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rafecameronssl4t · 5 months ago

Note

Omg god can you please do a forced marriage au. Where reader is being weirdly clingy(Ik it doesn’t really fit her vibe) and rafe’s weirded out. And she kisses him unexpectedly and he’s so confused.

Drunk kisses || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: fluffy fic which ik all of you have been wanting in this au so u are welcome ;)

Warnings: none really just fluff

Word count: 2,380

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Rafe barely glanced up from his laptop when the front doorbell rang. The sharp sound cut through the quiet of the house, but he quickly resumed typing, thinking nothing of it at first. It rang again, more insistently this time, drawing his attention. He frowned, closing his laptop and glancing toward the hallway.

"Anita?" he called out, expecting the familiar shuffle of the housekeeper’s footsteps. But silence greeted him in return. He checked his watch—it was past midnight. Of course, everyone had gone home by now.

With a frustrated sigh, Rafe stood and headed toward the foyer, the steady ringing making him wonder who could possibly be at their door at such an ungodly hour. He glanced at the small display screen by the entrance, his brow furrowing at the sight of you. You were slumped against your sister, who looked like she was struggling to hold you upright. Rafe’s confusion deepened as he swung open the door.

Before he could say anything, you staggered forward, collapsing right into his arms. Charlotte let out a startled gasp, covering her mouth in shock as Rafe instinctively caught you, his hands gripping your waist to steady you. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, trying to process what was happening. You looked up at him with a lazy, drunken smile, the scent of alcohol heavy on your breath.

The sight of you—usually so composed and poised—now giggling like a carefree girl was jarring. “Oh, look, Lottie! It’s my husband. My gorgeous husb—” you slurred, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you tried to blow a strand of hair away from your face. But before you could finish, Rafe cut you off, his annoyance already simmering beneath the surface.

"How much did you let her drink?" he snapped, turning his icy blue gaze toward Charlotte. There was disbelief in his voice, a hint of something protective and yet frustrated. You had been out of control before, but never like this. “I—I tried,” Charlotte stammered, her face flushed with guilt. “I gave her something else—”

“What? More alcohol?” Rafe’s tone was sharp, and Charlotte flinched under his harsh words. He couldn’t believe it. You were usually guarded, careful—this wasn’t like you at all. Rafe glanced down at you again, a mixture of irritation and concern flashing across his face as you leaned further into him, still smiling like the world was spinning too slowly for you.

"We're supposed to have breakfast with your parents tomorrow," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw clenched, the thought of having to face them with you like this filling him with dread. As much as he loathed the idea of those formal meals, they mattered in your world—the perfect image you were both supposed to maintain.

Rafe struggled to keep you upright, your legs barely cooperating as you leaned heavily against him, still giggling softly. His frustration flared again, and he shot a sharp glance at Charlotte, who stood frozen in the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. “How the hell did this even happen?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

Charlotte hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “She… she just kept ordering more drinks. I tried to stop her, I swear, but she insisted. And, well, you know how stubborn she can get.” Rafe let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I know." He looked down at you as you murmured something incoherent, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

"And you didn’t think to call me? Or at least cut her off?” “I—” Charlotte started but quickly swallowed her words when Rafe’s icy gaze met hers again. "I thought she'd sober up. I didn’t want to make a scene… and she kept saying she was fine." "Clearly, she’s not fine," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp as he adjusted his grip on you, trying to stop you from slipping further down his side.

“You should’ve stopped her. God, Charlotte, you know we have that damn breakfast tomorrow.” Charlotte’s eyes widened as if realising the gravity of the situation all over again. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand…” Rafe clenched his jaw, his patience thinning with each passing second. “Well, it did. And now I have to deal with this.” He shook his head, his grip tightening slightly on your waist as he hoisted you up a little higher.

“Mmm… Rafe," you mumbled softly, your head lolling against his chest. “You're always so serious.” Your words slurred together, and you let out another soft laugh, as if this entire situation was some kind of joke. Rafe's brow furrowed, his annoyance tempered for a moment by the sight of you so completely out of character. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this—carefree, uninhibited, and honestly, it unnerved him.

