghost mask, but your darling OSAMU with his lawnmower of a sneeze coming through your front door.

You exhaled, relieved, but scared shitless. After pausing the movie, you glared down the hall leading to the door. “Seriously? You had to do that with your entire chest?”

Osamu sniffled, then muttered. “…Y’supposed to say bless ya before scoldin’ at your sweet and thoughtful boyfriend, y’know…”

“Aw, bless you, my love. And, fuck you.”

The brunette snorted, no doubt rolling his eyes as he toed off his shoes. Coming down the hall to soon reveal his handsome face, illuminated only by the bright tv screen, Osamu held up a large plastic bag filled with something greasy and delicious as the smell traveled up your nose. He grinned smugly at you intently eyeing the bag. “Fuck me, huh?”

You immediately doubled down, waving your hands. “Waitwaitwait I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it as in…fuck you’RE so sweet and thoughtful, and I love you so much..?”

Osamu hummed, taking off his ball cap to place it on your head. Shaking it a little by the brim, he winked. “Nice save, darlin’.”

He made way for your inspace kitchen to get dinner assorted with you trailing not too far behind. Your eyes eagerly ate up the widespread of all your favorites displayed on the countertop, practically hanging off his back since there was barely any room for the both of you in the tiny space. Popcorn long forgotten, your stomach sang a symphony for some real food, Osamu saving you the trouble of eating instant noodles for dinner yet again.

And without you even having to ask him for any of it, too.

Your gaze eventually locked onto the former volleyball player, eyeing him up with a newfound hunger that he was quick to pick up on while he popped a piece of fried chicken in his mouth. Looking down at you with a raised brow he patiently waited for you to voice your thoughts, a boyish grin growing on his face as he chewed.

You blinked. He blinked back, then chuckled lightly. “We communicatin’ telepathically, or somethin’?”

“If we were, you’d know I wanna suck you dry right now.”

Osamu.exe—E R R O R.

Man straight up inhaled the little that was still in his mouth, hurling him into a fit of hacks as he turned away from the food to fight for his life at your sink. Coughing up what he could into the drain with you behind him hitting his back for support, you couldn’t stop the evil, little laugh from slipping out seeing this as a form of karma for the scare earlier. Osamu fixed you with a weak glare once he calmed down, reaching over to pinch your cheek. “A warnin’ next time, would’ya?…”

You winced, but mirth still swam in your eyes. “Your only warning would’ve been your pants around your ankles-”

“Oi, quit that.” He gently grabbed your jaw to squish up your mouth, though it didn’t repress the cheeky grin you wore. The brunette did his best to remain unfazed, but the flush across his face was evident, your words clearly effecting him. “…Jeez, at least ask me how m’day was before ya slut me out. Soundin’ like all them thirsty-ass comments floodin’ my socials all damn day.”

Osamu let go of your face to grab plates from your cabinet, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded. Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms with a raised brow. “‘m sorry…the what flooding your socials?”

He busied himself with fixing your plate, nonchalantly recalling the very incident that occurred the other day, “That dumb fuck-list or whatever, mixed up me ‘nd ‘tsumu in their little post. Had his ugly mug front ‘nd center, but had my name attached to this long-winded thread ‘bout me basically being better in the sack than him. Shit’s wild.”

“The fuck-what now?” Osamu handed over a healthy plate full of food, you absentmindedly took it but made no move to eat. He started fixing his own, acting as if he didn’t just delay your appetite with this information. “Y—…you’re joking right? There’s no way something like that exists.”

“Oh, t’s very much real. Read it with my own eyes,” he licked the spoon he used to spread sauce across his chicken. “What, ya sayin’ ya haven’t heard of it? Seriously?”

“You know I don’t care enough to keep up with the trends that go on around here. And with good reason, clearly. What’s even the purpose?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. But it’s got ‘tsumu givin’ me the silent treatment, so maybe it’s not that bad after all.”

“Pfft. He’s pissy because some random on the internet said you’re the better lay? How would they know?? You’re both happily taken, and I wish a bitch would.” You smugly declared, bringing your food to the living room.

Osamu grinned at your possessive tone, trailing behind you holding plate and soda cans in either hand. “Damn straight. But, wasn’t just some random, babe. We’re talkin’ millions.”

Had you not already gotten situated on the couch, you would’ve surely spilled food all over yourself. Jaw nearly to the floor, you blinked up at him, bewildered. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Holy shit.”

Osamu took his usual spot next to you, large frame nearly taking up most of the couch. With bellies empty, knee knocking against knee, and elbow nudging elbow, the brunette hummed contently as he soaked in his favorite atmosphere—Your voice, your warmth, you. Though too busy monologuing about the absurdity of such a thing going viral to notice his fond gaze, Osamu silently listened to every word as he began eating from his plate. Although, all that mushiness is soon pushed to the back of his mind when the next sentence fell from your lips. After you eventually found said post to see it for yourself, needless to say you had some…hot takes.

“How could someone write this and not cringe? I mean, I love you ‘samu, but a Dom? If only they knew how nervous you were our first time, it was so adorable.” You giggled, tossing some chicken into your mouth. “You are not that guy.”

Osamu’s chewing paused. Your laughter eventually died down.

You didn’t feel his stare earlier…but you were definitely feeling it now, Mr. Krabs. Suddenly, the same dread you got when anticipating a jumpscare resurfaced. A sinking pit in your stomach like a rabbit stumbling upon a fox—Cliché aside, you fucked up. And you knew it in your bones the second your eyes locked with his, void of fondness and full of hunger despite his plate being half-eaten.

He swallowed the bit in his mouth, then spoke. “Sure ‘bout that?”

You mouth moved, floundered even, but nothing would come out. And Osamu didn’t rush you either, if anything he gladly watched you struggle while he continued munching away. “I—..I-I mean..I was just saying. Because…y’know, you never…we never really-”

“Mm. Jus’ cause we usually take things slow doesn’t mean you can’t get a hole fucked into your mattress, sweetheart. Keep tryin’ ya luck, ‘nd ya just might. Finish eatin’ first, though. Ya gonna need your energy.”

SAKUSA couldn’t give a flying fuck about the list. He would literally walk away from someone mid-conversation if said topic got brought up. And don’t think that you’re the exception, either—Man parked and got out of his OWN CAR during the drive back to his place, refusing to get back in until you dropped the subject entirely.

“Omi-”

“No.”

“C’monnnn.”

“No.”

You giggled, “I won’t talk about it anymore, I promise.”

He had his back to you as you spoke through the rolled down, driver’s side window, trying to ‘pspspsps’ him back into the car like a stubborn cat. Sakusa knew he was being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t stomach anymore nonsense. Plus, there’s a bit of suspicion on his end whenever it came to talking about the accursed list—Sakusa saw it as a bad omen.

Anyone who talked about it within his circle, be it teammates or personal friends, miraculously found themselves posted up the following day like fresh meat on the market. Once he caught wind that not even taken people were spared from being thirsted over, his disdain merely amplified, as did his precaution.

“Baby, I’ll burn some sage back at your apartment to scare away the bad energy from my filthy words. Would that make you feel better?”

Sakusa huffed, looking over his shoulder to give you a good ole stank face—One you barely paid any mind to as you batted your lashes at him. He glitched. Had it not been for the mask he was wearing, you’d see the harsh flush that spread across his face. Too bad his neck was exposed, giving him away as you grinned knowingly. But, you weren’t about to distract him from the issue at hand, you temptress.

“Don’t patronize me. Besides, you didn’t say it at my apartment, you said it in the car. Would completely defeat the purpose.”

You blinked.

There was no stopping the laughing fit you fell into when his words eventually processed, borderline cackling. “I-I’ll sage the car then, how ‘bout that?”

The ravenette squinted, marching up to the car to stick his head in before pulling his mask down so you could see his heavy frown through your tearful hysterics.

“You’re laughing. You’ve doomed me to becoming targeted by perverts, and you’re laughing.”

“‘yoomi, PLEASE.” You wheezed, waving a hand at him for mercy. With a couple stuttered intakes of air, you did your best to pull it together. “Don’t you think…you’re being a little paranoid?”

Amusement colored your features when you made eye contact with the outside hitter. Sakusa rolled his, tugging his mask back on before re-entering the car. “We’ll see how funny you find it when we can’t be seen together in public anymore.”

“And why not?” You raised a brow, still giggly.

Sakusa buckled in, taking the car out of park. “Because. When I do get posted, I won’t be leaving the safety of my room until that shit gets banned.”

“Oh my god, honey, I promise. You’re worrying over nothing. If you were gonna be on the list, don’t you think you would’ve by now? I mean, c’mon, even Hinata got on it before you. Majority of your teammates did!”

“That’s exactly my point. I’m the only one left.”

The two of you continued a playful back and forth pretty much the whole drive, more so you teasing him than anything else. After a while, having had your fun, you gave it a rest much to Sakusa’s relief. “Can still burn some sage, if you want-” “You’re not funny.”

Your evening continued on as normal, him taking a shower while you busied yourself by looking for a show the two of you could binge. Although, even after the discussion from earlier had been dropped, your boyfriend’s words still echoed in the back of your mind like a mantra. ‘I’m the only one left.’

As much as you’d hate to admit, though never to his face, your over-suspicious companion had a point. Without the safety net of his more extroverted teammates being in the spotlight of rabid fans, what’s delaying the swarm of unsolicited desires now? Even with his sourtude, Sakusa was an attractive individual—The dark curls that frame his face perfectly, his piercing pools of obsidian that shred through you like paper, the beauty marks above his brow, his THIGHS. And those were just surface-level things.

Being one of the privileged few who’ve seen all layers of Sakusa, you couldn’t blame them for wanting to explore deeper into who he was beyond that cold exterior…in more ways than one. Who better to fill those burning questions than some horny randos with too much time on their hands?

But, he’s made it this far without issue, what’s there to worry about now?—*Bzzzzt*

You jolt slightly, the harsh vibration coming from the sofa table breaking you out of your thoughts. With a short glance at your phone, the lit screen revealed an incoming call from Sakusa’s cousin, Komori. You exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, reaching over to grab the device and answer it. However, as your thumb hovered over the green button, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder…why would he be calling you?

You shook your head, answering the call before your mind could wander. He probably just wanted to catch up, make small talk. A smile graced your face as you happily greeted him, “Mori! Hi, what can I do ya for-?”

“Has he seen it?? Am I too late??”

You froze, blinking widely in stunned confusion. Your silence must have been loud enough for the man to grow more anxious, calling out your name to regain your attention. “Uh…has who seen what?”

Komori exhaled, in what you could only assume was relief. “Thank God…you sound blissfully unaware. That means there’s still time. You’re at his place, right?”

You blinked, eyes looking around as if he could see you.

“Kiyoomi’s? Yeah, I am. He’s in the shower at the moment if you were trying to reach him. Is everything okay?”

Now it was him who turned silent. You waited with bated breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wracked your brain for every worst case scenario…but a small part of you already had an idea.

“It’s the complete opposite, I’m afraid.”

‘Kiyoomi Sakusa. 6’2ft of ?????. An enigma. We had to take our time this one. This tall, personification of a hand sanitizer bottle may appear to be disgusted and disinterested, but once you get past those disinfectant defenses of his…Lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed. Why else would he keep so clean all the time? It’s ‘cause he’s hiding an absolute FILTHY ANIMAL behind his mask (literally and figuratively) you cannot convince me otherwise. Definitely a Hard Dom, would degrade you for making a mess all over him even though he’s the one to blame; THRIVES when you get messy for him tho. Firm believer that he’d spit in your mouth, both as punishment and a reward. He won’t make much noise, you’ll think he’s doing taxes while deep in your guts, but just watch his face; homie is EXPRESSIVE. Aftercare could go either way, but he’d probably focus more on getting the sheets changed than cleaning you up. 7/10.’

You clenched the phone in disbelief, eyes watering due to the sexual word-vomit burning them the more you read on. It didn’t even take you long to find the dreaded post you were convinced would never manifest, refreshing the page multiple times just to confirm its existence. “Shit. I really did doom him to being targeted by perverts…”

“Huh??” Komori voiced. You merely brushed it off.

“Nothing,” you sighed. Taking the conversation out on the balcony in case Sakusa overheard, you had Komori on speaker as you attempted to do damage control. “Do the others know about this? Oh God, does Atsumu?? Knowing him, he’d surely jump at the chance to tease Omi with something like this.”

“Dunno. Just found out myself, and you were the first person I thought to call.”

You looked over your shoulder, peeking inside to see if the outside hitter was roaming around. There didn’t appear to be any movement, but there’s no doubt he finished showering by now.

Exhaling, you began sifting through your contacts. “We need to do whatever it takes to make sure he never finds out about the post. I’ll text everyone I know to help flag it down, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take before-”

“Who’re you talking to?”

Startled, phone nearly tossed off the balcony, you turned toward the sudden appearance of your freshly washed boyfriend, towel around his neck and adorned in lounge wear. Komori held his breath, as if he also were caught in the act even though he could easily escape with a mere press of a button. “Um…your cousin.”

“Okay, but…why’d you come out here? You wouldn’t have disturbed me if you took the call inside.” Sakusa raised a brow at your stiff posture, perplexed but concerned. “Something the matter?”

“No!” You winced at your own volume. His eyes widened slightly, making you nervously chuckle. Clearing your throat, you attempted to play it cool. “No, uh…just wanted to get some air while catching up with Komori, that’s all. W-why d’you ask?”

Sakusa squinted at you. “You’re jumpy.”

“J-Jumpy? Me? Uh.. that’s because…” Searching your brain for an excuse, luckily Komori had your back with his quick thinking.

“B-Because! We’re talking about the list! And t-they figured you wouldn’t wanna hear us, so-” SLAM!

Before he could even get the rest of the explanation out, Sakusa had already closed the sliding door. You and Komori shared a sigh of relief. You watched Sakusa’s back retreat into the living room as he sat on the couch, flickering around for something to put on to pass the time.

Just as suspected…still paranoid.

“That was close…”

“Super close. Think he bought it?”

You groaned, hesitant to take your eyes off him. “Won’t matter if he decides to check his phone at some point…”

It didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight, hopefully charging in another room. But, there was no point in wasting time worrying about that. You had some flagging to do. And as long as he had no reason to look at it, you’d be fine.

Sakusa, now bored with you occupied by something else, couldn’t help but to watch you longingly from the couch. You were speaking so animatedly, using your free hand to gesture, pacing back and forth. He frowned—How can that stupid list be more important than snuggling up with him? Yet another reason to hate it.

Exhaling through his nose he leaned back on the sofa, remote in hand as he looked for something to help pass the time. However, before he could get very far in his search, his phone rings.

Confused, he reached into his pocket. Instantly, his mood went from neutral to shriveled when he read the caller ID—Miya.

He had half a mind to ignore it, but knowing Atsumu he’d probably just keep calling until the inevitable happened with him turning up on his doorstep. Sakusa gave an annoyed huff, reluctantly answering the phone.

“Better have a good reason to be calling me this late, idiot.”

“Oh ho ho. Believe me, Omi-Omi. You’ll wanna see this.”

Back on the balcony, after the sixth time flagging the post for misinformation and harassment, you suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere that wasn’t there moments before. Halting your frantic thumbs, you slowly looked up from the screen as a cold chill ran up your spine; something didn’t feel right in the force.

You weren’t sure what made you turn back to look inside the room, but the moment you did…it was like the world had gone into slow motion—Komori’s voice faded into the background as he called out your name, drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding through your ribs at the sight of Sakusa on his phone, face contorted into what could only be described as pure humiliation as he stared into the endless abyss while on his knees.

Probably should’ve burned that sage when you had the chance.

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[nativegirltapes]

motel — rafe cameron

summary: reader and rafe being on one of their ‘breaks’ so reader comes and visits rafe at a motel he’s been staying at after being kicked out. but she doesn’t get the comfort from rafe she thought she would.

pairing: toxic!rafe x reader

notes/warnings: purely angst! idk what got in to me while writing this but i think i got too into it …. reader is like super dependent on rafe it’s just sad atp!!!

it was unfortunate but no one was able to comfort you the way your boyfriend did, even after hurting your feelings.

tears fell down your face as you knocked on the door numbered '56', the door of the motel you drove to hundreds of miles away, just to see him.

when the door swung open there he was; greasy hair sticking to his forehead, shirtless, with his grey sweats hanging dangerously low. you ran into him arms like you hadn't seen him years, although that's how it felt.

rafe's hand caressed the back of your head while you embraced your arms around him. your hair was messy but still soft, it was always so soft, it was one of his favorite things about you. you were literally a sobbing disaster in front of him but you're hair was still soft and smelled of strawberries and grapefruit. rafe thought out loud it might sound silly, but it was almost like it was some weird sort of symbolism, that despite everything that rafe had put out through, you were still perfect. you were still his soft, perfect angel.

"i hate you," you choked out. you 'hated' him, but there you were hugging him, all at his disposal.

"i know." rafe replied, resting his head on yours. rafe felt bad, which is exactly why he broke up with you in the first place. although, a normal functioning person wouldn't call what you two had a 'breakup'; coming to visit him at a motel because he was kicked out of his own house didn't exactly scream 'broken up' to anyone.

rafe knew you didn't hate him, maybe it was just that you loved him so much that you lost yourself in the journey.

when you were with him, it seemed like all you had was him, like you didn't know how to live or function without him. and rafe hated that, because that's exactly how he felt for you. there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you, no boundary he wouldn't cross for you; except for being the one responsible for ruining you.

"you shouldn't be here." rafe groaned, you pulled away from the hug, every ounce of his warmness leaving your body.

"why?" you wiped your tears with rafe's hoodie that you were wearing, it basically swallowed you whole with how big it was.

"it’s not good for you.” rafe’s eyes looked down at you, you didn’t realize how tired and sad he looked too.

“you’re good for me, rafe.” you placed a hand on his chest, but he stepped away.

“i’m not y/n.”

“you can’t tell me what’s good for me rafe.” you followed him as he stepped back. your eyes felt so puffy, like they’d just swell shut if you cried anymore.

“i’m not good for you,” rafe sighed. “i mean do you see your fuckin’ self?” rafe threw his hand towards you. “you’re here cryin’ in a motel you drove hundreds of miles away to get to just because i’m tryin’ to fucking help you.”

“if you want to help me, just love me.” you didn’t have it in you to yell back. your soft but croaky voice played like a record in rafe’s head; reminding him that you’re just his soft, perfect angel. no, he definitely didn’t deserve you, but he didn’t have in it him to just never talk to you again, which just lead you both here; in this moment right now, wondering what went wrong between the two of you. things used to be so good. what happened?

“i’m tryin’ to love you.” rafe rubbed his forehead, he didn’t want to say it, but he knew he had to. “you won’t let me.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, you weren’t letting him? you were standing in front of him, quite literally begging him to love you; and you weren’t ‘letting him’?

you weren’t saying anything so rafe took it as an opportunity, “we just,” he ran his fingers through his hair, kind of pacing around the room now. “we just need to be apart for a while. kay?”

exhausted from crying all the way here and all the crying you just did, all you could do was agree. “okay.” you sighed, a tear falling down your cheek.

this couldn’t be the end of you and rafe, he loved you. right?

[hargrove-mayfields]

Onto day two of @harringroveweek!