“You should go home, Charlotte,” Rafe finally said, his voice quieter now but still holding that authoritative edge. “I’ll take care of her.” Your sister looked hesitant, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. "Are you sure? I can help—" "No, just go. You've done enough." His tone left no room for argument, and Charlotte sighed in defeat, giving him a small nod before stepping back toward the door.

“I really am sorry,” she murmured softly, her voice laced with guilt. She cast one last glance at you, who was now resting your head against Rafe’s chest, your arms loosely draped around his neck. Rafe didn’t respond, his attention now fully on you as Charlotte finally made her exit.

The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly lit foyer. You stirred in his arms, blinking up at him with bleary eyes, the remnants of your smile still lingering. “You always look so serious, Rafe,” you whispered, your words thick with exhaustion. “Why can’t you just… relax?” Rafe sighed deeply, his frustration mixing with an odd sense of helplessness.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this—torn between annoyance and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Because someone has to be," he muttered, more to himself than to you. You giggled again, leaning your forehead against his chest. “Maybe I should be serious too, then. Like you. So we can both be… boring together.” You laughed softly at your own words, your fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest.

Rafe’s lips twitched again, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his usually stoic expression. You were a mess, slurring your words and giggling like a child, but in the soft, dim glow of the foyer, you looked undeniably beautiful. Strands of hair framed your face in a way that made you seem even more delicate, your skin glowing faintly under the soft lighting.

For a fleeting moment, he found himself captivated by how vulnerable and unguarded you appeared—so different from the strong-willed woman he was used to. But he quickly shook the thought away, forcing himself to stay focused. This was not the time to get caught up in sentiment. “You’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, though still touched with that same gentleness that had snuck in earlier.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed before you say something else you’ll regret.” His eyes lingered on your face, watching as your expression shifted from amusement to a peaceful kind of daze. The way you leaned further into him, trusting him completely in your intoxicated state, stirred something unexpected within him—an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and tenderness.

It unsettled him, but he pushed it aside, convincing himself it was just the responsibility of the moment. You hummed softly, your eyes fluttering closed, a contented sigh slipping past your lips. “Mmm… my gorgeous husband, taking care of me,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying a playful edge that made Rafe’s heart beat a little faster.

Even drunk, you were still testing him, still finding a way to get under his skin. He rolled his eyes, though there was no real malice behind it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m your gorgeous husband,” he muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused as he tightened his grip on you, making sure you were secure in his arms. “Let’s just focus on getting you upstairs in one piece.”

You chuckled softly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest, your breath warm against the fabric of his shirt. “Always so serious…” you mumbled, your voice trailing off as sleep began to claim you. Rafe glanced down at you again, shaking his head slightly. Even in this state, you still managed to get to him. He started moving toward the stairs, his steps careful as he balanced your weight against his own.

Rafe opened the door to your shared room, his movements steady as he guided you into the closet. “Here, you should get changed into something more comfortable,” he murmured, opening a drawer and pulling out one of his shirts—a soft, oversized one you often stole when you didn’t want to bother with your own clothes. He handed it to you, watching as your tired gaze shifted toward the shirt before flickering back to him.

“Can… can you help me take my dress off?” you muttered, barely audible, your voice tinged with exhaustion and the alcohol that still clouded your thoughts. You gave him those wide, pleading doe eyes that always managed to catch him off guard. Rafe inhaled sharply but quickly nodded. He’d seen you like this before—unguarded, your skin bare, but it never failed to stir something in him.

It wasn’t the sight of your skin that unsettled him; he was used to that. Over time, in this strange forced marriage, he’d grown accustomed to the intimacy of shared space, of your body in close proximity. It was the trust you displayed, the way you asked for his help now, that threw him off balance. You turned around, shifting your hair to one side, exposing the zipper of your dress.

Rafe reached for it, fingers grazing your back as he slowly pulled the zipper down, the fabric sliding easily off your shoulders. His eyes briefly flickered to the dress, a slight frown on his face—it was shorter than he liked, something he wasn’t thrilled about you wearing out. But now, as you stepped out of it, all he could think about was how fragile you looked.

You grabbed the shirt from his hands and pulled it over your head, the soft cotton falling past your thighs as you kicked off your heels with a relieved sigh. Rafe watched you for a moment longer before quietly guiding you toward the bathroom. He rummaged through the drawer, pulling out your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it before handing it to you. You brushed your teeth lazily, your movements growing slower as your eyelids drooped, exhaustion settling in.

Rafe stood by, waiting until you were done before helping you back to the bed. Just as your body sank into the soft sheets, ready to drift off into sleep, he lightly patted your cheek, keeping you from completely fading. "Uh-uh, gotta get that makeup off, or you'll throw a fit tomorrow morning," Rafe teased, reaching for the wipes on your vanity. You groaned in protest, your voice muffled against the pillow. “I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” Rafe retorted, walking back over and sitting on the edge of the bed. He began gently wiping the makeup from your face, his touch careful and methodical. He had done this before, knew the routine, and though the task was mundane, there was an unspoken closeness in these moments that neither of you ever acknowledged.

He returned to the bed, sitting beside you as he carefully wiped away the layers of makeup. His touch was gentle, more considerate than you expected, his brow furrowed in concentration as he made sure to remove every trace. You gazed up at him through heavy lids, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin and the softness of his gestures.

When he was done, he moved to pull away, but your fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him. Rafe looked at you, confusion briefly crossing his face, but the intensity in your gaze softened him. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice tender, vulnerable in a way it rarely was. Your eyes drifted to his lips, your heart picking up speed as the moment stretched between you.

Rafe swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he nodded, his voice hushed. “Of course.” Without another word, you gently pulled him closer, closing the space between you. Your lips met his in a slow, tentative kiss—an action that felt more like a quiet confession than anything else. Rafe stiffened at first, but then his lips moved against yours, soft yet firm, as though the weight of the night had brought you both to this point.

But he pulled back after a moment, his eyes searching yours for something he wasn’t even sure of. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, pulling the sheets up to tuck you in. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a second longer than usual before he stood, leaving the room without another glance.

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains as you slowly lifted your head from the pillow, a dull throb of pain radiating through your temples. You winced, squinting against the brightness as the events of the previous night came flooding back—Charlotte, the drinks, Rafe helping you to bed, and… the kiss.

You stirred slightly, feeling the sheets move beside you. Glancing over, you saw Rafe’s sleeping form, his features relaxed. He lay facing you, still half-asleep, though he must have sensed your movement because he mumbled groggily, “On your bedside table.”

You turned, spotting the glass of water and the medicine waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pounding in your head. Even when his words were rough, his actions showed a softness you were beginning to see more often.

You reached for the water and pills, the gesture not lost on you. As you downed the water, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, wondering if, beneath all the tension and complications between you, something deeper had started to bloom.

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motherofdogs1010 · 19 days ago

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Guys Not My Age I (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier

Warning: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy

A/N: Re-write of 'Need to Know'

Series Masterlist

Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics

Her head throbbed and pulsated as she begun to wake up.

The overall shittyness of a hangover taking over her body as the loud, blarming phone alarm rung hard in her ears as she groaned. She buried her face into the pillow as she felt movement coming from next to her, immediate confusion filling her mind as she heard, "Shit, sorry. Forgot that I had the stupid alarm on."

She recognized that voice even with it being laced with grogginess and sleep as she snapped open her eyes, wincing from the daylight that peeked over the curtains.

She was met with an unfamiliar room that looked like the standard college dorm: books and notes in an slight mess on the desk with a laptop hanging by it, posters on the walls and the distinct sound of boys laughing and footsteps coming down the halls.

Turning her head, her eyes widened as the memories of the previous night filled her as she resisted to gulp as she was met with the shirtless image of Peter fiddling with his phone.

The memories of the night before felt like a tidal wave washing over her as she remembered having gone out to drinks with the Avengers team to celebrate their latest takedown of yet another Hydra compound (she handled hacking into the tightly encrypted computers) and she knew Tony had partly also wanted to take her out to get her back out onto the dating scene.

She watched as Peter scratched his head for a moment, seemingly beginning to wake back up as she came to the realization of her naked body under the blanket and the realization of her memories being confirmed as she saw a glimpse of the scratches on Peter's back.