The prompt I chose for the 25th was: Sugar Cream Pie!

Warnings on this one include mentions of homophobia and implied/referenced child abuse.

“I already told you, Steve. I ain’t Nancy Wheeler. You can’t just drag me along on some romantic little trist in the middle of the fucking town.”

They’re in Steve’s car after dark with the passenger side window wide open to account for the entire pack of smokes Billy has gone through since they met up. Steve has done this enough times now to know Billy only wastes this many cigarettes, half of them burning out between his fingers and never even touching his lips, when he’s got something on his mind.

Steve tries to offer an outlet to whatever is bothering him, or at least some consolation, “And I told you, the diner is different. People go there as friends all the time. It’s not like it’s Lovers Lake or something. It’s perfectly safe.”

But Billy won’t hear it, “It’s only like ten minutes outta downtown. That’s not enough distance for it to be any different than spray painting my name on the fucking marquee.”

“But nobody who’s there will even suspect a thing.”

“Sure, I ain’t been here long, but I know that nobody eats diner food on a Saturday night ‘cept old people who want to mind your business and sappy high school losers on dates. Exactly the kind of people I don’t want to see us together. The kind of people that will know.” Billy’s voice cracks in the last sentence and Steve feels responsible.

He’s been letting his needs get in the way of Billy’s again. Stupid self-conscious bullshit. And yet-

“Not at Benny’s. If we went to some commercial place on the other side of town, maybe. But Benny’s is local. It’s different. Nobody will even notice us.”

Billy narrows his eyes at him, doubt masking the glimpse of paranoia he’d let into his words, “Do elaborate, Steve. What’s so special about this greasy old joint?”

All Steve can do is shrug and try to make his case, “Well for starters, it’s exactly that, just a greasy old joint. It’s a total dead spot. That and the place is always full of mean looking biker dudes who scare off the wrong crowds anyways. Nothing’s going to happen there of all places.”

“You ever took a guy there before?” There’s another cigarette burning out in Billy’s hand, so in his own head that he’d even forgotten to put this one out the window and there’s ashes crumbling into the center console. Steve plucks it from his hand and puts it out against the side of his car, drops it out the window.

Billy looks restless without it, but he stays quiet, listens for a response. Steve’ll take the fact that he didn’t get upset about the cig as a sign that he’s getting through to him, “No, but I know people who have, and they’ve always been just fine. Besides, it’s not like we’ll be sucking face across the table. Nobody has to know it’s a date.”

Unexpectedly, Steve being prepared to argue for at least twice as long, that’s already enough assurance, and Billy agrees, “Fine. But only because I’ve been wanting to try Indiana food anyways.”

It’s hard to hide the big tacky smile on his face, feeling both a sense of achievement for convincing Billy, and genuine happiness to be going out with him, “Don’t think you’ll be impressed. I’m sure California can do much better than chili cinnamon rolls and sugar cream pie.”

“You’re joking. That shit sounds disgusting.”

“I’m not. And I grew up on all that, so watch your mouth.”

And Billy actually smiles back, comfortable again in this playful back and forth, “Well, now I’ve got to see this. Let’s go, H.”

Like most things with Billy though, the confidence and haste in the car was an act. Once they’re actually in the diner, even seated at a booth away from the windows but closest to the exit, he’s a nervous wreck.

They’ve ordered already but he hasn’t touched the pitch black coffee in front of him. Only spills a few drops by bouncing his knee so much the table shakes. It’s starting to make Steve dizzy.

He checks in, “How you holdin’?”

“Not so hot, Harrington. Could use that slice of pie right about now..”

“Too scared to try the cinnamon rolls, huh?” It’s a lame attempt at a joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Billy at least plays along though, even if he can’t look directly at Steve as he speaks, too occupied with searching for an imaginary threat around them, “Maybe if it were real chili. They’ve never even heard of salt here in Indy though. Think I’ll pass on that mushy slop.”

“Probably for the best.” There's too much tension between them to keep going like that. He can feel that Billy’s about to snap. Steve offers some more assurance, “Hey, nobody’s going to show up here. I promise.”

The little bell above the door that tells when someone comes in rings again and Billy’s head turns to look so fast Steve winces.

“I can’t do it.” All too fast, Billy stands from their table, bumping the underside with his knees, spilling more coffee and knocking over a napkin holder. The noise is enough to turn heads. Steve knows there's no hope now.

Standing to be on his level, Steve tries to reason with him again, figuring his earlier success might be able to be tapped into here, “Hey, come on-“

Must’ve just been luck though. Billy backs a few steps away from him, like he’s repulsed by Steve even being near him. It’s fair enough. It’s the best way to pretend you don’t want anything to do with the guy who’s just made a move on you.

But Steve doesn’t know if this is a genuine reaction, or a performance for an audience that isn’t actually there.

“No. I can't. I can’t. Lemme go.” It doesn’t matter, because either way, Billy leaves.

And before Steve can even go out after him and offer him a ride back at least, he’s stormed off into the night. It’s an uneasy feeling, watching him just disappear like that.

Steve’s not giving up.

A takeout box, an apology to a waitress, and a too-fast midnight drive later, and he’s standing in a bush knocking on Billy’s bedroom window.

Some shuffling inside, a light clicks on, and Billy answers. By that, he just opened the window and stepped back, allowing Steve the room to climb in, but never getting close enough to see him. If it weren’t for nosy neighbors he’d save himself all the trouble, since Billy’s parents won’t be home with Max for an hour or two at least, but it’s better to not go waltzing through the front door anyways.

Albeit clumsily, Steve lifts himself inside, only leaving a little bit of scuff on the siding, once both feet touch the carpeted floor, extending the small styrofoam box of to-go as a peace offering, “I brought you this.”

Billy’s arms are crossed, and he looks generally unimpressed, “Wow. You remembered.”

“I just thought.. you know.”

“Yeah.”

Not knowing what else to do with himself since Billy won’t take it, Steve just sets the box of food down on whatever space there is available on the nightstand, which is to say, none at all, and it ends up balanced precariously on a stack of tapes.

For his own sanity, after the awkward silence that follows, he clarifies, “Are we.. good?”

“Sure, we’re good.” Billy accepts, opening his demeanor, and his arms in the literal sense, “C’mere.”

Steve takes the leap and embraces him, only really realizing once he has him in his arms how close he might’ve been to having nothing to hold onto after Billy stormed out of that restaurant. He feels guilty and sad and just all around awful about pressuring him like that in the first place, “I’m sorry, B.”

Billy shrugs, as much as he can with both arms linked around Steve, muttering some excuse, “S’alright. Not like I was being fair. Never even told you why I’m so squeamish about that shit.”

Hesitantly, Steve pulls back so he can look at Billy while they talk. He’s tired of hiding from these things, even if it’s in a warm embrace, a familiar shoulder to rest his head on. With a small shake of his head, he insists, “You were right though. It was risky and I was being kinda stupid about it.”

“Nah. People go out as friends all the time. I was being paranoid and weird.”

“But sometimes we have to be.”

Billy looks like he’s thinking hard on what to say, and in the meantime he cops a seat on the old couch he’d dragged into his room, and naturally Steve follows, crossing his legs close to his body, almost forcing himself to be small so Billy could take up space and say what’s on his mind for once, “I mean, yeah, but this isn’t just normal caution. I was scared because the last time I went out with a guy my dad walked in and kicked my ass.”

“Like, right there in the restaurant?” It’s a stupid thing to ask and Steve regrets sounding so blunt about something obviously so delicate, but Billy entertains him.

Goes into a long explanation, staring at the ceiling instead of being able to look at Steve, even though they’re sitting close enough to touch, “No. He wouldn’t risk his reputation. He waited ‘til after to rock my shit. It was only when the cops got called afterward ‘cause of the noise and the fact I went missing from school for two weeks straight that we skipped town. 2,000 miles away from the no good queers that had corrupted me in the first place. Or whatever the hell he even believed.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. There’s always been a good reason to hide from Billy’s dad, but with the minor, passive-aggressive type of homophobia he’d been raised around as the limit to his perspective, he didn’t understand how bad it was. Now he does. “You never told me that.”

“Didn’t want to. But now it’s important. ‘Cause one thing Neil swore was that he’d never do that again.”

He thought he understood at least. But now it sounds like Billy is contradicting himself, with the reasons to be afraid and to not starting to overlap. Doing his best to act like that statement didn’t confuse him, Steve speaks slowly, watching for a reaction from Billy in real time, “That’s.. good? I guess?”

And one comes. A tired sort of bitter expression that tells Steve he’s guessed the intent wrong. “Would be, but it’s not for the right reason. Next time he says he’ll take it out on the other guy instead of me.”

“Oh. That’s-”

“Yeah. It’s not good.” Billy finally looks at him again to declare, with implications very clear this time, be that through experience with Billy’s vagueness or the hurt clear in his eyes, “Don’t want you getting hurt over this, H.”

“I won’t. We just don’t have to go on dates anymore. There’s other things we can do.” He assures, but still Billy is cynical, and counters with, “Sure you wanna risk it? There’s an easier way.”

“Uh, yes, I am. I’m not breaking up with you just because we had one bad date. Believe me when I say that someone walking out is like, the least catastrophic ending to a date I’ve been on.”

“Guess you wanna give it another shot then?”

“How’s tomorrow night at the drive-in sound? Nobody will know it’s us in the dark if we go after it opens.”

“If I'm driving, you got yourself a deal.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Bills.” He leans over to invade Billy’s personal space for a moment, but he thinks better of it. Kisses lead to touches lead to things that take much longer than they have time to kill right now. He glances at the wall clock and confirms that he needs to get out of here quick. A sheepish kiss on the cheek will do for now, “I probably should head out before he gets home.”

Billy sort of refutes him, turning his head to steal a real kiss. But he knows it too. They don’t have much time to work with here. He lets Steve walk towards the window, as slow and hesitant as his stride is, not wanting to leave Billy by himself.

“Hey, Stevie?” Billy interrupts that charged silence, his tone apprehensive to say whatever is on his mind, and Steve instantly turns on his heel to respond, “Yeah?”

Billy picks at the seams in the couch and in his jeans, at his nails, obviously doing anything to avoid looking at Steve, “Thanks for understandin’ me. Nobody’s ever really.. taken the time to listen to me before, I guess.”

The vulnerability there makes Steve never want to leave his side again. If it were up to him, Billy would be far away from this place, where these moments didn’t have to happen between arguments and curfews. Where they could feel happy and safe wherever they went.

For now, he promises, “Hey, I’m always gonna be here for you, Billy. Just don’t forget that you can talk to me whenever.”

There’s a flash of surprise in Billy’s eyes, like he expected to be rejected for opening up. Then he gives a little nod of acknowledgement. The understanding that there’s probably way more to discuss, but no time to do it. For now, they’ve done enough work that a promise, sealed with another short press of his lips to the corner of Billy’s mouth, will do.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It seems like they’re on the upswing then, the sick feeling he had in his chest watching Billy walk away earlier appeased. The next step would probably be for Steve himself, to actually have the courage to take things to the next step. To tell him those three words that have been choking him up lately, making everything sound deceptively sweet. Pressuring him to do stupid things to prove his feelings because he can’t say them.

Here’s to next time, and to things only getting even better from here.

Seems like they’re going to need all the luck they can get.

[littlefreya]

Hmmm degreasing henry, sounds like a mechanic au to me

Pairing: AU!Mechanic Henry Cavill x Reader

Warning: 18+, RPF, hinted sex stuff (sex as payment), a little bit of cocky Henry, kind of a bad porn movie situation, really.

A/N: ​Talk to my lawyer. Divider by @firefly-graphics

The Mechanic

A towel soaked with sweat and oil rested on his large shoulder. Inhaling arduously, the hulking savage towered above you, wearing a ratty white tank-top and toying with a heavy wrench between his dirty fingers while letting out a long whistle.

Grease tainted his bristly face, making those crystal-blue eyes appear even brighter as they sized you up the way a gluttonous cougar sizes up his meal. His sight alone made your thighs clench, and almost mindlessly, you snuck a peek at his groin, detecting what seemed to be like a sizeable bulge. 

‘Fuck...’

He was a brute, a dirty, arrogant greasy brute. Yet there you were, daydreaming about him fucking each of your holes right there in his garage. 

“Yeah, like I told you before, miss, the engine is a complete wreck, kaput, dead, gone, you get?”

You threw a gaze at the smoking crumpled hood and then back at the mechanic. 

“Weren’t you supposed to fix it, then?”

Sucking on his bottom lip, he grinned cockily and shrugged, continuously glazing over your figure. “I would, but it will cost extra.”

A deep sigh of frustration cracked from your throat, and you threw your head back, “how much?”

“7000.”

“Are you kidding me!? I don’t have that kind of money!” you whined and spun in your place helplessly. “Mr Cavill...”

“Henry,” he corrected you, remaining stoic upon your meltdown as if he’s seen that kind of behaviour before, though a hint of grin did tug at the corners of his lips. 

“Please, Henry, I really need my car; I’ll lose my job without it,” you begged, your eyes glossy and pink. “Can’t we arrange something?”  

Flicking his tongue over his lips, he took a deeper breath but then shook his head, “sorry, pet, running a business is tight. You can go to someone else, I won’t charge you for the consult, but I assure you they might charge you more and leave your pretty little car even worse than before.”

Whatever happened next was like a minute of utter unconsciousness. You found yourself on your knees with your hands fisting his cargos. Henry stilled and looked down at your damp cheeks, remaining reserved while your hand began to wander over the bulge in his groin but the vibration in his cock gave him away. 

His hand reached for your chin, squeezing it lightly between his thumb and index finger and tilting your head to stare at him before he gestured you to stand up. 

Shame filled you the moment you faced his glare. He did not want you and even though it felt like a horrible, degrading idea, the humiliation of being denied by a man so beast-like and handsome made you want to cry. 

“Tsk, tsk,” Henry emitted and turned on his heels, walking toward the garage door. 

You stared confused when he pressed the button for the metal door to shut down. The light of the outside world soon faded from your sight, leaving you locked in his realm of metal and gasoline.

“Take off your panties and bend over the desk,” he ordered and discarded his top, exposing a mass of virility that would put a Viking berserker to shame. It made you gape, your excitement laced with a sudden fear that he might rip your little slit apart. 

“I...” you began mumbling when Henry crooked an eyebrow and reached to fumble with his belt.    

“7k is a lot of money, pet, I won’t settle for a blow job, and every minute we stand here talking, you cost me more customers, so how about you’ll give me all you’ve got.”

Your eyes widened as he pulled out his cock, your cunt pulsating with desperate, primal need.

'Oh.' 

He was going to fix you, alright.

[forthehpfanboys]

Christmas Break

Pair: Draco Malfoy x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You liked Winter Break Draco. Unfortunately, he was replaced by Usual Dick Bag Draco who becomes ruthless. At least Harry is there to make you feel better.

Warnings: SMUT (MDI), jealousy sex, dirty talk, swearing, spanking, short mention of slapping and hair pulling, sir kink and degrading a tad- fluffy ending tho. I may have taken the kinks too far but ya know-

Notes: Requested by @the-offical-yn​, who I must apologize too. A lot of my stories got away from me so I’m very sorry this is late- but um- enjoy getting railed by Draco guys! Yo, I made a shit plot for this. I’m so sorry if it’s baaddd.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

For years, he had this twisted mind against anyone not a pure-blood or a Slytherin. He had zero shame with cussing out Gryffindor's, spitting at Ravenclaw’s during quidditch games and tripping Hufflepuff's. But, suddenly, just before Christmas break, he changed and there was nothing blunt about it. He would help Ravenclaw first years pick up their books if they stumbled on the fake steps on the moving staircases, tutor third year Hufflepuff's in Herbology after hours and helped a few Gryffindor students fix their potions.

Draco changed faster than water turns to ice in a freezer. It was almost alarming. Even Snape seemed to be concerned, probably more than others. The greasy git kept yelling at Gryffindor's (mostly the Golden Trio [mostly Harry]) about what would happen when he found out who jinxed Malfoy. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he changed, but everyone else could. To the day, infact.

It was just a few days before October, when it started. Draco was strutting down the halls, using Crabbe and Goyle as shields from the dozens of students who walked by him. They stood at his sides, knocking students out of the way, acting like Draco owned this bubble of space as they walked, but somehow, you slipped through. You were crossing in front of him, trying to hurry to class and ended up tripping over your own feet.

Your instincts kicked in and you tried to catch yourself, but instead you fumbled right into Draco, landing heavily against his side. He scoffed, shoving you off and getting ready to cuss you out when you began to apologize (even if you don’t like him) and gather your things off the floor. With your head tilted down you didn’t notice the Slytherin staring at you like you were a puppy. When you gathered your things, you scurried off, apologizing to more students as you went by.

Apparently, that day, he saw you tutoring a whole table of students, all houses included, and you were being so nice to them, so kind and your voice was soft and he heard you say “Hey, no! It’s ok! There is no such thing as a dumb question, ask away”. He had this urge in his chest to just be different, to be someone you would want to be around and be a friend, maybe even be more. It made him feel sick.

It took about a week to get your attention, then a quick growing friendship blossomed. Your relationship with Draco changed- just like he had. It changed from funny jokes, sassy remarks and late night games of exploding snaps to flirting contests, long hugs and what could be considered dates. 

By December, you and Draco were dating without the official titles. Everyday, you two were growing closer and the relationship was growing more rock solid with every passing event. Soon enough, winter break was coming around and everyone was genuinely surprised when they saw the blonde Slytherin strutting through the halls during Christmas break. Usually, the pureblood went home to spend the holidays in a cabin in a warmer climate with his family.

And it was weird for everyone to see him not bragging and tripping students and spitting at kids. But for you? It was a blissful few weeks. Even the Golden Trio got a break. They were some of your closer friends, so Draco gave them a bigger break. The blonde even went as far as helping Harry during potions. It was terrifying.

Until Christmas break was passing and Draco went through another change, which was what you were going to confront him about. 

"Malfoy!" You found him out in the courtyard, a teary-eyed (y/h) first year trailing behind you. The poor kid was shaking with fear and let out a sniffle. "You have some very good explaining to do!"

The blonde looked from Goyle to you, his eyes slowly dragging down your form before darting back up to your flaming eyes. His smile had dropped and was now replaced with a sharp frown. His nose scrunched up, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crisscrossed over his chest.

“I don’t have to explain anything to the likes of you.” He sneered. He looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with the first year, who scooted over to hide himself better.  He made a scoff and turned back to Goyle, shaking his head while snorting. “Look at this- he’s tryin’ to be a hero.” As if on a cue, his little posse of Slytherins broke out into laughter, forcing your face to heat up from humiliation.

“Seriously? Are you fucking five?” You called over the idiots laughter, which morphed into pathetic ‘ooh’s. “Draco, stop being a child and a douchebag and just apologize to the first year.”

“Why should I?” Draco stepped closer to you. His eyes, stance and voice all held a challenging undertone. He moved some blonde hair out of his face, but you didn’t miss how his eyes flicked down to your lips.

“Because you called him a mud-blood for bumping into you. Grow a pair, gain some manners and apologize to him.” You crossed your arms over your chest, putting on your best angry face. If Draco was pulling a prank, you were going to punch him, without hesitation. And how the hell did an asshole like this become a prefect??

“Oh, your right, I definitely should apologize when the kid bumped into me. But I think I have a better idea.” He brought a finger to his lips, tapping it in mock thought. Sarcasm and sass was radiating from him and it only served to piss you off more. “How about you fuck off and leave me alone, (L/n).” He smirked, turning to his posse and symboling them to leave with him for a dramatic exit. You took a deep breath, your hands balling at your sides. 

“I’m sorry for him.” You turned around and put a hand on the kids back and gave him a soft push back toward the castle. “Go tell the head of the house, ok? I’m gonna keep talking to him.” When he nodded and began to walk out of the courtyard, you hurried in the direction Draco left in. You found him heading across the bridge, in the middle of his group, who were effectively taking up the whole span of the bridge. His laughter echoed in the hollow build, which only had your blood boiling worse.

So, you called his name again, effectively getting his attention. He turned so fast you thought his head would’ve spun all the way around like an owl. You stared into his now burning eyes, walking closer to him. You could feel the adrenaline mixing with rage in your veins. You weren’t thinking straight, but you didn’t care. 

“Wanna explain why you're being an ass all of a sudden or are you just gonna insult me and strut off with your orgy party?” You glared at him, ignoring his irritated sneer. It was making your face red (or whatever hue, I wanna be as inclusive as possible) with anger.

“I don’t have to tell you a thing.” Draco was, naturally, turning defensive, even if he knew deep down how he was acting was wrong. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if he knew he was actually being an ass or not.

“Ok. I get it. You stay the fuck here with your friends and I’ll just leave you alone then. Merlin, why did I think you’d change?” Your face showed disappointment before contouring back to anger and frustration and aggression. You ran your tongue over your teeth, a frown etching across your lips. “My mistake.” You turned around, still going off pure adrenaline. You felt a hand grasp your wrist and immediately tugged it free with all of your strength. “No, I really don’t wanna hear it, fuck off.”

You didn’t look back, and you certainly didn’t hear him say anything. Of course it hurt, but you didn’t care at the moment. Your heart was thumping in your chest and all you felt was anger. He had the audacity to befriend you, say he really liked you for fucks sake, and then do a complete 180. You were grateful it was the weekend so you didn’t have to sit next to him in class.

You stomped through the snow, hurrying across the school grounds to the library (can you tell I have no idea what Hogwarts layout is?). You pushed open the doors and decided to basically hide yourself in an empty corner to try to cool down. After pulling the seat out, you sat down, slouching and resting your forehead on the table. You want to know what happened, why it happened

Was it his dad? Was it his friends? Was he jinxed or something? You let out a sigh of frustration. The idea of his dad convincing him to start treating people like trash again brought your anger back. You rolled your neck and ran your hands through it.

Pulling your wand out of your pocket, you waved it casually, summoning a book from one of the carts beside the isles. You didn't care what it was. You just wanted a distraction. 

Luckily, for you, it didn't take long to get distracted. A few pages and more than a few dreadful minutes into your "reading", someone sat across from you. You looked over the rim of the book to see a smiling Gryffindor with big, round glasses slipping down his nose. He gave an awkward greeting while pushing his glasses back up. 

"Hi to you too, Harry. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?" You smiled, shutting the book and crossing your arms over it.

"Well, I just heard about the Draco fiasco that took place a few hours ago-" had it really been hours? "-and I wanted to make sure you were OK." Harry scooted closer to the table, his cheeks a soft pink.

"I'm fine, man. You don't gotta stress about me." You stretched your arms over your head while leaning back in your chair. You were trying to give the illusion of calmness and it was sorta working.

"Oh, good! I'm- I'm glad you're ok!" He began to fiddle with his fingers, digging at the nails nervously. "Because I also wanted to ask.. Um.. If you are free? Like this weekend? To hang out?" His green eyes barely met yours and, instead, opted for staring right over your shoulder. 

"Oh, I'm n-"

"He's not free, Potter. We have plans covering every minute of the weekend. Scram."

Your smile faded as Draco's voice filled the small corner. You looked up, immediately catching his stern gaze. He was leaning against the end of a bookshelf, his arms crossed and one foot crossed over the other. He was clearly chewing on his tongue, not that he'd admit it. You gave him a glare, your arms crossing over your chest. 

"But, Draco. I thought I canceled our plans." Your voice was condescending and it only fueled his anger. Harry, noting the weird tension, ducked out of there quickly, swerving around Draco and speed walking to a safer, less awkward part of the library. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" The blonde hissed while taking long steps over to the table. He was still staring you right in the eyes. Draco moved the chair Potter was sitting in and put his hands flat against the table. He made eye contact with him. 

"Why should it matter to you? I thought I was just being a selfish hero." You narrowed your eyes at him, daring him to make a move. You could feel the anger returning from earlier.

"I never said selfish. Why are you making this so complicated? I have a reputation to withhold, (Y/n)." His eyes softened a bit. He looked down at the polished wood before looking at you again. Draco tried to give you a smile, but you didn’t return it; you just tapped your fingers against the table top.

"I don't give a rats ass about your shitty reputation! You bully pre-teens and they actually fear you and you think that's a good thing? That's what you wanna leave behind when you graduate here?" Your face was turning a deep shade of (insert skin color please). He knew he fucked up, not that he’d admit it, and his soft eyes hardened again.

"Remember who's in charge in this relationship, boy." His hand snaked around the back of your neck, tugging you forward. Your nostrils flared as you released a sigh. Was he really pulling out the dominant card right now?

"I told you there was no relationship." you shoved his hand away, standing straight up and walking past him. You didn’t get far before he grabbed the hood of your robe and tugged you back. He guided you so your back collided roughly with the end of the book case he was leaning against.

“I know you can’t quit me like that, love.” The pure-blood spat out the pet name as his thumb and index finger roughly grabbed your chin and tugged your head up. “We both know I infected you like a virus- I know you're obsessed with me, sweetie.” A menacing grin spread across Draco’s pale lips when your jaw dropped open and your mouth fumbled to find words to combat him.

He moved his leg between yours, his hands moving from the scrunched fabric of your hood to your neck. He leaned in, planting a rough kiss to your lips while his other hand untucked your shirt. He pushed his hand under the shirt, rubbing the skin of your hip while he deepened the kiss. He managed to push his tongue past your lips and ran along yours.

Draco angled his leg to brush against your crotch causing you to jolt in the kiss. He pulled back, his tongue licking your teeth while pulling back. 

“Told you.” He purred out. The hand on your neck gives you a squeeze around the neck while his icy eyes go from your lips to your eyes. He could read you like a book. You hated it. “Don’t be a slut, darling. Let’s head to my room, yeah?” He didn’t move until you nodded your head slowly. “Good boy. Come on.”

The walk to the common room was long, but the hand around the back of your neck was sturdy. It didn't take long for him to have you pressed against the wall of his prefect bedroom, chest first, your pants basically vanished from your legs and his hand wrapped around your hard dick. 

“You’re such a whore, aren’t ya, baby boy, hmm?” Draco’s voice boomed in your ear as his fingers interlocked into your skelp. You couldn’t help but sob. The hand on your dick was going faster, but refused to slide over the swollen head. Your nails scraped down the wall pressed against your front and Draco pressed your cheek harder against the brick. “Been such a bad boy- using that dirty mouth to talk so poorly about me and to flirt with my anime. If you wanted a three-some you should’ve asked Zabini. But Potter? You know that’s a firm no, baby.”

He was tsking before biting down on the side of your neck, the grip he had around your cock only tightened to the point of painful. Tears of humiliation and pain gathered in your eyeline, threatening to boil over. Your legs subconsciously spread when he began to grind into the bulge of your ass, his hard dick prominent into your crack. He licked a strip up from the bite to your ear.

“You know very well what happens to slutty bad boys who flirt with sir’s enemy, right, baby?” He was growling in your ear again, his hand coming to a tight hold at your base. He let out a mocking laugh when your legs clamped shut and your hips tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Draco!” You squeaked out, voice a few octaves higher than usual. It made Draco happy to hear your pathetic pleas, but his joy was melting away due to you still squirming in his grasp. He shook his head, tsking again. He tugged your hair, yanking your head back and forcing you to bow against his body. He gave you a firm slap against the cheek before cupping your cheeks together and forcing your lips to pout, his hand still in your hair.

“You know that’s not my name right now, kitten. Use the right one.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Your voice was weak compared to Draco’s, the obvious authority he had over you made you shiver. Abruptly, he pushed you against the wall, letting go of your hair and he was backing away from you. 

“Not yet your not, kitten. Finish stripping then get your arse over here.” Draco spoke, sitting down on the bed, patting the top of his thighs. He smirked when you did what he said, tossing your shirt off into the corner and approaching him slowly. He reached out to grab your arm and tug you over his lap. 

He used one hand to push your face into the mattress while the other ran over your right cheek. He loved watching your hips try to duck and avoid the cold silver of his rings. He let out a mocking laugh, his hands grabbing into your bum, nails digging into the skin to leave marks that had your back arching. 

"Aw, baby. Is it too cold for you?" He laughed louder, feeling you nod against his left hand tangled in your hair. "Aw, poor baby. Wait until you feel them bruise your skin. Now, do you remember what you say?"

"Yes, sir." your voice sounded strained--like you were mentally preparing yourself for the bite of the rings, the puncture of his smacks. You were, in all honesty. He never held back during punishments. 

"See? It isn't so hard to be a good boy after all, is it?" he patted your head before brushing your hair back. "Remember the safe system, darling? Good. Color?" 

"Green, sir." your legs were clenching together and wiggling, but a swat to the back of the sensitive skin of your thighs made you stop. "I'm sorry sir." 

"Good.. Now, how many does a horny little whore like you deserve, hmm? Ten? Fifteen?"

You knew what he was looking for. 

"T-Twenty." You swallowed. The anticipation and degrading was making your head cloudy. 

"Twenty? Well, you must've been really naughty, huh?" His hand ran to your lower back, caressing the skin before dragging his nails back down, leaving a trail of red marks down your skin.

You nodded your head quickly, biting your lip to conceal a moan. You could feel the pre-cum going down your hard dick, which was pressing into Draco's thigh.

"No response? Maybe we should add another ten then, since you wanna be so bad." 

"I-I'm sorry, sir! Twenty is what I deserve." You said quickly, trying to turn back and give him the huge innocent eyes he always went weak for. 

"No. Thirty seems far more fitting." He chose now to start the punishment with a raised hand and a harsh slap over the perfect curve of your ass. He watched the skin bounce and groaned, gripping the flesh again.

"One! Thank you sir." You squeaked out, back arching at the familiar sting of the hit. The cold silver of his rings colliding with your skin caused your toes to curl. 

"Atta boy." he purred out, repeating the action on the other side.

“Two, thank you sir!”

By the tenth spank, tears were falling freely down your cheeks. By the fifteenth, your voice was breaking with each shout. By the twentieth, you were trying to crawl away. By the twenty-fifth, you were kicking your legs like a brat. Somehow you managed to count to thirty without losing track. 

"You did so good, baby. Even if you were being a brat." Draco chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. His other hand rubbed your cheeks, trying to sooth the deep red (or whatever tint shows up with your skin, I wanna be as inclusive as possible) marks on your skin.

You let out another sniffle, propping yourself up on an elbow and wiping the tears off your cheeks. His hand ran up your sweat thighs, his palms rubbing the already sore skin of your ass once he got to it.

“Color?”

“Green, sir.” You turned your head to look at him. Your legs shifted, creating a shattering hyper awareness of how hard and how wet your cock was against his thigh. You caught his dirty smirk before he flipped you over. Suddenly, it was stoic and he was tugging your lower half back onto his lap. This time, Draco was sitting back on his calves, and he was steadily putting your legs around his waist.

“Good. Now,” he paused to lick his lips, “I’m going to fuck the brat out of you, got it?” His hands moved down your thighs before moving up to your pelvic bone. While you were responding with a polite, but breathless ‘yessir’, his hand was lazily wrapping around your cock.

He was still fully dressed, and the smooth fabric of his uniform pants rubbed against the sore spots on your ass. Your hips moved upward, trying to get more of his moving hand and less of the fabric against your bottom. You let out a breathy moan while his thumb idly swiped across the swollen head of your dick.

“That’s it.” He mumbled to himself over the sound of his zipper dropping. He mumbled a preparing, lubrication and cleaning spell, his hand still working you slowly. The blonde stuck his tongue out in concentration while pushing his own cock into your lubed ass. Draco let out a hum, his teeth clamping down onto his tongue. “Fuck yes. Such a good boy- my good little slut.” He let go of your dick and clamped his hands onto your waist and used the leverage to pull you down onto his cock.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the cry as he stuffed his cock into you. You felt the wind knocked out of you. You gripped the sheets, whining pathetically. The head of his dick nudged against your sweet spot while he sat there, waiting patiently for you to adjust. It had been a bit of time since the last time you guys had fun sexy time. Your dick was literally throbbing, occasionally twitching, at the idea of him literally fucking you stupid. Your eyes were staring at the top of his four post bed, lost in your own thoughts when he began to move.

He tested the waters with the quick thrust, which yanked a moan from you. When you finally looked at him, you realized he was watching you intently, a menacing grin spread across his face.

“How’s your arse?” Draco asked, his voice condescending and cocky as he gave another thrust. His hand snaked around to your sore ass cheeks and gave one a tough squeeze, his nails digging in.

A cry left your lips, this time pain filled instead of pleasure. You planted your feet flat on the bed and tried to wiggle away from his grasp, which only made it worse.

“Sore, you dick!” You reached around, grabbing his wrist and trying to pull his hand away. “Ow! Let go, Draco!” You dug your nails into his wrist, trying to show him a small level of the pain he was causing but he just laughed, mocking your voice.

“Owie, it hurts! Take it, babe. You can do it.” He let go, his hands coming to hold your hips again before moving you at a punishingly rough pace. His muscular thighs rubbed against your ass, not that he cared. The pain was somehow starting to make the pleasure stronger. Soon it was filling your veins and fogging your brain.

Draco relished every moan, every gasp, every little sound you made. He listened to you whine out his name and it only fueled him more. He watched the sweat bead across your forehead and felt proud of himself.

“Atta boy. Gonna cum soon? Gonna cum completely untouched, like a whore? Hmm?” He purred out, leaning down to leave hickies across your neck and scratches down your chest. Your back arched pathetically off the bed while a woeful affirmative left your lips- but it wasn’t good enough for him.

“Say it.” He snarled, his voice too close to your ear to be that loud.

“G’nna cum, please.” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but your arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him closer. He shifted so he could rail you into the mattress and fulfill his promise.

“Please what? How can I help you if I don’t know what you want? What do you need, kitten?” 

It was like he used the imperius curse on you. You bent to fit his mold and he couldn’t have asked for more.

“Please, sir. Please let me cum, please.” You whimpered, your toes curling in the air. Your ankles locked behind his waist and dug into him, effectively pulling him closer. His palm glided up your chest again and he gave you a smile.

“Course you can, love. Whenever you're good to go.” Draco didn’t ease up his hips, but his voice was softer and after a few thrusts hitting your prostate and a brush of his stomach against your weeping cock had you cumming. Your head tossed back and you didn’t bother to muffle the cry of his name.

It didn’t take much to follow you for Draco, it never did. He always thought one of the most beautiful expressions you could make was while you were cumming on his bed. That, and when he gave you candy and you smiled at him. He kissed every bruise he left on your skin before landing on your lips and laid next to you.

He pulled a sheet over the two of you- the room had gotten hot but he knew both of you were too tired to get cleaned and shower. He pulled you to his chest, kissing your temple.

“You did so good, baby. I love you.” He rested his chin against the top of your head, completely delving you in his shirt covered chest. He rubbed a hand down your back. Your boyfriend didn’t care about sweat. 

“I love you too, Draco.” Your voice was rough and raspy. You planted a kiss to his cheek and nuzzled deeper into him somehow. “I miss you. The nice you- not the mean Slytherin you. He can suck my dick.”

“I know, I know. I’ll work on it. I promise.” Draco spoke between laughs. He hesitated, his mind bouncing between two questions he wanted to ask at once. “Do you want me to get you a bottle of water and we go take a bubble bath?” His voice was soft, but a massive grin spread across his lips when you nodded.

“Can we take a nap first?” You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and gave him that smile he loved.

“Of course, dove.”

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Et Vertit In Felem

Summary - A witch hunt goes wrong which leads to som interesting discoveries.

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader

WC - 2437

Warning - Crack, Fluff and if you squint you can see angst. Things get a bit heated at the end but no smut

Squares filled - Crack ( @girl-next-door-writes's Make Me Feel Bingo); Spell ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N 1 - This was a request from @valsworldofcreativity! So sorry for the delay but I hope you like it! And a long, long time ago, I participated in @superbadassnatural's challenge. I never got around to write a fic in time smh but I felt guilty for not ever completing the challenge so I'm finally posting my entry.

A/N 2 - Hello lovely hoomans! It has been so long that I had posted a proper fic. College and life in general has been busy but here I am! I hope you enjoy reading this!

Thanks to @bccky for helping me with the fic<33 The rest of the bullshit is mine. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Ego convertam ad maledicendum in felem!” The words were cried out by a woman as a loud gunshot reverberated around the old house which was soon filled by sparkling, golden fairy dust. Y/N fell into a coughing fit as the dust settled on the greasy basement floor.

Whatever spell the witch had casted over the hunter was so powerful, it had effectively blown out all the candles in the basement. In the pitch-black darkness of the place, she visibly tensed when an arm wrapped around her shoulder. Y/N heard someone gasp loudly as she recovered from her own misery. “Sammy?” She croaked, coughing up a bit again.

“Shh, shh, Sammy’s okay.” The familiar smell of whiskey and leather filled her nostrils and she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned and nuzzled her face into his chest as sudden dizziness hit her. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah.” Another protective set of warm arms engulfed her, “Feeling a little lightheaded, that's all.”

“Yeah? Alright, I got you.” Dean said, “Can you stand?”

Y/N nodded her head as she stood up, slinging her arm on his shoulder and putting her weight on him. She groaned when a sharp pain shot up her back to her head. “Man, I hate witches!”

“You and me, both.” Dean grunted, “Sammy?”

“Yep, on it. You go get Y/N to the car.” Sam said.

Invading the darkness, the two hunters made their way over to the black wheeler, leaving behind the younger Winchester to take care of the witch's body.

“I'm alright.” Y/N exhaled as she climbed into the backseat. The older Winchester stole a glance at his friend, getting into the driver's seat. He saw her shivering, clutching her flannel tightly close to her. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it over to her.

“You're cold. Put this on.” Y/N looked up at him and instinctively, the man reached for the knife in the glove box. Her eyes were the colour of creepy golden, with black streaks inside them, almost like those of a cat. Dean’s jade eyes were locked with those of her gleaming ones before the staring contest was interrupted by Sam, the interrupting moose. One look at their friend and Sam raised his gun at her.

“Don't point your gun at me!” Y/N exclaimed, quickly holding up her hands.

“Who are you?”

“Are you having a stroke? Were you hit by a spell of Obliviate? I am Y/N!” Her voice was a bit more nasal and high pitched than usual but it was the least of their concern now. Her twinkling cat-like eye could very well make her a shapeshifter.