Sitting up as she tugged up the blanket, she wondered how the hell she was suppose to do a walk of shame out of her as Peter said, "anyway, want to get breakfast?"

"What?"

Peter tilted his head a little, "want to get breakfast? I thought since we were getting along so well..."

The ache between her legs from last night a reminder of how well they got along.

It wasn't like she didn't enjoy it or anything, but it was the realization that she had slept with someone nearly ten years younger than her.

"Peter, I'm-"

"I know. You're 30 and I'm 21, I don't care." Peter shrugged and she couldn't help but get distracted by his strong physique. "I told you I don't want a girl my age, I've wanted you."

It made her heart clench at statement.

"All I'm asking for is you take a chance", Peter pleaded, bringing their lips into a soft kiss.

It made her melt.

"Fine. One chance."

Peter grinned.

"But I refuse to be seen by a bunch of frat boys so you better make sure they clear out of here. I'm too old to be dealing with that."

"You're barely 30, no even that old."

Y/N downed the shot of tequila that Tony had passed her, laughing as she felt the burn in her throat and hearing Tony cheering. Say what you want about Tony, but he knew how to party as he had taken them to some nightclub that he bought for shits and giggles.

"Enjoying the burn", Tony teased, Y/N laughed.

"It's the tequila sweats that I hate", she said back.

Standing up from the little VIP booth Tony had rented for them all, Y/N scoped out her surroundings. She saw Nat dragging a bashful Steve to the dance floor, Steve was awkwardly moving around before he finally got the hang of it and began dancing with Nat. Y/N laughed as she watched Steve get down on the dance floor, she spotted Vision (who had his human form on) with Wanda near the bar as Wanda was getting another drink.

"Are you having fun?"

Y/N looked in the direction to see Peter standing there with a grin, Y/N smiled back at him.

"I wondered where you were", Y/N responded, "I always forget your 21."

"My baby face makes it that way", Peter joked.

Y/N had to admit, Peter Parker was a very attractive man, especially right now with his hair gelled back, a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. Tony said Peter had changed a lot since high school, having managed to join a fraternity in his first year of college; she had only met Peter in the last year so hearing that he was anything but confident before was a little shocking since he walked around like a little mini Tony sometimes.

Peter moved a little closer to her as Tony announced that he was going to join Wanda at the bar.

Sam and Clint were missing, both men having taken some time off to go visit their families, especially for Sam since he wanted to be there for one of his nephew's birthdays.

Although, the person that everyone seemed to ignore that wasn't there was a certain Winter Soldier, but it seemed everyone was on the rocks with the man at the moment. But cheating and immediately bringing around the girl you cheated with will do that, won't it?

Of course that was the second main reason behind Tony bringing nearly all of them out to the club was because of her confiding in Tony about being ready to get back out there. She felt no issue confiding in Tony considering how close of friends they were, she was coming out in his upcoming wedding to Pepper in just a few months time.

"It's a cute baby face", Y/N teased, Peter chuckled.

"I'm glad you're having fun", Peter said, "you deserve it."

Y/N smiled as she tugged up the neckline of her red mini dress, the fabric clinging to her large breasts and hips. It was an off the shoulder dress that she chose just for the occasion with long sleeves and paired with some red bottoms that Nat was letting her borrow.

Y/N watched as Peter looked a bit indecisive as if he was second guessing himself before he blurted out, "Would you like to dance?"

"Don't you think you should be dancing with someone your own age?" she teased before Peter snaked a toned arm around her waist.

"Age is just a number, right?" Peter answered with a wink. "When it comes to two consenting adults, of course."

She wouldn't be an idiot to say she hadn't noticed the younger man's eyes roaming her figure. But she never thought much of it considering she had been in a relationship with Bucky, but that bridge was burned a lot time ago.

She was here to have fun, dance a little, drink... there was no harm in just a dance, right?

"Alright, Spiderboy", Y/N said, "show me what you got."