“Touch this silver.” Sam handed over the knife to her and she took it without burning herself.

“Boys, I'm not a shifter-”

“Take a look.” Dean adjusted the rear view mirror and her mouth hung open in complete shock. She blinked twice as she looked at herself.

“What the fuck is happening to my eyes?” Y/N asked loudly, “That damn witch! She did something to me!” Fear seeped into her as her mind ran wild with all the thoughts.

“Do you remember what the witch said?” Sam asked.

“Something along the lines of covert...convertem.” She offered him a half-assed answer.

“I'll try to work with it for now and the witch is dead,” said Sam, “hopefully this doesn't cause much trouble.” And boy, was he wrong about that.

As soon as Dean turned off the ignition when they reached the garage, he looked back and his eyebrows shot up to the hairline. “Sammy, since when do we have a cat?”

Their friend was gone and instead a furry, white, four-legged animal peeked through the numerous layers of jackets and flannels. Meowing loudly, it strutted across the seat, it's bushy tail up in the air before it turned back to look at Dean.

“Dean, I don't think it's a normal cat. I think it's Y/N.” The younger brother's strained voice was quickly followed by a sneeze, “and you are allergic to cats.”

They wasted no time in getting out of the car. Sam scooped her up into his arms as Dean grabbed their belongings.

“She turned Y/N into a cat!” Dean dropped the bags on the table, glaring at Sam when he heard her purr. Y/N was nestled in Sam’s arms as he fingers rubbed the back of her ears, eliciting soft purrs. Yawning softly, she nuzzled her face further into his strong chest as Dean’s jaw tightened.

“She likes this.” Sam chuckled, patting Y/N’s head.

“I think you're missing the point here. I know Sammy that you love pets but Y/N is a human not your playtime kitty. We need her back and that means we have to do some research! Now set her down and get your laptop!” Dean huffed. Jealousy was a green-eyed, mean monster and seeing Y/N being all adorable and comfortable in his brother's arms made his blood boil in anger especially when he couldn't hold her without him sneezing thrice every second.

“Alright geez, here-” Sam set her down on the ground and Y/N skipped down the way over to Dean and the latter took a few steps back. She let out a low whimper.

“Y/N, I don't know if you can understand me but-” his voice died down in his throat as she rubbed her head against his leg. Dean bent down and picked her up. She licked his thumbs. “Don't lick my fingers!”

Dean immediately set her down before letting out another sneeze and he glowered at Sam when he chuckled at his brother's misery. “Take some Benadryl, it will help you with the allergic reaction.”

“Oh Y/N, what did you get us into?” Dean asked and she raised her head to look at him. She understood everything but other than a purr or a meow, she couldn't convey her words. Freaking witches, Dean, she hissed. Hungry and tired, Y/N wanted nothing but to have some pizza and catch some good sleep. Instead, she was turned into a freaking cat. Surely she didn't mind the soft embrace of Dean.

“Sam?” Dean sniffled, “You good with research?” Sam had occupied his usual spot at the table with his laptop open in front. He nodded and went back to read through lores to find a cure.

“Alright, let's get you settled in Y/N as Sammy finds a cure for you.” He went back to his room with her in his arms. Putting her down on his bed, he took a seat beside her. “You make an adorable cat. I'm sorry you got into this because of me-” Don't you dare blame yourself, she meowed “-and you probably can't understand me. Just stay here. I need to take a shower.”

After turning into a cat, her senses had heightened. The strong smell of Dean’s cologne and whiskey hit her as she made herself comfortable on one of his pillows after Dean went to the shower.

“Y/N, come on, let me work.” The woman, still stuck in her feline form, bumped her head with Dean’s leg as he was sitting on the floor of his room, leaning against his bed. It had been four days. Ninety-six hours since all Y/N did was eat, sleep and roam around the bunker. The younger Winchester, after an intense research for two days, concluded that the spell was temporary and it would wear off in a few days.

Scratching past her ears, Dean gave her a gentle shove before diving back into the lore book open wide in front. Though after a few minutes, he looked up from the book and threw a suspicious look around his room. The room was too quiet. “Y/N?”

Y/N jumped into his lap all of a sudden, letting out a long meow.

“Don't scare me like that.” Dean frowned. He sniffled and knew that the effect of Benadryl was wearing off. In the past four days, he might have completed two whole bottles of the medicine so he could keep a close eye on Y/N. Dean knew she was having a hard time adjusting to the life of a cat. She curled up in his lap. He sighed, the spell was nowhere close to wearing off instead it was turning Y/N more into a cat.

“It is scaring the shit out of me, Y/N--” Dean saw her ears pricking up but she didn't make any efforts to look at him, guess she really wasn't understanding him “--what if Sammy’s wrong? We have no idea what fucking curse the witch has casted.” He ran his palm along her body, caressing her but then withdrew his hand immediately. Heat crept up his neck, his cheeks and tip of ears had a tinge of red in them. It was after all Y/N - caressing her body was like invading her personal space but she didn't even bother to glance at him.

He kept his hands to himself and said, “I guess you don't really understand but--” he let out a choked laugh “--I thought that I had seen all sorts of weird but being in love with a cat...human...human-cat is a first.” It was as if Dean was speaking to himself because the cat in his lap didn't give a ‘meow’ back.

Shutting off the book in front, he continued, “I swear to God, that every time I look at you, human-you, all I want...you remember that night in the parking lot? You have no idea how badly I wanted to fight with that man who touched you. If you hadn't stopped me, I would have made sure that man didn't live to see another day but like the badass you are…” a smile graced his face, “he deserved that kick in the nuts and you know what? It made me fall in love with you more. If you were a human right now, I wouldn't have ever grown a pair to tell you all of this. Maybe this curse is a blessing. I want you to be mine but I don't know how to make you mine. I don't know the answer.”

Dean looked down at Y/N all cozied up in his lap. He brushed his fingers against her furry head. “I know it is hard for you but we are trying to find a cure, trust me. I can't see you as a cat anymore, thriving only on cat food and sleep, sure you still fight with me over bacon but I need you back as a human.”

He eyed the new bottle of Benadryl and scooped up Y/N in his arms as he stood up. A mewl slipped past her whiskered face. “Do you want to spend the night here or go back to your room?”

Y/N jumped onto the bed from his arms in reply to his question, stating the obvious.

On her very first night as a cat, Dean had respectfully shoved her into her room but in the middle of the night, he was rudely awakened by a scratching sound on his door. He had opened his door to Y/N staring up at him. Since that night, she had been sleeping in his room.

Dean crawled under his cover and Y/N nestled at a corner of the bed and he smiled, knowing he would wake up with her curled up on his chest.

“Y/N?” Dean frantically skidded down the hallways of the bunker in his socks-covered feet until he reached the kitchen where his brother was lazily sipping on a cup of coffee. “Have you seen Y/N? She isn't in my room. Did she get out? But my door was closed!”

“Dean--”

“Why are you so...calm and drinking your damn coffee? I said Y/N is missing!” Dean said.

“I'm right here Dean.” The man in question arched an eyebrow at his brother who was trying to stifle a laugh. He stood up straight and turned around, swallowing hard before a smile broke out on his face.

“Y/N!” He practically skipped towards her and pulled her into his arms, “You are not a cat anymore.”

“Yep.”

“And I'm not allergic to you anymore! Throw away all the cat food, Sammy.” Dean grinned and went to fetch himself a cup of coffee when he noticed Sam had quietly slipped out of the room.

“You had spent quite a lot on cat food.” Y/N laughed.

“Yeah well, I wasn't goin’ to let you starve.” Dean pulled a chair and took a seat at the table.

“I know that.” Y/N walked over to him and took a seat right beside him. “You know the answer, Dean.”

“What?” A frown was evident on his face.

“You're overthinking this, De.”

“It's too early for your riddles, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes and blew at his coffee.

“You know how to make me yours.”

A deafening silence descended over the room. Only shallow breaths and beats of their hearts echoed. The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched before he said, “You u-understood...everything?”

“Uh-huh.” Y/N slowly stood up.

In a second, the coffee was abandoned as Dean jumped out of his chair and it fell back to the floor with a thud but no one cared. He had pushed her up against the wall, caging her with his arms. A whimper fell from her lips when he ran a finger along her jaw. “You have the answer right here, Dean.”

Their eyes locked and he cupped her cheeks, she said, “Make me yours, De.”

His lips crashed against hers. The kiss was filled with need, one steeped in yearning and longing for each other. Her hands found a way to tangle themselves in the strands of his hair and he cradled her face gently. After years of dancing around the fine line of being friends and being something more, they finally gave in to their heart’s passion.

“I've been in love with you for so long.” Dean said, dropping his forehead against hers after they broke off the kiss. “I tried to shove down my feelings for so long. Maybe this curse proved we are both dumbasses.”

“Maybe we are and maybe we had our very own rendition of frog princess,” Y/N laughed, “True love wins again.”

“You're so dramatic,” he grabbed her hand.

“You are stuck with me now.” She shrugged.

“Well I'm gonna thank my lucky stars that I got stuck with you forever,” said Dean.

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[looooooooomis]

F I N A L  G I R L  |  F O U R

You were his final girl.  And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t   f o u r  |  k e y s

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 4.4k warnings: angst, s m u t, some more s m u t, teasing, finger-licking good billy boy, implied/referenced cheating, def not a healthy, functioning relationship (but like eh we persevere), some more s m u t. 

Despite your best efforts, the last few days had been miserable without Billy.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a routine he’d become over the last seven months, how much you’d both come to rely on each other and, fuck, did you miss him. You missed his smell, you missed that small little cheeky grin of his, you missed curling up beside him and feeling him over every inch of your skin. Your body craved for him in an almost primal way but, while you could live with denying your body its needs, it was your heart that hurt the most.

What was supposed to be a quick release for the two of you had never been that easy. You’d been in love with the idiot since freshman year, seen him through his various ups and downs and he’d seen yours, too. Which was precisely what made this entire situation that much harder. Not only were you dealing with your own heartache, but you were witnessing his, too.

Billy’s grief was more or less a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing. Ever the stoic silent type, you hadn’t expected to see much of what he was feeling splayed out on that handsome face of his, but shocking even you, his regret was palpable. And each and every time those brown eyes met yours, that grief that was as clear as day struck you blind.

You’d tried telling yourself that it was for the best because, in all honesty, it was but that didn’t make the pain go away. Nor did it make you miss him any less. You were trapped in a vicious cycle of missing Billy, sticking to your guns, and worrying about him all at once.

God, you’d really fucked up with this one.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tatum asked, narrowing her eyes at you as you shoved a handful of books into your locker. “You’ve been scatterbrained all week.”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” she leaned her hip against the locker. “Is this about Steve?”

You blinked as the question played on loop in your head. “Steve?” You asked, giving the strawberry blonde your full attention. “First of all, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart: ew. Secondly, huh?”

Tatum smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you’ve been acting all weird since Billy went psycho on his ass last week.”

“No, I haven’t,” you hoped your laugh didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Also, Steve’s an asshole. If the day ever comes when I am interested in that big oaf, feel free to euthanize me.”

“Promise,” she made a motion of crossing her heart, “but in the meantime, you swear nothing is up?”

“Cross my heart,” you mimicked the gesture and shut your locker. “What are you up to after practice tonight? Want to go see that new Brad Pitt movie?”

Her shoulders fell. “Can’t, Stu’s coming over,” she unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it in her mouth. “I’d say ask Sid, but she got into it with Billy last night so she’s in a mood.”

You tried not to care, you really did, but her words hit you like a freight train. “They did?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that your voice didn’t sound quite as high pitched as it sounded in your head. “What happened?”

“Who knows,” Tatum shrugged, “Billy’s always been a little intense and Sid’s been a little cagey since…well, you know – so, it’s bound to happen.”

You swallowed hard and continued to nod along to Tatum’s words. Were you nodding too frequently? Did you appear too interested all of the sudden? Catching yourself, you focused on the leftover gum on the locker just behind your friend’s head and cleared your throat. “That’s shitty.”

“Relationships,” Tatum waved off, “they’re all pretty shitty sometimes.”

Before you could finish putting your foot in your mouth any further, the third bell rang out signaling your next class. Your most dreaded class: Biology. With a groan you tossed your bag over your shoulder and frowned across at Tatum. “See you at practice?”

With a nod, Tatum took off towards her class as you slowly sauntered towards your own. You were halfway down the hall when you heard a set of heavy footfalls running towards you from behind. Glancing over your shoulder, you barely had time to register Stu’s smiling face before he threw an arm around your shoulders. “How ya doing, pal?”

“Peachy,” you scraped your eyes along his profile and blinked. “If you’re about to play the rule of dutiful henchman for you know who, I’ve got a class to flunk.”

“Harsh,” Stu beamed, “I see why our boy’s so smitten.”

With a roll of your eyes, you glanced around at the people around you and glowered up at him. “Stu,” you warned, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“For what?” He feigned innocence. “I haven’t said a word.”

“But you want to,” you mused. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Stu chuckled. “All I was going to say is, like, I get it.”

You shouldn’t have taken his bait. What you should have done was push him off of you and continue on your merry way to class. That would have been the smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do.

Too bad you were neither of those two things.

Roped in, you sighed in defeat. “Get what?”

“I’ll be the first to admit,” he began, “when Bill told me that you and him were…you know, I laughed. I mean, two broads, man? I can barely handle the one how’s he going to deal with two of you?”

“I’m hoping there’s a point coming,” you groused.

“Right,��� he laughed again, “my point is that I get it. I get why you two work. Why he’s knee deep in this big fucking mess because of it. You two work.”

“Stu,” you threw your head back and glared at the ceiling. “Stop.”

“What?” He asked. “Am I wrong?”

You gently pushed him away from you and dropped your voice into a whisper. “That’s not the point. He’s with Sid.”

“So?” Stu made a face. “Her mom just died, what do you want him to do? Dump her and break her heart? Her mom just died, that’d callous, man.”

“We’re breaking her heart either way, whether she knows it or not.”

Stu stopped walking and there was a compassion in his stare that left you reeling. For as long as you’d known him, Stu Macher had always been the goof. The reckless, chaotic idiot that seemed to fit just perfectly into your little mish mash of a group. But the sincerity in his blue eyes as the two of you stood in the emptying hallway was a look you’d never seen before.

“And by doing this, you’re breaking yours.” He limply shrugged. “Billy’s, too.”

Your shoulders fell as the weight of Stu’s words sank in. You couldn’t exactly say much in terms of a rebuttal, naturally, because he was right. There were no happy endings for either of you at this point in the charade. Sid had still been lied to and cheated on, Billy was still trapped in a relationship he no longer wished to be in in fear of hurting the girl he once loved and you were stuck in the middle, watching two people you cared for fall to bits while having to remain stoic in fear of showing your hand.

What a fucking mess.

After another minute of silence, Stu wriggled his eyebrows and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. “Just something to think about.”

Taking off down the hall, Stu left you to your own devices as you stood in the middle of an empty hallway with far too much on your mind. In an almost zombie-like trance, you took off in the direction of your biology class, not quite caring that you were about to be marked as tardy for the third time that week. But, before you got to that god-forsaken class, you heard the click of a door not far off before a pair of arms encircled around your middle, yanking you into the nearest classroom. A surprise yelp tore out of your mouth, but the full-fledged scream died in your throat as soon as you realized just who it was who had grabbed you.

“Jesus, Billy, you scared the hell out of me.” You grasped your chest and took in the dark, empty classroom around you. He was still holding you against the nearest wall, you could feel the heat of those large hands through your thin shirt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Sorry,” despite the desperation in those brown eyes, his voice never wavered. It was still as calm and collected as ever. “I’d go to your house, but it’s been like Fort Knox for the last week or so.”

You chewed on your lip for a moment before averting your eyes to the ground, not quite being able to stomach the weight of his stare just yet. “Billy, unless anything’s changed, I—”

“In case anything’s changed?” He reiterated with raised brows. “Everything’s changed. I miss you, Y/N, more than you can even comprehend. I know I’ve fucked up, I know that, but I need you. The last nine days without being able to really see you or feel you or kiss you or—”

“I get it,” you held your hands up and gently pushed him away. “And it’s been hard on me, too, Billy. But it doesn’t change anything.”

For a few, long, agonizing moments, Billy remained still as a thousand different emotions splayed out across his face. There was anger and grief, sadness and desperation. But the look you got as he dropped to his knees in front of you was pure, unadulterated fear. “I promise you, Y/N, the second I can, when the time is right, Sid and I will be no more. But me and you are it, sweetheart,” his hands gently circled around your hips before embracing you around your middle. “I’m so fucking sorry that this is how it has to be right now. And I’m sorry that I’m too fucking selfish to let this go, but I can’t. I need you. I need us. You’re everything good in my life and I know I need to start proving that to you.”

Still, you remained quiet. Your fingers itched to reach out and run your fingers through that slightly greasy, unruly mop of hair, but instead you kept them pinned down at your side as you considered his words. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant them, the desperation on his face said as much, but you had your reservations. Taking your silence in stride, however, Billy simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Oh, jesus,” you grumbled, burying your head in your hands. “You better not be doing what I think you’re fucking doing.”

“Open the box, Y/N.”

“No,” you held your hands up. “Not if it’s…that.”

Billy sighed. The muscle in his cheek twitched. “It’s not a fucking engagement ring.”

Somewhat relieved, you continued to stare down at the box in slight disdain. “So, what is it?”

Billy sighed. “Fucking open it and you’ll see.”

“Buying the ‘other woman’ jewelry, Billy?” You shook your head. “You’re like a walking cliché at this point.”

“Shut-up and open the goddamn box.” Standing up to his full height, he continued to hold the box out towards you and breathed out a quiet laugh when you remained unwavering. “It’s not a fucking bomb, Y/N, open it.”

With a sigh, you snatched the box out of his hand and, rather unceremoniously, opened it up to reveal a key. Not a fancy skeleton key or a charm in the shape of a key but a regular, run of the mill house key. You blinked, mildly surprised. “Okay, I’ll give you a point for creativity with the box,” you pulled the key out and observed it. “But what is it?”

“It’s a key,” Billy said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I see that,” a small smile pulled at your lips as you looked across at him. “What’s it for?”

“It’s a key to my parents’ cabin.”

If you were meant to understand the significance, the story was lost on you. Looking back down at the key, you surveyed its tiny ridges briefly before nodding. “And what’s that have to do with me?”

He took a step towards you and grabbed the hand still clutching onto the key. “My dad doesn’t go up there much ever since my mother left and I figure we could both use a place where we can just…be.” His raked his thumbnail along your knuckles. “No Sid, no anyone. Just you and me.”

You were trying to remain unfazed by the sentiment, to remain icy and cool to the man you were supposed to be pulling away from, but between the softness in those warm brown eyes and the weight of the key still clutched in your hand, you could feel your defenses waning. “You expect Sid to just not care that you’re disappearing up north every once in a while?”

“I’ll make it work,” he shrugged it off. “And, to be honest, I don’t care what she thinks.”

Your answer came in the form of a long, drawn out sigh. “Billy,” you began, but before you could dive into the rest of your speech, his large hands slid up your arms and neck to cradle your face.