Wanna know what it's like (like) Baby, show me what it's like (like) I don't really got no type (type) I just wanna fuck all night

The sound of Doja Cat singing could be heard even in the women's restroom, the door locked in a rush as Peter pressed her harder into said door. Their tongues dancing across one another as she could taste the alcohol on his tongue, Y/N moaned as Peter slotted his knee between her legs, pressing against her wet cunt and beginning to rock her hips against him.

But Peter pulled his knee away and she whimpered, breaking the kiss for a moment before she felt one of his hands trail under her dress, finding her thong.

"You're soaked", Peter teased, she shuddered as Peter ran a finger down her slit. "I bet I could slid right in."

As if that was his cue, Peter slid a finger into her, Y/N let her head fall into Peter's chest as he slowly began to pump his finger in her.

"Don't tease", she moaned as she brought his face down to hers.

What's your size? (Size) Add, subtract, divide ('vide) Daddy don't throw no curves (curves) Hold up, I'm goin' wide (wide) We could just start at ten (ten) Then we can go to five (five) I don't play with my pen (pen) I mean what I write

She connected their lips again as Peter slid another finger into, fingering her harder now as he began to rub her clit in tight circles. Y/N cried out at the sensations as she rocked her hips in time with Peter's movements.

Peter began to trail kisses down her neck as her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth falling open as pants escaped her mouth.

"Fuck you're beautiful", Peter said as he quickened his fingers. "Come on, Y/N, cum on me."

Y/N felt like she was in the Twilight Zone right now, but fuck it, she was enjoying it with the way Peter was fingering her. She could feel that tight knot building in her as Peter's fingers reached an area in her that made her nearly tear up in pleasure, his fingers practically massaging it as she began to tug on his hair as her toes began to curl.

"P-Peter", she panted, "gonna...cum..."

She saw Peter grin in satisfaction as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She felt breathless and fuzzy as Peter fingered her through it before she whimpered at the overstimulation, which Peter pulled his fingers out.

"Still think I should find someone my own age?" Peter teased, she narrowed her eyes as she panted.

Peter slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them.

"I always knew you'd taste sweet", Peter said as she reached for his belt buckle.

Peter brought a hand up, squishing her cheeks together and forcing her lips into a pout; he pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips as she successfully managed to get unzip Peter's slacks, slipping her hand inside to begin to tease the younger man in front of her.

"Now, you wanna be a tease?" Peter groaned as he began to move her to one of the many sinks in the bathroom.

I just can't help but be sexual (whoa) Tell me your schedule (yeah) I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will) I do what I can to get you off (I will)

Peter had gotten her on the sink, legs spread and her thong stuffed in one of his pockets as he began to rock into her. Her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she felt Peter hike up her leg on him higher, sending him into deeper territory and brushing up against her G-spot as he began to rub her clit in time with his rocking.

"P-Peter", she slurred, eyes beginning to water from pleasure.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so good", Peter whined as he gripped the sink below her.

His thrusts becoming rougher as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Might just fuck him with my makeup on (I will) Eat it like I need an apron on (yeah, ay) Eat it 'til I need to change my thong (yeah, ay) We could do it to your favorite song (yeah, ay)

Her makeup was ruined, she was sure of it from the amount of kissing, sweat and tears. Y/N shivered as Peter bite down on a part of her neck, making her clench around her even tighter and causing him to let out more groans of pleasure, his hips slapping into her even rougher.

The sound of skin slapping skin rung in bathroom, echoing off the walls as she brought Peter's face back to her own, smashing their lips together as she squealed when her second orgasm hit her, her legs shaking and back arching.

You're exciting, boy, come find me Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" Fuck that feeling both us fighting Could he try me? (Yeah) mmm, most likely

She had pushed Peter onto one of the toilets in the bathroom, his dick red and leaking when she had straddled him before sinking down onto him. Y/N shivered as she felt Peter stretching her out again and she knew she was going to be feeling him the next day as she moaned and threw her head back at the delicious stretch his cock gave her cunt again.

Peter gripped her hips before grabbing her ass and smacking it, she pulled her face towards his, connecting their lips as she begun to rock her hips.

Oh, wait, you a fan of the magic? Poof, pussy like an Alakazam (yeah) I heard from a friend of a friend That that dick was a ten out of ten

She could someone knocking on the door, but she could care less right with Peter buried so deep inside her as his hands that gripped her hips so tightly began to help rock her.