Slowly, he backed you into a nearby desk and traced the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “We can sneak up there whenever we want. Spend a whole weekend up there, just the two of us. I can worship this fucking body of yours in every square inch of that cabin. I can go into town and hold your fucking hand in public. We can do whatever the hell it is we want to do up there, whenever we want, without worrying about any of our idiot friends seeing us.”

Your pulse quickened at the thought of being able to parade around like a normal couple in a town where not a single soul knew who you were. You swallowed, trying to steady your excitement with a dose of realism. “It’s still not fair to Sidney.”

“Fuck Sidney!” Billy’s voice echoed out around the vast, empty classroom, alarming you with just how angry he sounded. His chest heaved with a white-hot rage that you couldn’t fully comprehend, and his jaw was wound shut as his nostrils flared with each and every heavy, uneven breath he took. You swallowed hard and watched the man steady his nerves, unsure of your next move. You’d seen Billy angry before, but that level of emotion was definitely new.

You weren’t sure whether to be terrified or turned on by the sudden outburst.

But, just as quickly as it happened, Billy’s eyes slowly opened to reveal those molasses coloured eyes again. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he appeased. “But I can’t have her stand in the way of this. I won’t.”

You remained silent as you shimmied on top of the desk that had been poking into your ass for the last few seconds and tried not to focus on the way your body seemed to melt into Billy’s as he stepped in between your legs, still looking at you with all the intensity of the world.

“If we do this,” you found yourself muttering, “there’s going to be some ground rules.”

A sense of hope blossomed in Billy’s chest as he vigorously nodded his head. “Anything you want,” sliding his hands up the sides your stomach, he gently held your waist and gave it a small squeeze. “You name it.”

“When we go up to the aforementioned cabin, we go out.” You told him. “While I’m more than happy to blow you in the living room without worrying about your dad walking in, it would be nice to go on an actual fucking date.”

Billy nodded and, with his hands still on your waist, he tried not to focus on the thin cotton of your shirt bunching between his fingers as his thumb danced along your ribcage. There was so little between you in the empty classroom, barely any space as the two of you were practically nose to nose. And between that short little skirt you had on and your pert nipples beneath your thin tank top, it was enough to make his cock twitch inside of his pants. “Anything else?” He asked, his voice husky as he nudged his nose against yours.

“Yeah,” you ran your tongue along your now parched lips as you sat with Billy standing between your thighs, holding you in place as his thumb traced agonizingly close to your tit. Were you even breathing? It didn’t feel like it. You were wet, too, which made his inhumanly close proximity almost too much to bear. “Lock the fucking door this time.”

A roguish grin enveloped his features as he stepped out from between your legs. Crossing the threshold of the classroom in two seconds flat, Billy locked the door and made his way back to you with that same mischievous glimmer in his eye. His eyes were hungry and, as his hands shifted down to your ass, he tugged you even closer to the edge of the desk. Closer to him. With your legs still open and on either side of his hips, you just about died when your clit managed to rub against the zipper of his jeans.

A quiet, low moan tore out of your throat from the sensation.

“Anything else?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” your breathing was ragged as Billy’s slow, methodical fingers, trailed up the side of your stomach. He was being extraordinarily temperate and slow to further tease you but, despite knowing how risky this was, you were putty in his hands. “Touch me.”

His nose brushed against yours again as he shifted his hips just enough for the zipper of his jeans to rub against your clit again. The bastard knew what he was doing.

“This feel good?” He asked as his hips toiled into you again.  

You were practically dry fucking against the desk, you could have been caught any second. But, fuck, when he pulled you in a little more and slowly gyrated his jean-clad pelvis against your clit again, you couldn’t care less. “Mhmm,” you hummed.

Slowly, Billy’s dept fingers slid up from your waist towards your breasts. Raking his thumb against the swollen bud, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

He knew his jeans were rubbing against your clit and, as he looked down and saw the visible wet patch on your blue thong, he wanted nothing more than to rip them off of you and bury his face in between your legs. “God, I’ve fucking missed you.”

When his hand squeezed your breast, you arched into his grasp. “I bet you did.”

Billy smirked and rolled your nipples between his fingers through the fabric of your shirt. With every roll of your hips, the strap of your shirt slipped down just enough to expose your breast. Without missing a beat, Billy leaned into your chest and allowed his mouth to consume your nipple, swirling his tongue around it expertly before biting down. You hissed as a combination of both pain and pleasure ripped through your body.

Your fingers curled around the hair along the nape of his neck and gave it a firm tug as is hands held you firmly in place. “Fuck, Billy” you moaned, breathless.

He released your nipple slowly, nipping at it one final time before leaning his forehead against yours again. You wanted like hell to close the distance between you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. Feel the tickle of his stubble along your upper lip and have that expert tongue brush against yours.

But you also wanted to make him sweat a little.  

You weren’t sure what had come over you as you slid your hand down your torso. Maybe it was adrenaline of being caught or the relief of having Billy in your arms again but as you allowed your fingers to dip beneath the hem of your exposed thong, the look on Billy’s face made it all worth it.

“What are you doing?” His Adams apple bobbed up and down as he watched you touch yourself. You were in an awkward angle, but as your finger circled your clit and you watched the bulge in his pants grow, you were coasting high.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” You hummed, feigning innocence. “When I say touch me, I mean it, Billy. I’m taking matters into my own hands.” You pinched your clit and arched your naked chest into him. “Fuck.”

You heard him swear under his breath as his lips ghosted over yours. “You’re doing my head in, woman,” he growled, sliding his fingers beneath your panties. You gasped when his thumb began to circle your clit. And when he slid two fingers inside of you, you nearly saw stars.

His mouth found yours, mid-moan. Reaching the hand that had just been down the waistband of your shorts, you ran your fingers through his hair as his tongue coaxed yours. Everything about this man was electric. His fingers quickened their pace and before you knew it, you were thrusting into his hand. Placing sloppy kisses down from your mouth and along your jaw, Billy nipped at your ear. “How’s this for touching you, sweetheart?” He hissed, licking and biting his way across your neck.

Your breathing was rampant as you felt yourself edging closer and closer. “It’s alright,” you teased with a cloudy grin.

“So stubborn,” he laughed into your neck and curled his fingers so that he hit an area inside you that felt almost primal. The moan he got in return made him bite down on your collarbone. He curled his fingers again and you nearly choked. “You sure?”

Pulling his hair, you steered his face back to yours and crashed your lips against his. “Fuck me.” You mumbled into his mouth.

He applied the smallest bit of pressure to your clit and flicked his fingers one final time, sending you over the cliff. With a long, shaky moan, you bucked your hips uncontrollably as you came into his hand. Every inch of you felt as though it was on fire as Billy made you ride out your orgasm, not for a second easing up on your clit as you writhed beneath him.

“Play with your tits,” he barked out through hooded eyes.

“You play with them,” you argued, but the resolve in your voice was gone. You weren’t entirely sure if you knew your name at that point. All you could focus on was the feeling of his finger pinching your highly sensitive clit and that was it. Everything else was a blur.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

You were so wet and so turned on you could barely think straight. “Billy,” you pleaded, your entire body heating up almost unbearably so. When he ignored you and instead continued his attack on your clit, you whimpered. “I need you to fuck me.”

With a bruising kiss, Billy released your clit and, in seconds flat, tugged his jeans far enough down his hips before slipping inside of you. The moan that escaped your lips was undeniable as he pumped into you. Reaching up, he grabbed your tit and squeezed as he bit down on your exposed neck. It was a sensory overload coming from all angles.

“Fuck,” Billy’s hoarse voice was in your ear as he pumped into you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He reached for your face and tilted your chin up towards him, meeting you halfway with a sloppy kiss. Moaning into his mouth, you managed lose yourself in that instance.

Gone was the room around you.

Hell, gone was everything up until this point.

All you could focus on was the feeling of Billy inside of you. Biting down on his lip, you tugged it back as he rolled his hips in a way that made you quiver. He was thrusting, hard, in an almost animalistic that made your entire body shake with the velocity of every desperate push. He moved between kissing your lips, to biting them to suckling your neck as he continued to rail into you with all of passion in the world. He was a man, unhinged, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him so sexy.

Not surprising in the least, it didn’t take him long to come. You’d riled him up to the point of no return and, as you felt him come inside of you, you all but laughed when his forehead dramatically fell against your own.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved, simply just remained still and firmly pressed against one another. But, as the weight of your current whereabouts slowly dawned on either of you, you both slowly pulled away from each other, both wearing a small smile as you re-dressed yourselves.

Once his pants were done up, Billy stepped into you once again and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Cabin this weekend, okay?”

You nodded and hopped down from the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” you teased, fixing your skirt.

Billy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, maybe, eh?”

“Yeah,” you winked, “I’ll think about it.”

“Smart ass,” Billy smirked. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

“I’m counting on it.” Once you were both fixed up, you nodded towards his hand which was still slicked with your juices. You laughed. “Oops.”

But Billy didn’t seem fazed. Instead, your breath hitched in your throat when he raised his hand to his lips and licked your slick clear off, relishing in the taste of it with a knowing smirk on his face. “This weekend.” He reiterated, driving the point home.

“This weekend,” you agreed, walking towards the door. Ensuring nobody saw the two of you leave an empty classroom together, you unlocked the door and gave Billy a small, knowing smile. “See you at lunch, lover boy.”

[raineydays411]

The best of friends pt3

Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Summary: So it turns out that you do have other friends. Who would’ve guessed? 

A/n: Hello! So.. because i don’t feel like writing the whole fight scene, the events of homecoming already happened before the actual dance and Liz is moving after the school year ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Am I dreaming or is that you Jason Todd?”

“Yeah its me, don’t cream your pants.”

You laugh, running to embrace your friend, and he catches you spinning you around then putting you down. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask breathlessly, “Doesn’t your dad hate leaving Gotham?”

“Well he had a meeting with your dad today, so we made him bring us.” 

“Ohh, so that’s the meeting dad didn’t want to go to” You think.

“You’re brothers are here?” You look around for the boys, but not seeing any.

Jason laughs, “Just Tim and Damian, I kind of ditched them at the Tower, I think I would’ve gone crazy if I stayed another second.”

“Aw, were you expecting me to be there?” You tease, grinning wide as the boy turned a light shade of red.

“Oh please, if you were there I think I’d die of boredom” He teases back, a matching grin growing on his face. But before you can answer back you hear Mj shout at you. 

“Y/n! Are you gonna keep flirting or can we go on some rides?”

“Yeah Iron baby, are you gonna keep flirting?” 

You roll your eyes at the nickname, despite your protests you know he’s not going to stop calling you that. 

“Hey you’re not here with anyone are you?” “Um no why?” 

You grab his hand and pull him towards Mj and Ned, who were looking at the both of you in shock.

“You’re Jason Todd..” Ned says, surprised to see him here.

“Uh..hi” Jason responds, not knowing what to say.

“Jay and I are friends” You say, “ We hang out at the galas and judge people.”

Jason laughs, “That is not what we do.” 

“Oh? So then why do you mean mug people from the corner of the room?” 

Mj and Ned make eye contact, having a silent conversation as you and Jason banter. 

“So, you’re one of Y/n’s ‘friends that don’t live in the city’?” Mj asks, eyeing Jason and you. 

He slings and arm on your shoulders, “ Is that what you call us Y/n?” He turns to Mj to respond but before he can answer Peter and Liz finally make an appearance. 

“Oh so you two finally decided to grace us with your presence?” Mj drawls 

“Sorry guys, I really wanted this Spiderman plush and Peter was trying to win it for me” Liz says with a giggle. Peter blushes, not taking his eyes off Liz. 

You frown at the sight. Frustration growing in your head, this was supposed to be your day with Peter. And now it was ruined. 

“You spent over an hour trying to win a little doll?” You said bitterly, making everyone stare at you. 

“Ah come on iron baby, we all know those games are rigged.” Jason says from beside you. You tear your eyes away from Peter and Liz, “Rigged or not, I bet I can win a prize before you, Jay-Bird”

“Oh is that a bet?” “Um yeah, I literally just said that.” “Okay fine!”

Then you and Jason are off, running towards the nearest booth that gives out prizes. 

“Umm, who was that?” Peter asking, looking in the direction you ran off. 

“That was Jason Todd” Liz responds, “ You know, Bruce Wayne's son.”

“What was he doing with his arm around Y/n?” he asks with a frown.

“Well apparently they’re friends, he just showed up. We didn’t even notice him until we saw him spinning Y/n around like a washing machine.” Ned says with a laugh.

“What, so they’re like...close?” Peter asks. Mj and Ned look at each other. 

“Um I guess...” Ned says hesitantly.

“Well, I for one, haven’t heard Y/n talk as much as she has been now.” Mj says, a knowing look on her face. Peter made a face, not understanding what Mj was talking about. 

“That's true” Liz adds in, “She’s pretty quiet, it’s kinda weird.”

“Well to be fair you two haven’t been exactly talking to her.” Ned defending you, “ She opened up quite a bit after she got comfortable.”

“Yeah, besides, Peter is the one who she knows the best, I wouldn’t be comfortable hanging out with people I just met.” Mj says, glancing at Peter. 

Peter didn’t know how to feel. At first he was psyched to be spending time alone with Liz. He didn’t even think about how you would feel when he invited her and his friends on your shopping day. This whole day he was trying to get closer to Liz, he forgot that you hardly knew Ned and Mj.  But it was okay, you gained two new friends, and now Peter has a chance with Liz. 

He looked at Liz, 

“She looks so pretty” He thinks, but deep in his mind, a voice kept bringing up an image of your face.

“Oh shoot” Liz says, “ Hey guys, my mom is here to pick me up.”

“I’ll walk you to the car!” Peter shouts, startling Mj and Ned. 

‘Okay thanks Pete!” Liz says, wrapping an arm around his. Peter turns back to Ned and Mj with a grin. 

Ned winks back and Mj just rolls her eyes, going to find you and Jason. 

As Peter and Liz walk, he starts to get nervous. This whole day he has been alone with her, but now...now he has to leave an impression. 

“I had a lot-” “It was really coo-” 

The two laugh

“You go first” Peter says.

“It was really cool of you to invite me, I had a great time.” Liz says with a smile. Peter grins, happy that she had a good time with him. and his friends.

“Yeah? I’m glad, I had fun too.” 

They finally make it to the parking lot where Liz’s mother is waiting.  Liz’s face suddenly looks nervous.

“Hey Peter,” Liz turns to Peter, “ Do you have a date to homecoming?”

Peters breath hitches, “Um..no-no why?” 

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

He...he isn’t as excited as he thought he’d be. In fact, this was kind of anti-climatic. 

“Y-yeah, of course!” Peter says forcing enthusiasm.  Liz’s face brightens and she smiles, pulling Peter into a hug.

“Awesome! I’ll text you with the details later?” She asks, pulling away to get into the car.

“That sounds great” Then without warning, Liz grabs Peters face and gives him a quick peck. 

“I’ll see you later Peter Parker.” and with that, she hopped into her mom's car and drove away. Peter stood there, hand on his mouth looking at the spot Liz stood. 

For some reason..he didn’t feel as happy as he should’ve. 

“What is wrong with me?” He asked himself. He shakes his head and turns around. Ready to walk back to where he last saw his friends. 

Turns out, they were all at a booth near the parking lot. And saw the whole thing.

“Dude!” Ned said running up to Peter, “Liz Allen just kissed you! You’re going to HOMECOMING with Liz Allen!” 

“Yeah..I am” Peter says, forcing excitement for his friend,” I can’t believe it.”

“Dude! You’ve been pining over her for YEARS! “ Ned shouts, “ You did it!” 

Meanwhile, Mj is rubbing your arm in comfort as you hold back tears. You saw everything. Peter really didn’t like you the way you thought. You felt defeated, betrayed even. All those moments...they meant nothing to him.  Every moment you held close to your heart. 

“Hey, are you alright Y/n?” Jason whispers, sensing your sadness. 

“um..no not really...” you whisper back, feeling a tear run down your face. Jason wipes it away before you could. 

“Hey, come on lets get you something to drink.” He pulls you away from Mj with a nod. But before he could get far, Peter called out

“Y/n..are you okay?” 

You don’t say anything, your back turned to him so he doesn’t see your face.

“She’s not feeling too hot, I’m gonna get some water and food in her, see if she perks up” Jason responded for you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

Peter looks at the arm, “I can do that” He steps closer to you but before he can touch you, you speak up.

“Don’t touch me, I want Jay to take me.”

And with that, Jason adjusts his grip on you and walks you to a food truck. Leaving behind a disheartened Peter. 

You sit on a bench as Jason orders you some food. Alone, you’re able to gather your thoughts and think about what just happened.  

“Did Peter really not like me? If he didn’t why did he act so flirty with me?” 

It made you mad. It wasn’t fair that he made you feel special then dropped you as soon as someone else came along. He ignores you all day for her, then acts innocent? Screw that.

“Here you go, one greasy ass burger and a bottle of water. We dine like true kings.” 

Jason plops down next to you, “So are you gonna tell me whats wrong or what?”

You scoff, “ Wow, you sure have a way with the ladies.” 

“Whatever.” the raven haired boy rolls his eyes, “ So what’s up? Is it that Peter kid?”

You sigh and explain everything. From when you first met Peter to now. After you were done, Jason stayed quiet. Digesting what you just told him and trying to find the right words to say.

“Fuck him.” He says simply. 

“What?” You say surprised at his comment. 

“Fuck. Him” He repeats looking you in the eye, “ Why are you going to waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you? It’s his lose anyway.”

You stay quiet, not exactly knowing how to respond. 

Two of you eat in silence, watching parents run after their children, and take in the atmosphere. 

“Hey.. we never did finish our bet.” Jason says, standing up. 

You look up at him, a small smile forming on your face. “No, I guess we didn’t.”

“Well come on, I don’t have all day.” He holds out his hand, refusing to look at you. You take it, interlocking your fingers.

You walk in silence, faces red but its comforting. It was nice to see this side of Jason. When the two of you see each other, you both have a this fake persona for the media. You couldn’t truly show who you really were. You only caught glimpses of each others true self when you’d sneak away from the crowds. You both hated those stupid galas Bruce threw. Your dad would force you to go so he wouldn’t be alone, and Jason had to go as Bruce Waynes son. 

A match made in heaven.

“Here we are.” Jason says, releasing your hand. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”

“Oh you wish Todd.”You scoff, walking up to the man running the booth. 

“Hello little lady, three bucks for a three chances.” 

You hand him the money and get the balls. It seemed simple enough, toss the balls, knock down the clowns, win the prize. 

You wind your arm back, and throw the ball with all your might. You end up knocking down two out of the five clowns down. You go again, getting the other three.v

“You got a good aim little miss. What can I get for ya?” 

“The Iron man please.” You hear Jason scoff from his place behind you, “ Oh, is someone a little salty he lost the bet?”

“Whatever princess, it was pure luck.”

“Luck? or years of training with an expert marksman?” You say referring to the times you trained with Clint.

“Whatever.” He says rolling his eyes.

“Aw come on Jay bird, don’t be so salty.” You coo, “ Here, something to remember me by.” You hand him the Iron man with a smirk.  He takes it with a sigh, trying to hide the smile forming on his face. 

“Yeah yeah, come on let's go play that booth with the balloons.” He takes your hand, dragging you to the booth. 