Baby, I need to know, mmm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🕷️🕸️💻~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes Y/N wondered what Peter had been like before he went to Empire State and joined his fraternity, and in this moment as they sat across from one another at one of the on-campus cafes, she figured maybe this might have been it with how he fidgeted a little.

"Nervous?" she mused, "this was your idea."

"I can't be nervous on a date with a pretty girl?" Peter remarked and she chuckled.

"Not after last night." Peter grinned and ran a hand through his fluffy, chocolate brown hair. "Besides, this isn't a date. This is you trying to convince me why I should go on a date with you."

"Sorry, it's just... I've liked you for awhile, but I didn't say anything because-"

"Because of Bucky?"

Peter looked down sheepishly and Y/N reached over to grasp his hand.

"And then when you two broke up, I didn't think it would be right to tell you because of how everything went down."

"You're doing a lot better than he did", Y/N said. "I appreciate that you waited, Peter. That's really sweet of you."

Peter grinned a boyish grin that Y/N couldn't help, but replicate back at him.

She had agreed to a date with Peter.

In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but think of the thoughts that others might have with her being seen with Peter. She examined her face in the mirror, trying to see if she had any wrinkles, age-related blemishes and sighed.

"You look stressed." Slightly startled, Y/N turned around to find Nat standing the doorway of her room with a curious look on her face.

"Just a little."

"Where are you off to? Hot date tonight?" Nat asked with a grin.

"About that", Y/N trailed off, looking at her outfit.

A white, blue-floral printed dress that cinched at the waist and was off the shoulder adorned her body with her keeping her makeup clean and simple, and her face loose and away from her face.

"Who's the lucky person?"

"Peter."

Nat was silent for a moment as Y/N felt the pit of anxiety in her stomach at the thought of her friend's judgement before Nat said, "well damn, didn't think the kid had the balls to make a move."

"What?" Y/N asked as she went to grab a pair of platform sandals.

"Anyone would working sense could tell the kid was eyeing your ass all the time", Nat nonchalantly said with a shrug. "Don't tell you didn't notice?"

"I noticed", Y/N defended, slipping her feet into the shoes. "I just thought it was because he was young."

"I also take it that you were with him when you disappeared from the club?"

Y/N's eyes widened as she looked away before Nat let out a laugh.

"Damn, you have to tell me all the details when you get back", Nat teased. "But I'm glad you're getting back out there again."

"You don't think it's weird? With me being older than Peter?"

"If men in their sixties can date women young enough to be their daughters, why can't you go on a date with a younger guy?" Nat shrugged.

Y/N gave Nat a smile and sucked in a breath.

"So, how do I look?" Y/N asked, posing for a moment.

"Like Parker will most likely fuck the shit out of you."

"Perfect."

Peter texted her not too long after that he had arrived and in an air of her favorite perfume, she met him out in the living room of the compound.

A sense of satisfaction fell over her as she noticed Peter's eyes raking over her body as she took in his appearance. His hair slightly gelled away from his face, a white button down shirt and black slacks framed his body.

They were alone in the living room, a rare event since the space always had at least one person present but apparently not today.

"You look amazing", Peter complimented, stretching out his hand and grasping hers.

He gently pulled her towards him as his eyes hungrily stared into hers.

"Thank you", she said with a small smirk. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Never worn it before."

Lost in their own world, they never noticed a certain figure hanging around the corner, seething as he watched Peter met her lips in a soft kiss.

His metal hand clenching into a fist as he turned away, fuming at the sight before him.

TAGLIST

@theoraekenslover

#reader insert #x reader #chubby reader #spiderman #mcu!peter parker x reader #peter parker series #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine

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minawritesfanfic · 5 months ago

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You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: After finding out about Dexter’s after hour hobby you start to investigate him while teasing him from afar that you know what he is.

Part 2

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Finding a reason to go up to homicide was easy I had an email come in from the sergeant but I also couldn’t be bothered to deliver the brand new computers to homicide yesterday like I was supposed to. I carried the box out of the tiny office, normally I would’ve struggled to carry something this heavy but hauling around dead bodies was unsurprising a great work out. I used my elbow to press the button for the elevator and waited for it to come down, I heard someone come up behind me and turned to see my mystery man. Boy does he have great timing, I glanced down at his ID and under his photo was his name, Dexter Morgan. Got you, I gave him a polite smile turning around as I heard the familiar ding of the elevator and stepped inside. He stepped inside as well tucking his hands into his pockets, it felt odd being so close to someone and knowing except who they are without them knowing a thing.

His expression was calm but I could tell from the slight fidgeting he wasn’t as calm as he let on. Like freak out by last nights encounter, I mean I would be too. If someone caught me just as I was killing someone and there was a high chance they saw my face, I would be shitting my pants and looking over my shoulder for days. Though I have no plans of exposing his secret because that would mean bringing into the question why I was at the car dealership, why I hadn’t reported it then, or of I didn’t mention that part what was I doing at Ann Cohen’s house that late at night anyways. No excuse I could come up would lose their suspicion so it just seemed far better to not involve myself in it at all, if anything it would be easier to just deal with this Dexter person on my own.

The elevator dinged again as we arrived on the next floor, and we both stepped out with our left foot as if we were synchronized together. Our eyes met again and we awkwardly walked out one after another, I let him step ahead of me and watched as he disappeared into the tiny room in the back of the department whilst I began distributing the laptops to each officer and collecting their old ones. I hadn’t been asked to do that but I figured if I didn’t do it now I would likely be sent to do it anyway, and I didn’t have a reason to come up here twice in a day so it’s not like I needed it as an excuse. Doing it now simply saved me from unnecessary work later on, as I got to the last laptop I found myself at Sergeant Doakes desk. My final task in the homicide department for today, hopefully at least.

“Good morning Sergeant, I got your email what can I do for you?” I said as I handed him the new laptop.

“Morning, I heard you were the person to ask about getting into some encrypted files?”

“I am indeed, you can just give me the device and I’ll get tight to it. Is there a deadline or can I do this at my own pace?”

“No deadline as I’m not sure if they will be anything helpful on there, but please make it a priority.” He pulled a silver Dell mini 9, I set it on top of the others in the box making a mental note to look at it later.

“Alright I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can then, if that’s all I should probably go deal with these.” I said raising the box slightly bringing attention to it.

“Thank you, please get back to me as soon as you can.”

With all my task completed I adjust grip on the box and took one last look around the department before turning to leave, my eyes drifted Dexter’s little hiding spot. I was surprised to see him already looking at me, his eye remained trained on me even as I turned away and walked out the department. A odd chill went down my spine as I recalled the look in his eyes it was empty and unreadable, I had definitely crossed a line today. There was no need to make him suspicious of me just yet, I still had plenty left to learn about him. I stepped inside the elevator and rode it back down to my floor and walked back to my office, and quickly started on my next task.

I decided to ignored the laptop for now and followed through with other requests in the building first, I felt it was better to run around now instead of constantly going back and forth. That way I could work on the things I needed to in the office uninterrupted, so I set off to step up a new computer for the deputy chief, helped track down a suspect using their phone for narcotics, and updating the missing persons website to showcase the recent disappearances. I spent the first half of my day running around and was happy to sit and work in my office until 4pm came around, I sat back in my chair and just took a few moments to breathe. I hadn’t made any significant progress with the laptop and honestly it was starting to frustrate me, I didn’t expect this to be easy but whoever encrypted these files sure as hell knew what they were doing. So instead of frustrating myself further I I decided to find out just who Dexter Morgan was, looking him up in the system I saw he had no priors in the system and seemed to be a relatively stand up citizen, too good of one to be honest. I knew it was a facade, considering I heard him say so, you can’t be a serial killer and not have a facade. I found that you had a sister Debra Morgan, I recognized her name from the news about the ice truck killer, but most importantly I found your house.

At first I considered talking to his sister and befriending her but I needed to stay out of sight for now, it I raise your attention any more than I already have it would be long before I might end up on your table as well. Of course that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to bother him from a distance, I needed some sort of distraction while I went through his place so I had a friend of mine give him a little surprise. I stepped through the open door of your apartment, I glanced around looking at the layout and simple decor.