It turns out to be a game with water guns. You both race to make the balloon pop. Jason wins at this game 

“Ha” He says turning to you with a smirk. “ Aw, come on Princess, don’t be so salty.” He turns to attendant “ yeah can i have the Red Hood, thanks” 

He hands you the Red Hood doll, “ Here, something to remember me by” 

You roll your eyes, “ Don’t you use my words against me.” You take the doll, looking it over, “ Hey, why the Red Hood?”

Jason freezes, as you caught him in a lie or something. “Uhh, cause...he’s from Gotham, and so am I...” 

You squint at him, finding his response weird, “Um, okay?” 

He looks relieved with your acceptance. Weird. 

He takes your hand again and you both walk around, catching up on stuff you’ve missed in the months you haven't seen each other. While you were talking, you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of light from the corner of your eye. 

Oh well.

“Hey guys, over here.” 

You both turn to see Ned and Peter. 

“Hey, where’s Mj?” You ask as the two boys walk up to you and Jason.

“She had to leave, her dad picked her up a few minutes ago.” Ned replied, “We were coming to look for you guys.”

“Oh, are you ready to go?” You asked, “ Is anyone picking you up Ned?” 

“Nah I’m spending the night at Peters, we’re gonna watch Star Wars.” He says excitedly. 

Jason snorts, and you elbow him in the stomach, “ I happen to like Star Wars very much. And even if I didn’t, don’t be a dick to my friends.” 

“Sorry man, you just reminded me of my...brother, Tim. Sounds like something he’d like.” Jason says apologetically. 

“I’m friends with Y/n Stark..” Ned whispered.

Peter was quiet, he hasn’t said a word since he saw you and Jason laughing together. His mood worsened when he saw your intertwined hands. 

“So, you’re feeling better.” Peter states, avoiding your eyes. 

“Um, yeah...guess I just needed some food in me.” You mutter. An awkward silence coming over the group. 

“Hey are we going to ride the subway? It sucks going on there at night.” Ned says breaking the silence. 

“Is it? I know I hated walking around at night back home.” Jason says with a frown.

“Yeah man, my mom had to work late one night and she said she saw two homeless people getting it on.”

The four of you cringe at the thought.

“I’ll call Happy” You say pulling out your phone. You walk away, letting go of Jason's hand.

The three boys are left alone, not exactly knowing what to say to each other.

“So...how do you know Y/n?” Ned asks

“Oh uh” Jason goes to say how he knows you when he stops, he noticed how Peter’s mood seemed to worsen when he saw him with you. 

“Me and Y/n ditch galas together.” He says, “ We sneak into my room and...play games.” 

Peters face darkens, “Play games?” 

“Yeah, you know”

“No. I don’t.” 

“Interesting..” Jason thinks to himself 

“Like poker and shit”He replies, “ She’s shit at it, but i like seeing her get all happy when she wins so I let her.”

Peter smiles, knowing how happy you get when you win at games. Then frowns, knowing that Jason has seen you the same way he has. 

“Hey, whos that?” Ned asks, “ He’s been looking at Y/N for a while now.” 

Peter and Jason whip their head towards where Ned was pointing. Low and behold, there was a guy staring at you. You, too busy on your call with Happy, weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. 

The guy looked like a creep. His eyes roaming your body as if you were a piece of meat. It was disgusting.  But before Peter could do anything, Jason was already striding towards you. 

Now, Peter was strong, but he wasn’t too intimidating out of his suit. But jason? Jason was massive, even for an eighteen year old. He was tall, very well built, and just had this dark aura around him. 

Peter didn’t like him. 

Meanwhile, you were chatting to Happy about the where you were, apologizing for calling him so last minutes. 

“Thanks so much Happy, I’ll see you right now.” 

“Yeah yeah.” He hangs up. You chuckle putting your phone back into your purse. Looking up you see Jason striding towards you. 

“Hey i just-” He cuts you off, harshly slamming his arm above your head and leaning in close. 

“Theres a man staring at you.” He whispers, “ Right over there.” 

You follow his gaze, seeing the man who has a frightened expression. Jason was sending a death glare his way that could have frightened Batman himself. The man scurries off without a second glance.

Jason gently thumps you on the back of your head, “See what happens when you stand there like a space cadet.”

‘Oh..I was?”

Peter and Ned walk up to the two of you

“Y/n, you have to be more aware when you’re by yourself.” Peter scolds. 

“He’s right, or its going to be your own damn fault when someone kidnaps you.”

“Oh right.” You say standing up straight and alert. Jason rolls his eyes.

“We said when you’re alone.” “Right.” you say still alert.

“You don’t have to worry about it when you’re with me, you can space out whenever you want.”

“Oh? You gonna protect me Jay-bird?” 

Jason just smiles, not responding as he looks away from your face. 

“So, is Happy coming or what?” Peter asks rudely, taking you by surprise. He’s never talked to you like that before. 

“Um..yeah he’s on his way.” You respond, “ He should be here in a few minutes.”

Peter nods. Yet another uncomfortable silence falls on the group. 

You start walking to the entrance, and without a word the boys follow you. 

You don’t get it, first Peter ignores you all day and now he’s mad at you? What the hell is he playing at? 

“So I’m assuming you’re staying at the Tower?” You ask Jason, “ Your dad would be blowing up your phone if you weren’t.”

“I turned it off” Jason says with a smirk, “ I’m sure they’ll be alright.”

You laugh at his antics, knowing that he’s gonna get an earful when he gets back. Then. from the corner of your eye, you see Peter roll his eyes and glare at Jason.  Ugh, what a weird day.

Finally Happy, shows up. You pile into the car, a tight fit with all four of you, but you make it work. 

The tension in the car is so thick you can cut it with a knife. Happy doesn’t even make any comments, he just drives to Peter’s house to drop him and Ned off. As soon as he gets there, he jumps off the car as if something bit him. Going into the building without a goodbye. Ned just awkwardly smiles and says bye, then follows Peter into the apartment. 

“Okay...That was weird.” Happy says, “What happened? Usually the kid won’t shut up.”

“I have no idea. He’s just being a dick I guess.” You respond sourly. Looking out the window, signaling that you were done with the conversation. 

You finally get home, exhausted physically and emotionally. As you ride the elevator, you think about today's events. So much has happened today it makes your head spin. You were,’t even paying attention when you got to your floor, Jason having to nudge you to get you to move.

“Jason.”, you hear a deep voice rumble. You look up at the sound and giggle

“Looks like you’re in trouble Jay-bird.” “Shut up, please.” 

You laugh again, “It’s lovely to see you again Mr. Wayne, are you staying at the Tower tonight?”

“Hello Y/n” Bruce says, “ It seems so, seeing as my son has been missing all day and we’ve missed our check in time.” He glares at Jason. 

“Aw come on Bruce, we’ll all have a sleepover, bread each other’s hair and tell secrets” You dad says coming out of nowhere. He pecks the top of your head. 

“Hey kid, how was it?” 

“Ugh, don’t even get me started” You say rolling your eyes, “ How was the meeting?” 

“Ugh don’t even get me started.” Then he turned to Jason, “ Hey, didn’t know you were a fan.” 

You laugh, knowing he’s referring to the plush you won for him. “Where’s the rest of the boys?” 

“Damian fell asleep and Tim is in your fathers lab tinkering.” Bruce responds, “ I was about to head to bed.” 

“Oh me too, I’ve had quite the day.” You hug your dad, “ Night pops.” 

Then you turn to Jason, “ I had fun today Jay, thanks. Good night Mr. Wayne.” 

And with that, you walk off to your room, desperate to shower and sleep this day away. 

“So, care to explain why your phone was shut off?” 

Yikes, poor Jason.

[honeypiehotchner]

delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.  

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here. 

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

[souichioneshots]

Untitled Binzo x Reader Fic

SO uhhhh.... Binzo thinks about the reasons why he hates Y/N so much? IDK you guys are kinda like frenemies ???

This is the stupidest thing ive ever written...

Might make an NSFW continuation of this if anyone shows any interest tho lollll

Enjoy?????

Binzo could remember the day you two first met like it was yesterday.

He had been awoken by the sound of his father and uncle arguing in a nearby room. Although he could barely make out what they were saying, he could tell by the way he was screaming, his father had done something unbelievably stupid again.

As the door to his room slid open, Binzo quickly moved to ‘greet’ the sudden visitor, his chains holding him back just before he was able to reach the door. A smile spread across Binzo's face as he saw his father react in a panicked motion, jumping back to avoid his son's vicious attacks. However, Binzo's laughter was put to a stop when he saw a small figure move behind the older man.

Moving a bit to the side, Souichi revealed a girl, a little under Binzo’s age, who had been hiding behind him the entire time. She gripped onto the back of the false-gentleman’s suit jacket, obviously hesitant to enter the room.

Binzo's eyes widened in surprise as his father insisted, almost pushing her into the room forcefully. His eyes looked the girl up and down, trying to figure out why his father had brought her here, let alone why he decided it would be a good idea to bring her into the same room as him.

Her clothes were almost as tattered as his own. She had no shoes on her feet, but the socks that she wore were stained black with dirt and mud. From what he could see with the little lighting in his room, the exposed skin of her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bite marks. Her cold eyes stared at the pale boy as she walked in cautiously, immediately following the older man to the other side of the room. Binzo could remember how she ran her fingers through his father's greased-up hair as he placed the chains around her ankles. They exchanged a look that his mind could not understand at the time.

Getting up from the dirty floor, Souichi stated that the girl’s name was Y/N. A name so foreign to Binzo that he was sure it was made up.

As soon as his father finally left, Binzo tried to attack you. But, that was when he found out the truth. You were a monster just like him. An abomination that someone must have tried to get rid of, only for his own idiotic father to pick up and bring home like a kitten off the street. You bared your fangs at him as you backed away into the corner, trying to avoid his sudden yet expected attack. Binzo watched as you stayed low on the floor, staring at him with angered eyes.

He should have been happy to finally meet someone like him, but he wasn’t.

Binzo hated you.

You were an idiot. You could barely keep a hold on your victims, and on nights when you couldn’t secure a meal like him, you resorted to trying to catch and eat the bugs that crawled around the room. You were also idiotic enough to try to steal from him. Whenever he would get ahold of someone, you would try to get close and steal a small piece for yourself. Sometimes Binzo would be too busy to realize, but when he did, he would reach out as far as he could and use his long-sharp nails to scratch you away, leaving you to become a crying-hungry mess.

You also had a habit of not responding whenever he spoke to you. However, this was completely his fault. After you finally became comfortable enough to talk to him, he started to tease you, claiming that your voice was annoying and, using a piece of broken glass, threatening to cut out your pretty pink tongue to eat as a snack. From that day on, you didn’t utter a single word to him.

However, as time went by, Binzo started to find your presence to be slightly humorous. Specifically, whenever you tried to feed.

Binzo would always laugh whenever you dug your fangs too deep into someone’s neck and ended up getting completely doused in their blood when you pulled away. He thought it was a waste of a good drink, but worth it to see you freak out as you tried to stop the fast-paced bleeding.

Your hair also grew at an unnaturally fast rate as well. It was disgusting, but fun to pull on whenever he wanted to get your attention. It was also especially fun to watch your victims pull on your hair, stunning you for a moment, and getting a couple slaps and punches in as they tried to get away. But, Binzo wouldn’t allow that, stopping them at the last minute and dragging them back in your direction. However, you would always be too embarrassed and cry, refusing the meal he was kind enough to go after for you.

You were ungrateful. Idiotic. An amateur. Everything he hated bundled up into a small ball that dwelled in the corner of his room.

But on top of all that, the thing he hated the most was how you weren’t here now.

“Where’s Y/N!! Where is she!!” Binzo exclaimed to his physically and mentally exhausted aunt. She just stayed quiet, ignoring the child’s vicious words and actions. If she knew, she would have told him by now, but she didn’t.

Binzo looked around his dark messy room as he tried to think of what might have happened to you. It had been 2 nights since he last saw you.

If you had been moved to another room, he would be able to smell it. But you weren’t. You weren’t anywhere in the house in fact.

Could his father have decided that it was too much for him to support 2 cannibalistic children, and off’d you in the woods while he was sleeping? No way. He was the one who brought you here in the first place, he should have known what he was getting himself into.

Maybe you ran away, not wanting to be held captive and enslaved to work at a lunatic’s haunted house. That would explain why his father was also not around either. Maybe he had gone out in search of his most popular attraction.

No matter the reason, you weren’t here now, and Binzo hated you for that.

As the raven-haired boy finally started to calm down, he laid down in his cage, his eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep their focus on the door of his room anymore.

However, he was suddenly awoken by a loud scream.

It was his aunt. She had left the room, leaving him alone while he was asleep. Her voice was loud, but not angry. It sounded almost cheerful. An emotion he hadn’t heard from her in the longest time.

Binzo jumped to his feet as the door to his room slid open. There stood his father, alone from what he could see, cigar burning away in his mouth as he smiled. Binzo tightly gripped the bars of his cage, a feeling of rage boiled inside him like nothing he had ever felt before.

However, that emotion quickly washed away when he saw a familiar face appear from behind his father.

There you stood. Alive and in one piece.

Just like the first time you two had met, Souichi forced you into the room. Binzo’s eyes looked you up and down as you cautiously walked in. Gripping the hem of the older man's suit jacket, you stared back at the pale boy.

Your hair had been cut, shorter than before. You were also wearing a kimono similar to his aunt. You looked almost like a doll. It was weird how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Binzo watched as his father put the chains around your ankles again, your hand running through his greasy hair. You two exchanged that look he couldn’t understand again.

Binzo barely listened as his father warned him not to fuck up your clothes. As Souichi finally left the room, Binzo put his hands on the lock of his cage and, using his nails, undid it.

Crawling out of the cage, he stood onto his feet and he looked at you. Although he was still only in his early teens, he was starting to grow extremely tall, a gene he inherited from his mother no doubt.

Binzo felt his heart start to race as you looked up at him, your eyes sparkled as they reflected the small amount of light that leaked in the room. It was almost like you were giving him the same look you and his father would often exchange.

Without a word, he forcefully shoved you to the ground. “Stop looking at me!” He exclaimed.

You probably thought he was jealous that his father actually let you go out, got you nice clothes, and even treated you like you were an actual human being. But that was far from the truth. He didn't really mean to push you so hard, but his emotions had gotten the better of him.

Binzo yelled out in pain as you kicked him for pushing you so hard. Just before you could kick him again, he moved to straddle you.

Putting his weight onto your stomach, he held your wrists on both sides of your head. You growled as he brought his face close to your neck and took a deep breath. It had been so long since he smelled your scent. However, this time it was different.

“You smell delicious.” He said in a hungry voice, drool dripping from his lips as he showed you his fanged teeth. You squirmed under him, knowing that he didn’t mean that as a compliment. “I thought my dad killed you. But now I see that he just dolled you up so I can do it myself. Kishishishi!” Twisting your head to the side, you dug your fangs into his arm.

“OW! You bitch!” Binzo screamed as he pulled his arm away from you. His long fingernails left a scratch across your face as he slapped you hard.  

Baring your fangs once more, you pushed him off of you and rushed to get away. However, your chains didn't let you get far.

Binzo grabbed your legs just before you could go any further. His nails dug into the thick fabric that made up your kimono, tearing it a bit as he pulled you closer to him. Flipping you onto your back, he put himself on top of you.

You squirmed in a panic as the boy wrapped his arms and legs around you, restraining you from getting away. Not having eaten anything in a while, you soon became unable to continue fighting with the monstrous boy.

Binzo’s heartbeat slowed down as you started to relax, his body unconsciously trying to mimic the pace at which you breathed. You whined as he tightened his grip on you a bit more, making sure that you wouldn’t try to slip away from him again.

Pressing his head into your hair, he breathed in the new scents that covered your body. The smell of the brand new kimono you wore mixed with the fruity shampoo you had used made him doubt that you were really the same creature he had shared a room with 2 nights ago.

“Where did you go…?” He asked, his words slightly muffled by your hair.

Your body tensed as he dug his nails deeper into the fabric of your clothes, trying to force a reply out of you, but ultimately receiving nothing back.

He hated that you wouldn’t talk to him…

[teenwolffanclub-me]

How Drunk Are You? (Stiles Stilinski x Reader)

Summary: You and your best friend, Stiles, can’t decide who’s more drunk after a night out with the pack. It doesn’t take long for your little competition to get out of hand.

Word count: 4,752

Warnings: drunk (but consensual) sexy times

Notes: I got this idea while drunk and may have gotten a little carried away but this one really just spoke to me so here ya go 😅

———————————————————————

You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “You’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

“You, sir, are wrong. I’m completely sober.” You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He’s trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

“Ah ha!” You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

“Hey. I’ll prove I’m more sober.” Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. “I bet I can unlock the door without looking.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don’t think he’s actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it’ll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you’re a horny drunk. You can’t help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you’d never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You’d been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he’d moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don’t notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

“You lose.” You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don’t see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn’t even done anything, he thought. You’d barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.

He finds you lounging on the couch, your legs dangling over the armrest. He scratches at the side of his head as his eyes trail over you, trying his best not to make his simmering lust obvious. You were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and that was when you were wearing sweats.

Right now, with you laying there, your skirt riding up and your breasts peaking out from the low neckline of your crop top, he was finding it hard to control his attraction.

“It’s my turn.” You push yourself up onto your elbows and let your eyes sweep around your living room and kitchen. “I bet I can make the fries I have in my freezer without burning the whole place down.”

Stiles groans excitedly at the idea. Anything greasy sounds like the absolute best thing he could put into his stomach right now. He nods encouragingly and you sway to your feet, giggling as you almost fall once again. You take a detour and slide your heels off at the front door, sighing with content as your feet finally relax.

He follows close behind you as you prance your way into the kitchen, telling himself it’s to keep you safe but knowing it’s actually because it gives him an amazing view of your ass. You preheat the oven and pop the freezer open before crouching down to rummage through your cabinets for a pan.

Stiles wants to avert his eyes. He wants to be a respectable young man and not openly gawk at his best friend, but he can see the edge of your red lacy panties with you bending over like that. He chews on his bottom lip and watches as you search for whatever it is you’re looking for. He can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your body on display like that.

You finally find the right pan for the job and pull it out with a triumphant smile before standing upright, much to Stiles’ dismay. You place the baking sheet on the stovetop and pour out a heaping pile of fries before resealing the bag and putting them away.

You turn on your heel to face your best friend, who was still somewhat in a daze, giving him jazz hands with a big grin.

“Ta-da!” You bounce your way over to the large island in the middle of your kitchen, proud of yourself for completing the first step of your bet.

Stiles’ hooded eyes follow you, his heart racing in his chest. He honestly can’t believe how lucky he is to call you his best friend. The two of you—along with the pack of course—had gone through so much the last few years. It was a miracle any of you were still alive, although not all of you were.

It was with the realization, that life is short and that he loves the shit out of you, that he decides to throw caution to the wind. You jump up onto the island, blissfully unaware of the breakthrough he just made. He gulps, the sight of you level with him now, your mini skirt all hiked up around your thighs and your tight crop top giving him a peak of midriff almost too much to handle.

He isn’t sure if he’ll regret this in the morning, but he’s also too drunk to care. Right now, he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything. He walks toward you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your form as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

Your brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor, the darkness swirling in his caramel eyes too hard to decipher from this distance. You watch closely as he moves forward until he’s only a foot away. He leans down, still taller than you even while you’re sitting on the counter, each of his hands bracing against the marble beside your hips.

“Stiles...?” Your voice trials off in question as you search his face.

“I bet,” He swallows down the last bit of hesitation bubbling in his throat and lets his eyes flutter down to your lips. “You won’t kiss me right now.”

Your breath catches at his words. Your eyes widen and you aren’t even sure you heard him correctly. Your mind instantly starts racing with questions. Is he just saying this because he’s drunk? Or could he possibly return the feelings you’ve been harboring for years?

To be completely honest, you don’t really care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and he looks ridiculously enticing in his red flannel and black bomber jacket. It was the alcohol that made you do it, sure, but it was more so the fact that you’ve wanted to kiss this man since you met him.

You cup the sides of his face and jerk him down to you, closing those last few inches. Your lips wrestle with his and he stiffens against you as if surprised, despite being the one to initiate this. The kiss isn’t pretty. It’s messy and heated. A battle of tongues and teeth as both of you fight for dominance.

One of his hands moves to your exposed knee, the other gripping your waist firmly. He lets out a broken moan against you, his head tilting to give him more room to devour you. Your hands tangle in his hair and you arch into him as his long fingers tentatively slide beneath the edge of your crop top.

Internally, he’s freaking the fuck out. He didn’t think you’d actually do it. He fully expected you to laugh the bet off and move on, but here you are. Kissing the shit out of him. He knows that he will never be able to come back from this moment. No matter what happens after this, he has to have you.

You pull away first, breathless, not from the kiss itself but because it’s him. It’s Stiles. Your best friend. You’re honestly a little surprised that he’s such a good kisser. Sure, he’s had girlfriends over the years, but damn.

The two of you sit painfully still for several moments. Stiles is afraid that if he moves even an inch, he’ll break whatever spell had come over you. He leans forward minutely, desperately wanting to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest and practically shove him away.

His eyes widen as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor, panic tightening in his chest. Did he fuck up? You regret it already? Is everything ruined forever?

You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. His hair is all wild, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are plump and glistening. He’s sex on legs, and you’ve barely even gotten a taste. That one kiss is all it took to ignite the lust that’d been simmering within you all night.

You pull in a shaky breath, knowing that if you’re ever going to make a move, it has to be right now.

“I bet,” You say slowly, your voice low and sultry as you watch his eyes flicker over your face. “I can make you hard without even touching you.”

Stiles sputters silently, brain short circuiting at your words. He’s frozen in place. He wants to pump a fist into the air because this is actually happening but his muscles won’t move. He just nods, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

You giggle at his dumbstruck expression as you jump down from the island, the food on the stove completely forgotten. The edge of your lips twitch up into a smirk when you take a small step toward him and he stiffens. A surge of confidence moves through you at the sight of unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you grip the edge of your top and peel it over your head slowly. You’re suddenly very grateful that past you chose to wear your favorite matching red lacy set. Stiles’ eyes instantly trail down your exposed torso, although they keep flickering back to your breasts as if unable to look away.

You run your hands slowly along your shoulders, over your chest, and down your stomach. Stiles watches every one of your movements like they’re supplying the air he needs to breathe. You push your thumbs into the waistband of your mini skirt and pull it down a fraction of an inch before letting it go with a snap against your skin.

Stiles jumps at the sound, his glazed eyes locked onto the place your hands had just been. You take a few steps toward him, swaying slightly, and can’t help but giggle. This situation really is pretty ridiculous. You’re in your kitchen, preforming a strip tease for your best friend. It’s not something you ever thought you’d do.

You don’t stop until you’re only inches away from his heaving chest. You bat your eyelashes up at him and turn around so your back is just a hairs length from him. You bend over slowly, flicking your hair over your shoulder to look up at him as you wiggle your hips sensually.

You hear his shaky intake of breath and can’t help but smirk. If you’d known the effect you had on him, you would’ve done this years ago. He’s absolutely itching to touch you. His fingers are twitching at his sides in anticipation, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries.

He wants to take you. To claim you as his. Pull you back against him and ravish you like the goddess you are. But he holds himself back. The ball is in your court, and he’s going to let you have your fun until he’s sure you’re ready for him.

You stand up straight and turn to face him, eyes skimming down to the obvious bulge at the front of his jeans. A slow smile pulls at your lips.

“You lose again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll break this tension, this electricity between you.

It’s at this moment that he snaps, his earlier thoughts instantly forgotten. He just can’t take it anymore. He’s been restraining himself for years and right now, after the show you just gave him, he can’t wait even a second longer to have you.

At once, you’re in his arms. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, sliding his palms down the backs of your legs before hiking them up around his waist. You squeal against him and tighten your thighs to hold yourself up.

His hands are on your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he blindly walks both of you toward the stairs. He doesn’t need to look. He has the entire layout of your house memorized after being here almost daily for years. He clambers up to the second floor, staggering and pausing a few times to deepen your kisses.

You feel feverish. His skin on yours is causing some sort of reaction. You’re burning up, hot crackling desire twisting in your stomach. You don’t even realize that he shoves his way through your bedroom door until he tosses you onto your bed. You bounce a few times, bracing your hands on the soft mattress to keep yourself upright.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you with this heat, this need. It makes you want to give him anything he asks for. You’re his, whether he knows it yet or not. You’re completely gone for your spaz of a best friend.

He suddenly takes a step forward and grips your ankles in each of his hands. He jerks you toward him until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulls them apart and stands between them before dropping to his knees. Your eyes widen knowingly, a spark of excitement igniting in your chest.

“I bet I can make you cum in less than five minutes.” He smirks at the awestruck expression overtaking your face.

You nod your head enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than for him to ease the throbbing need between your legs. He runs his fingers up your shins, torturously slow, before stopping to squeeze your thighs gently. His eyes never leave yours as he moves higher and higher, dangerously close to exactly where you want him.

Stiles leans up and connects your lips again, this time a languid kiss as he lightly guides you down to the bed. You prop yourself up onto your elbows as he peppers gentle kisses down the column of your throat. A shudder moves through you at the feeling of his hair brushing against your heated skin as he moves across your collarbone.

He traces a path down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lap at your hardened nipples. You moan loudly, the feeling of his warm breath against you, along with the course material of your lacy bra enough to make you cum on its own.

He moves lower and lower until his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your skirt. His lips never leave you as he tugs it down over your hips before discarding it somewhere on the floor behind him. Your panties quickly join the pile as you shiver on your bed, dripping core now exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

Stiles’ darkened eyes flicker up toward yours as he parts your thighs and dives between them. You cry out when his tongue expertly brushes your clit, throwing your head back against the mattress. One of his hands glides up to squeeze your hip, while the other teases your entrance.

A pitiful whimper escapes you when he inserts a finger. It’s so long and thick and wow you’re really doing this with your best friend. He groans against you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harshly when he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud again.

You steal a glance down toward him and feel your heart swell at the look he’s giving you. His eyes are shining with adoration as he laps at your core like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your eyes roll back when he pushes another finger inside you and starts pumping them quickly. You feel your stomach tightening already as his free hand snakes up to pinch your nipples delicately.

“Stiles...” You murmur breathlessly, back arching as another wave of pleasure crashes down onto you.

He nearly explodes in his jeans at the sound of his name on your lips like that. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to reel in his own desire so he can fully focus on you. He groans against you at the feeling of your core clenching around his fingers. He pulls them almost completely free before slamming them back inside, smirking at the way it makes you whine.

All it takes is one more lick against your clit, and you’re coming. You cry out, your body trembling from head to toe as intense waves of pleasure move through you. Stiles can’t help but moan at the sound as his free hand slides across your stomach to push you down against the bed.

He doesn’t stop until you sag against the mattress, completely spent. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand as a big grin overtakes his face. He’s been wanting to do that for way too long, and honestly can’t believe it just happened for real. He’s imagined it enough times to know it would be amazing, but that had exceeded his expectations.

You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. All sweaty, flushed chest heaving, pupils blown wide from pleasure that he gave you. A sense of pride swells in his chest at the fact that he was able to make you feel so good.

Once you snap out of your blissful haze, you sit upright and jerk him toward you. You hungrily devour his lips, not feeling the least bit satiated by that mind blowing orgasm. You want—no, need—him. Right now.

He clambers up onto the bed, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head as he climbs on top of you. You slide your hands along his shoulders beneath his flannel and practically rip it from his body. Next comes his undershirt, followed by the belt around his waist.

Your shaky hands fumble with the button of his jeans for a few seconds before he bats them away to undo it himself. Within seconds they’re gone too, joining the pile of clothes on your carpeted floor. You drag your fingers down his broad chest, pausing over the small patch of hair between his pecks.

He shudders against you, lips leaving yours to suck and lick his way down your neck. You palm him through his boxers and he grunts lowly, stiffening at the feeling. A trembling sigh falls past your lips as you explore his hard length through the thin fabric.

Suddenly impatient, you use both hands to pull the barrier down, eyes widening as his cock springs free. It’s so much bigger than you imagined. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about your best friend’s dick, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the real thing.

You wrap your fingers around him and he freezes against you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder as you pump him slowly. A moan rumbles through your chest at the feeling of him so exposed, so primal on top of you.

All he can do is huff out a few quick gasps as just your fingers set his body ablaze. He honestly feels like he might combust with the way his heart is sputtering in his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower to peel your fingers away from him. He knows he won’t last long and he desperately wants to be inside you.

“Can I...is it okay if...” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s so tightly wound, so high off your presence that he can barely string his thoughts together.

“I have condoms.” You breathe, trying to convey with your eyes how much you want this. How much you want him.

He swallows thickly, hesitating for only a moment before sliding onto the floor to rummage through the bedside table you’d gestured toward. He pulls out a single foil packet and moves to sit next to you on the bed. He glances between his shaky hand and your eyes, suddenly needing reassurance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathes, heart clenching in his chest at the possibility of you saying no.

Even if you do, he has to give you this moment to decide. He’s painfully aware that both of you are very intoxicated and may regret this in the morning. But he also knows that he’s wanted you for years and it might just kill him to stop now.

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, eyes rounding at the respect he has for you. You really love the idiot sitting in front of you, a realization that makes you lean forward and close the distance between you.

“Stiles,” You mumble against his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

His eyes widen in shock at your urgency and he chuckles, tearing the small package open and rolling the condom on quickly. He reconnects your lips and pushes you down onto the bed gently. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

Your head tilts back, a long moan escaping you as he enters you in one swift motion. His eyes pinch shut tightly as he braces a hand against your headboard to steady himself. All he can do is grunt and gasp for air as your heat clenches around him. After only a few trusts, he knows he’s going to explode any minute.

He slides an arm under your arched back and turns you both so that he’s now laying on the mattress. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs and his brows furrow as he grips your hips tightly.

“Please...” Stiles groans, not even sure what he’s asking for. You’re everywhere. Around him, on top of him, your delicious smell is enveloping his every sense with his head on your pillow. It’s all too much.

You press your palms onto his chest and swirl your hips, pulling a broken moan from him. You lift yourself up before gliding back down slowly, wanting to see how long you can tease him before he’ll snap. The memory of the way he’d lost control earlier has your core clenching around him. You want to see that again.

“Y/N, I c-can’t...”

You lean down to steal a quick kiss, almost instantly reading his mind. He flips you over again, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as he starts pounding into you, hard. Your head knocks into the headboard with each of his jerky movements, but you don’t care.

Your stomach tightens and you whimper, not expecting to cum again so quickly. None of your other partners had ever gotten you off more than once in a session. Stiles brings a hand down blindly to rub quick circles over your clit and you cry out against his lips.

Within seconds, you’re both tumbling over the edge, a chorus of moans and shaky breathing the only sound in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving as he tries to make sense of what the fuck just happened. The lustful haze is clearing from his mind as his orgasm fades away. He’s left laying there, his best friend—who he just fucked—only inches away.

He lets his eyes trail over to you slowly, honestly terrified of what he’ll find. He needs to know what you’re thinking. His eyes search yours, but they’re guarded. Unreadable. He instantly starts panicking, heart sputtering in his chest as he bolts upright and quickly discards the condom in your trash can.

Your brows furrow from your position beside him, surprised by his sudden movement. A wave of exhaustion comes over you. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the mind blowing sex you just had, and all you want to do is sleep it off.

You reach forward to clasp a hand around Stiles’ wrist, stopping him just before he stands from the bed. “Where are you going?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at the thought of him trying to run away from what you’d just done. There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it. You wanted to do that since you met the idiot, so there was no way you’d be going back on it now.

You honestly didn’t even care if the two of you ever slept together again. You just needed him in your life. You weren’t going to let him disappear on you just because you gave into a night of passion.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know if you...you know, would want...” He stammers, eyes widening at the frown on your face. Maybe he misread the situation.

“Of course I want you to stay, you big dork.” You chuckle, tugging on his arm again.

His lips twitch into a grin, relief washing over him. He crawls back into the bed, peeling your comforter away so that you can join him beneath the warmth. You instantly curl into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar gesture. You’d cuddled many times before, but never like this. Never naked.

Stiles tries thinking of anything else to fight off his growing erection. Now was not the time for round two. You were basically asleep against him, your breath slowing to an even rhythm. He pulls you in tighter and lets his eyes flutter closed, knowing there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The last thought that flickers through his mind before he drifts off is that he could definitely get used to this new aspect of your relationship. He only hoped, come morning, that you’d feel the same.

[cherrykindness]

one spoon for two |

first of all, i can't make my first post in english without thanking those who helped and encouraged me to make this decision. thank you for everything @waitimcomingtoo, @harryhoney-bee and @parkers-gal 🧡

summary: you and peter share spoons and sweatshirts and are “secretly” in love with each other.

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

warning: hi! english (obviously) is not my first language, so I ask for patience, im still learning <3

"Good morning." You said with a enviable morning good humor as soon as you arrived at the complex's kitchen, receiving distracted nods and murmurs from Bucky, Sam, and Natasha. Peter, on the other hand, received your greeting with equal enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Y/N." He replied anxiously, straightening the posture and removing his feet from the chair beside. "Do you want to sit here?" He asked quick and shyly, pretending not to notice Bucky and Sam narrowing their eyes across the table. "I-I mean, it's empty, but you don't have to if you don't want to."

You nodded, accepting the offer before sitting down next to the boy you used to call best friend, frowning as you noticed that your yogurt with granola was already prepared next to a spoon and a glass of milk.

"Did you do that?"

Peter agreed, feeling a warmth rise from his neck to his cheeks.

"Yes, I figured you would be tired after last night."

That answer was enough to capture the attention of the entire kitchen. Steve, who was walking through the door with an empty mug in hand, stopped as soon as he heard the phrase leave Peter's lips, widening his eyes as he struggled not to let the ceramic object hit the floor.

"What?" Bucky asked in astonishment, blinking rapidly as he looked away between you and Peter. "What did you guys do last night?"

You and Peter looked at each other in confusion, but before you could respond, Natasha pointed to your clothes.

"Is that Peter's sweatshirt?"

Steve's pressure seemed to have dropped at this very moment. With trembling hands and flushed cheeks, the soldier sat down on one of the chairs, hiding his face amidst inaudible murmurs.

"Tony already knows this?" Sam asked with his mouth full of cereal, looking at you both with disapproval.

"What should I know?"

Peter swallowed hard when he heard your father's voice, dreading the mischievous smile that grew on Bucky's face.

"That me and Pete spent the whole night watching Star Wars." You were quick to respond, causing Peter to let out a relieved sigh.

"So that's what the kids call it these days?" Steve whispered, looking more shocked by the minute. Natasha patted her friend on the back, offering consolation.

"The Spider-Baby said he made Y/N very tired last night." Bucky, playing the part of the devil on Peter's shoulder, repeated the sentence with slight alteration.

"I didn't say that." The boy with bright curls said in horror, shaking his head frantically as his face turned as red as fresh strawberries. "It wasn't like that, Mr. Stark."

"So explain it to me." Tony demanded with a serious face, crossing his arms over his chest.

The boy became an clumsy mess in a matter of seconds. Bucky, Sam and Natasha holding their own giggling as the comic moment unfolded.

"You don't have to say anything, Pete." You reassured him, understanding your father's intentions. "Let's get away from those perverts. We still have a lot to enjoy this weekend."

You stood up with Peter at your heels, leaving the kitchen under the watchful eyes of the Avengers. Everyone, except Steve, burst out laughing as soon as Tony made sure that you were no longer around, Sam having to wipe away a few tears that had escaped from the corner of his eyes.

"What?" Steve asked confused, staring at the others strangely. "What did I miss?"

"They are so oblivious." Natasha said with a smile, shaking her head negatively.

"It's kind of cute." Tony admitted, shaking his shoulders. "The boy is unable to make a move, however."

"What?" Steve voiced it for the third time in less than three minutes. "They-they- you know; Aren't you angry? Isn't that a move for you?"

"They did nothing, cap." Tony stated between a sigh. "They spent the night watching Star Wars just as Y/N said, believe me."

"But is painfully obvious the Spider-Boy is upside down for her." Sam stated, earning a nod from Tony, Bucky and Natasha. "He was already here when me and Bucky showed up in the morning. He was sitting at the table and Y/N's breakfast was also already prepared. I was about to sit next to him– and it was the first time I ever considered sitting next to that child, I swear, when he simply put his feet up on the empty chair, saying that he had severe cramps and needed space. When Y/N appeared at the door all smiling and wearing his college sweatshirt, puft, it seems that the boy went out of his mind, and the first thing he did was to offer the seat next to him."

"There was one day that Y/N needed to help Bruce in the lab and was without access to her cell phone for most of the day. Peter and I were working together on his suit, but the boy was picking up the cell phone every two minutes. He sent a message at 04:30 and Y/N didn't answer until at 08:47, so guess what? Peter answered at 08:48." Said Tony.

"The boy was whipped." Bucky uttered between a sip of coffee.

"He and Y/N were sharing a pot of strawberry ice cream during the last movie session." It was Natasha's turn to share a moment between you and Peter, attracting the attention of the men accompanying her, "but there was only one spoon for both."

There was a suggestive exchange of glances between her, Stark, Barnes and Wilson, broken by Rogers' timid and cautious voice.

"So the kids didn't do anything indecent?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Tony rolled his eyes, leaving the room.

–

It was almost seven in the evening when Peter came into the kitchen again, now with a green mask on his face and a Hello Kitty's patch over his nose.

"What the fuck?" Bucky asked skeptically, almost spitting out the sandwich that was in his mouth.

"Y/N and I are going skin care tonight." Peter replied simply, going over to the refrigerator as everyone watched him intently.

"And what is that on your face?" Natasha asked the question everyone wanted while Peter grabbed a pot of ice cream from the freezer.

"Avocado mask. She saw in TikTok that it is good for the pores."

"So that was the fate of the avocado I bought to eat in the morning." Steve said regretfully. "It's okay, I can buy another one tomorrow."

"I have many questions, but I don't think any answer will answer them." Sam do a grimace before turning to the food laid out on the table.

"Peter, you should ask Y/N out on a date." Thor gave his opinion. "That's what you Midgardians call, right?"

Peter choked with the air as he heard the Thunder God's phrase, almost letting the pot of ice cream slide down the sink.

"W-we go to dates almost every day." He refuted with red face. "Tomorrow we will go to the supermarket. We can buy another avocado for you, Steve."

"But this is not the kind of date we are talking abo–" Natasha tried to explain, but Peter was already leaving the kitchen practically running.

"Bye, Y/N is waiting me to put cucumbers over the eyes."

"You got only one spoon!" The redhead screamed.

"It's enough!"

The Avengers present exchanged a look of recognition before Thor broke the silence, repeating the question Sam had asked that same morning:

"Tony already knows this?"

Everyone shook their shoulders simultaneously, Bruce being the only one to speak up verbally when silence filled the room.

"I'm sure he's already pulling some strings."

–

"Please, Tony, don't tell me that you are hiding to spying Peter and Y/N."

Tony peeked a bit between the leaves as he heard Pepper's harsh voice, putting the binoculars in the back pocket of his pants as covertly as possible.

"Spying?" He laughed exaggeratedly loudly. "Of course not, dear. This is absurd."

The woman eyed him suspiciously, reaching into her husband's pocket as soon as he hugged her.

"So can you start explaining to me the binoculars, the camouflage clothing, and the presence of a giant plant that was not in the hallway before?"

Tony walked away defeated, lowering his eyes at the judgmental look he was receiving.

"The word "spying" is too strong, okay? Let's say I was watching them without them knowing."

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"They are already adults, Tony. You should let them make their own decisions, and it is pretty obvious that they like each other. I know that the idea of Peter and Y/N dating may be strange to you, but–"

"Strange?" He almost shouted, lowering his voice when he noticed that the music that used to come from your room had stopped, now putting his camouflage skills at risk. "Baby, I love you, but you are crazy." He whispered. "Peter is the only boy who deserves to be with someone like Y/N, and all I have been doing for the past seven months is trying to get them to confess the feelings that everyone knows exist, but they seem too blind to see. So far I remain with the verdict that the boy is right for her and I hope don't change my mind anytime soon. They are my OTP."

"OTP?" Pepper asked confused by the slang.

"One True Pairing. Honey, you are so out of date."

"All right, I'm leaving."

Tony arched an eyebrow as he watched his wife walk away and take the binoculars, shrugging his shoulders before hiding behind the leaves again. He spent almost two hours there, but nothing interesting had happened, just you and Peter going back and forth from the kitchen with greasy foods and ice cream, a spoon for two as you shared whatever it was in the aisles, sometimes even taking it into each other's mouths, making Tony look away from those nauseatingly sweet scenes.

He had a story appointment with Morgan and his presence in the little girl's room at nine was a must. The plan affectionately called "Project Starker" had failed that day, and Tony had to accept defeat as he went to your room, expecting to find you and Peter sprawled out on the bed while some nerdy movie was playing on TV.

"Y/N? Peter?"

The room was dark, lit only by adjacent lights coming through the window. Tony stumbled over a few objects along the way, walking blindly through the furniture until he was near your bed.

"Can you even see each other here? God, how–"

Tony had to interrupt the sentence, surprised to see you and Peter snuggled up to each other, sleeping peacefully while a current series he didn't know the name of played on the TV at an almost inaudible volume. He shook his head in denial, holding back a smile before nudging Peter's waist, forging an angry timbre:

"Kid, you have a room here for a reason. What are you doing in my daughter's bed?"

Peter blinked a few times, completely lost and surprised by Tony's presence.

"Mr. Stark?" He asked stunned, trying to see Tony through the shadows. "Why are you here?"

Your father raised one of his eyebrows, aghast at the sudden boldness of the teenager before remembering the younger man's sleepwalking habits. Peter probably thought he was dreaming or some shit.

"Why are you here?" Tony returned the question, crossing his arms.

"Because I'm in love with Y/N and I want to sleep next to her."

Tony opened his mouth like a goldfish, cursing himself mentally for not recording that statement, shaking Peter's body when he started to close his eyes again.

"Aren't you going to your room?"

Peter mumbled something indecipherable, tightening his arms around your body as you continued to sleep heavily on his chest.

"No, thanks for the offer."

Tony nodded to nothing, deciding to just close your curtain and ask to Friday to turn off the TV.

"Thank you for doing Y/N too, Mr. Stark. I appreciate that."

Tony laughed softly, promising himself that he would tease the boy about it the next morning, “Go to sleep, kid. I'm sure no one will leave you alone tomorrow after I tell what you said."

Stark was about to leave when he noticed Peter's feet sticking out of the covers. The night was cold, and there was nothing but a thin comforter protecting the two of you.

"Just one blanket?" He asked.

"Yes." Peter kind of whispered, pulling you closer. "It's enough."

This time Tony didn't hold back his smile, shaking his head before closing the door, leaving you and Peter in that little bubble of teenage passion.

"Point for you, Spider-Boy."

[thatfanficstuff]

My Alpha (Part 2) - Winchester Bros x Reader

Grouping: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Dean

Warnings: smut adjacent, public foreplay, a/b/o dynamics

A/N: It only took a year, but here. There won't be a part 3. I don't think I'm up to writing a/b/o smut yet.

***

Once you left the bunker, it didn’t take long for you to realize that you had nowhere to go. You couldn’t run back to your father though there was nothing else you’d rather do at the moment. It was the first place the brothers would look for you. Not only that but you so did not want to have the conversation you’d need to have to explain to your father what had happened and why you were back. Last he knew you were off to live your happily ever after with Sam.

All the friends you could think of to crash with were also friends with the boys. There was no guarantee anyone you contacted wouldn’t immediately call one of them. You would be hard pressed to find anyone willing to choose you over the Winchesters. No one in your world went against the alphas if they could help it.

So, you just picked a direction and started to drive. When you grew tired of trying to see the road through your tears, you pulled over at some crappy hotel. You’d curled up on the uncomfortable bed and slept for hours. Now, you were hungry and depressed so you walked to the bar next door that served greasy pub food. A plate full of chicken strips and fries later and you were on your second rum and coke. You wondered how much you’d have to drink to forget about the pang in your chest.

“Where’s your alpha, pretty little omega?” a gruff voice asked.

You didn’t even bother glancing over. “I’m not interested.”

His rested his meaty hands on the table so he could lean closer, probably used to using his size to intimidate. Also probably used to weak little omegas that it would work on. “That’s not what I asked, sweetheart.”

You sniffed the air and curled your lip at his odor. He smelled sour, like rotten milk and underneath it was the unmistakable scent of beta. Figured. Another alpha would be less likely to ignore Sam’s mark on your skin.

You ran your tongue over your teeth as you finally looked at the man towering over you. He might have been handsome had he taken five seconds for some basic grooming. As it was, you weren’t impressed. Though, it would take a lot to turn your head after the Winchesters. The thought of them was enough to make you sigh and erase the small amount of patience you still possessed. You didn’t want to deal with this asshole. You just wanted to be left alone with your alcohol.

“Look. I’ve had a bad fucking week. My alpha is none of your goddamn business. I’m asking you nicely to leave me the fuck alone.” You kept your gaze locked on his until he pushed away from the table and waved a hand at you in dismissal.

“Take it easy, honey. You aren’t that special. I’m just trying to get laid.”

You rolled your eyes and put your attention back on your glass as he walked off. It wasn’t even five minutes later that someone slid onto the bench across from you in your booth. You sighed again. “Listen, I’m really not…” Your words trailed off as you lifted your head to see your favorite pair of bright green eyes. The heady scent of your true mate flowed over you and you barely resisted the urge to just melt into a puddle where you sat. Dean gave you a crooked smile that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. No, he was pissed.

His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Y/N.” That rough voice saying your name ran through you and you bit your lip as instant desire had slick leaking out of you. Your alpha’s nostrils flared and his gaze darkened making your heart race.

No. You couldn’t do this. Dean may have come after you, but you still weren’t willing to tear the brothers’ relationship apart. You tore your gaze from his to survey the bar. No sign of Sam. That didn’t mean he wasn’t waiting in the parking lot for you, but it gave you a chance to get out of here. “I can’t do this, Dean. I’m sorry.”

You slid out of the booth only to have your upper arm grasped in a large hand. Sam. He must have been standing where you couldn’t easily see him. Instead of directing you back into your seat, he steered you to the other side of the booth and pushed you in next to Dean who slid over against the wall. Sam then slid in right behind you until you were secured between the alphas.

The table top suddenly became very interesting as their eyes locked on you. “What were you thinking?” Sam finally hissed. “Do you know how dangerous it is for you to leave like that? What if something happened to you? What were we supposed to do?”

You tried to stave off the tears creeping up. Sam never yelled at you, was never angry at you before all of this. You’d made him miserable. You were a horrible omega. “I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked and you hated it. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Dean shifted in the seat beside you and laid his hand on your thigh. His warmth calmed you some. He ran so much hotter than you. But as much as you yearned for his touch, Sam was on the other side of you. It was his mark you wore. This wasn’t right. Before you could say anything to Dean, Sam did the same thing on the other side of you. You froze, at a complete loss as to what was going on.

“Y/N.” The elder Winchester said your name softly, a tone you weren’t used to hearing from him. You shook your head just needing a moment to process, but Dean wasn’t about to give it to you. “Look at me, Omega.”

His alpha tone called to you, made him almost impossible to ignore. It wasn’t until Sam squeezed your leg in gentle reassurance that you allowed yourself to obey his brother. Dean ran his eyes over your face and gave you that lopsided smile that you loved. He traced the side of your face with a finger and your eyes slipped closed. “I’m sorry, princess. I should have discussed the situation with Sam without putting you in the middle. I let my jealousy get the better of me.”

You’d opened your eyes halfway through his apology and now studied him with a furrowed brow. “Why are you apologizing to me, Dean? As long as you and Sam patch things up, I don’t matter.”

His gaze darted past you to look at his brother and then came back to you. His smirk widened. “Well, obviously I’m a piss poor alpha if that’s what you think, Omega, because you are the only thing that matters.”

Before you could think of arguing, Dean’s hold on your thigh tightened. He slid his hand up until his fingers pressed against the seam of your jeans. You sucked in a breath only to release a little whimper when he put more pressure against you. “De—”

Your complaints were cut off as a hand grabbed your chin to turn your head the other direction. Warm, familiar lips claimed yours and your hands moved up to hold Sam’s head to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue swept into your mouth. The rhythm he set perfectly matched the one his brother rubbed against your core. Your hips rocked through no conscious decision of your own.

Finally, you pulled back just far enough to take a shaky breath. Sam cupped a hand around the back of your head and pulled you forward to rest against his shoulder. “We need to get her out of here. Too many people can smell our omega,” he all but growled.

Dean’s hand moved back down your thigh as he leaned forward and nipped at your neck on the opposite side from Sam’s mark. “Can’t wait to get you home,” he said. His lips brushed your skin as he spoke and a tremor shot down your spine.

You turned your head so you could see both of your alphas and bit your lip. “I have a room next door.”

They chuckled. “Impatient?” Dean teased.

“I can wait if you can,” you answered with an arched brow.

Sam leaned down and trailed a line of kisses along the line of your neck until he reached your mark. He kissed it and you couldn’t completely contain the moan that followed the action. “What’s your room number, sweetheart?”

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fight Like Siblings: Scud/Reader

You fight like siblings. That’s where anything "familial" ends.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: wall sex, at @phoenixblack89’s request along with a gender neutral reader (well, female, but I couldn’t manage so we settled on gender neutral). Sorry for the delay! Got a migraine towards the end of the night and wanted to do one last proofread this morning.

Title is a wink to Eric and his "sister" Nora from True Blood, when he says they fight like siblings but fuck like champions. No incest here, though.

- - -

The van’s cluttered. Weapons, junk, junk food out in the open or stuffed away under ratty blankets. There’s hardly a place for you to be without something clanging off your hip or crinkling under your foot. It’s unavoidable, because not only is the van trashed, but it’s dark. A bank of TVs is your only light source, some of them switched off, the rest displaying grainy feed that just barely gives you the shapes of the other familiar against the opposite wall.

You slump against the back wall, eyeing the doors the familiar slammed shut after you leapt in. You don’t hear anything, and the feed’s utterly boring, so you relax by a fraction—and stiffen when you feel something with give to it sag under the hand you put down. Soft, sticky, and it flakes off onto your palm when you snatch your hand back.

It’s a goddamn donut.

"Could’ve left you out there, you know," Frohmeyer—Damaskinos is too formal to call him Josh, or Scud, which you don’t blame; it’s fucking stupid—says from where he’s a lump on the floor, seeing your look. Content with the rest of the trash.

"Couldn’t kill you to clean up," you scoff, tossing the donut at him. It’s childish, but so’s the cartoon he’s got playing on one of the TVs. "Damaskinos would be disgusted."

"Damaskinos ain’t here," Frohmeyer scoffs.

He fishes out a cigarette, and the orange spark of the lighter that materializes like some magic trick hurts your eyes. Nicotine burns your sinuses, but at least it isn’t the earthy weed you get a whiff of, seeped into the blankets.

"’Sides, keep your voice down," he snaps, clapping the Zippo shut and tossing it into the middle of the van. You guess that’s what he does with most of the junk scattered around when he’s done with it. "Damaskinos wouldn’t be too thrilled if you gave us away."

"Oh, so now you’re worried about it?"

You fall into bickering. Fighting like siblings, some of the familiars do. Part of it’s the need to get out of familiar status alive—well, turned. Prove to the one you’ve given yourself over to that you’re worth it, carrying their name, representing them.

Part of it’s that the only thing that bonds you is that you are familiars, otherwise you’d likely never interact with one another a day in your lives.

With Frohmeyer, you’d be sure of that.

"You should smile more," pulls you out of scowling at the donut where it landed against his leg.

You’d finally fallen quiet, too—but it’s just like Frohmeyer to ruin things. "You should get drained."

"Aw," he hums, and another cloud of smoke burns your nose, "the baby jealous Big Brother got the job instead? Had to hold Nyssa’s hand after I did all the work?"

You’re livid, and you make that clear by your lack of response. You’ve only been sent in after Frohmeyer’s done the hard task of getting in the daywalker’s good graces. You know why, that logically, Frohmeyer was the better choice to lure those two females at that campsite—and by default, the daywalker, once they started tearing into him.

But it still stings. And by the smokey grin that leers at you, Frohmeyer knows it still does, too.

"Fuck off," is what you settle on, pushing to your feet and not caring when you kick his ankle by accident.

"Fuck off yourself," gets scoffed up from below, with another thick cloud of smoke. You expect that.

But you don’t expect the foot he lashes out, that hooks your instep and sends you stumbling. "Asshole!" would probably draw a reaper or two, if there were any shown skulking around in the feeds; but there aren’t, so you let it bellow, and because he just grins at that you can’t do anything but lunge at him.

It isn’t fair. Tinkering and building—he calls it art; you call it clutter to stub your foot on—has given him strength, from having to clamber and lift his bigger projects. You don’t have any hobbies that give you an edge, so it’s you that ends up against the van’s wall, thumped into it, with his hands bracing yours in the curve where wall and ceiling bend.

It’s not fair, either, that he isn’t even bad-looking. That would make hating him easier.

At least it does so for the fucking.

His bangs are greasy, unwashed, but you like the way they both hide and make his eyes pop. A blue that’ll be downright deadly, once he’s turned. That’ll go bleach-blue, once he’s drank his fill, silver in the worst of blackness. Cheekbones that cut, soft-looking arms that bunch with hidden steel when you try to wrangle yourself free. It’ll cut harsher, harden to bedrock when he’s earned his place.

Maybe there’s something in that nicotine that isn’t, after all. The cigs did look home-rolled.

You’re too busy taking in his tongue to ask.

You feel his laugh buzz around your teeth as you cringe back, at first; he was halfway through puffing out another damn cloud, and it dries out your throat and chalks your tongue.

You get back at him by kissing deeper, biting into his bottom lip where the tattoo is. He has a penchant for rubbing the spot on the outside, you’ve noticed, the nerves scrambled from the overeager vampire that inked it. Yours doesn’t bother you—the meat of it’s raised, but that’s all—but he bites down on yours in retaliation. But the growl he follows it with is light and playful.

"Quit fucking around," you huff.

His grin’s wide and flashes teeth that aren’t sharp. They will be, one day, you can practically see the fangs he’ll get wink down with it. "Get right to it, then? Sure, baby."

"Don’t," you warn, even as he lets your hands go so you can paw at the front of his pants. Baby is too often used when he’s dangling the fact that he’s older (and was found and picked first) over your head. You can’t associate it with anything but the fact that you’re not-really-siblings.

You don’t need some incest angle forced into this. Jesus, no.

He lets it go, not because he’s being nice. You pulling him out is distracting—one of the guaranteed ways you’ve figured out, over the years, that will shut him up.

It doesn’t quiet him entirely. He pants against your cheek where he leans his head against yours, curling his fingers in your hair to keep them busy—they always need to be doing something—and his sharp inhales shake back out thready. He moans when you start stroking him, at a slow and even pace because this is the only peace you’ll get from him anytime soon. You want to take advantage of that. Even if his weight pressing on yours slowly drags you down, until you both kneel on the floor with the junk and trash.

You hiss at the burn in your legs as the hands that are plucking at a knot in your hair drop to your shoulders and bend you back, pinning you back. But the noise gets swallowed as he kisses you again, his hard-on pressing into your stomach.

You get a hand back on his cock, the other pushing his hip out so you can get to it.

"Just think how good this’ll be, when we don’t need air," he hums, panting.

You roll your eyes, but you help him get your jeans down, and he turns you to the van’s wall to get things going.

And it’s going well, his rhythm eager and greedy, your meeting thrusts keeping up, until the van shudders as something heavy drops on its roof.

Your swear gets muffled by the hand that clamps over it. You’re too frozen to bite it like you want to, and you don’t get the chance when you get your wits back because it’s off your mouth just as fast. He’s out of you, with it, and you can’t help but ache at the abrupt end even as he points to one of the TVs and you get your jeans up.

On top of the roof, a reaper’s crouched, scenting—and down the street, from another angle, you watch more lope towards the van.

"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with the panel under the TVs and you get ahold of his gun. You’re already pointing it towards the doors, waiting, as you hear a shriek too awful to even be vampire. Normal vampire.

"Get your pants up," you tell him distantly. If you have to make a run for it, you aren’t risking your own neck to help him up if he trips over himself.

He does, and you shove his gun at him while you grab yours, when a quick glance to the feeds show you aren’t going to be overrun in the second you’re defenseless. But it’ll happen, soon enough; the reaper overhead snarls and the blow it aims lags after the dent and crunch that bursts down, mangling the roof. It’s some kind of rallying or hunting cry, because the reapers in the street begin to sprint.

"Ready?" He’s got a thumb on one of the panel’s switches, ready to flick. "UV’ll smoke most of ‘em, ‘cept the dipshit on the roof."

It’ll try to get in any way it can. You get what his nod to the door means: control where it gets in, so you aren’t surprised.

"Do it."

He does, and when what’s left of the pack is still flaking and sizzling, you put more than enough rounds in the remaining repeal. Just to be safe, one of the UV lights are angled it’s way, where it’s already wilting and curling like a dead spider.

Then it’s gone, too.

It’s a mood killer, but once you’re back in the van and he’s done radioing the team to let them know what’s been dealt with, you get into light petting easily enough.