“Dexter, you left the door open again honey. I thought we talked about that.” I said as I stepping further inside and found a repair man tiding his tools on the floor. “Oh hello, have you seen Dexter?”

“No, manager let me in. Someone reported a leak.” He said not even bothering to look up at me.

“Oh yeah, I told him to get things checked out I’m glad he followed through. Was everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s in order. You can rest assured there’s no leaks in your boyfriend’s apartment.” He finished packing and began to leave.

“That’s great to hear, you have a wonderful day sir.” He gave me an awkward smile and shook his head as he left.

I shit the door behind him and looked around, so this was Dexter’s apartment. I immediately put on gloves, after my research I realized he was In forensics so leaving behind my finger prints wasn’t ideal. I started by checking the books making sure there was nothing inside or under them, then I checked his desk. I rummaged through the drawers and found nothing but the usual clutter, I decided to check his computer since I was more likely to find something there. I debugged my way through the login screen and got into his computer, on the surface there was again nothing but I kept digging until found it. His search history which stupidly he never clears, I found that he had used a lot of police resources from the comfort of his home. Don’t you know that’s illegal Dexter? Thankfully some of the searches showed the names he looked up, I borrowed one of his pens and a sticky note then began writing down as many of the names I could and the days he searched them. If my theory was right these were likely murderers as well who will all turn up missing shortly after dexter searched them. Once I was done there I ventured into the rest of the house and found it all to be normal, minus the obnoxious chest in his closet which I thought was odd but I didn’t have my lock pick to get into it. There wasn’t much left for me to do so I figured I should probably leave incase Dexter also decides to visit home on his lunch break.

★ ✮ ★

Dexter had been on edge all morning, looking over his shoulder just waiting for the coworkers to swoop in and arrest him. As illogical as the thought was, there was no evidence for whoever saw him to back up their claims. Even if they searched his apartment they would find nothing, but an accusation like that doesn’t go away even if it’s proven false. People would still be suspicious and Dexter certainly didn’t need any more prying eyes when he already had Doakes tailing him everywhere he went. He barely managed to get him off his back last night by popping one of his tires, though hope Doakes truly bought his ‘addiction’ and would leave him alone thinking he was in recovery. Still even though no one came knocking at his door during the night to arrest him, which truthfully only made him more anxious but he tried to rationalize it and soothe his anxiety. Maybe they didn’t see his face, they definitely didn’t know his name, maybe they hadn’t seen much of anything, maybe this maybe that. Nothing was certain and Dexter did not like that, he had been careful to live by Harry’s code and the number one rule was to not get caught yet here he was. With a heavy heart Dexter stepped into his tiny slice of the homicide department and was greeted by Masuka.

“Oh hey Dex, there’s something on your desk waiting for you. It looks like someone has a secret admirer.” He said with his signature laugh.

Dexter quirked a brow and saw it, a brightly colored cupcake with a pin stuck in it that said ‘eat me’. He furrowed his brows and ripped the cupcake in half with his thumbs and found a note inside, ‘Roger was a scumbag, wasn’t he? Your secret admirer’. Dexter felt his blood run cold as he fell back into his seat, whoever it was that saw him knew it was him. He didn’t like this not one bit, he needed to find out who sent this.

“Hey Masuka, any idea who sent me this?”

“I can’t tell you that, the point of a secret admirer is that its a secret.” Dexter frowned but didn’t push it, there were other ways to find out.

Dexter was wrong, terribly wrong, whoever this ‘secret admirer’ was had connections with people all throughout the building. He had been asking all around the station all day but everyone he asked was adamant on not exposing their identity, it was like some sick game and he was losing it. His nerves were eased because at least it seems like they aren’t going to expose him for his dark secret for now, but Dexter didn’t like the uncertainty of not knowing if they ever would. This isn’t what he should be worried about right now, he needed to get ahead of this bay harbor butcher thing before they tied it back to him. It was only a matter of time until Lundy would catch on, but he also needed to work things out with Rita and convince her he was committed to his ‘recovery’. There was a lot more on his plate than he was comfortable with, Dexter felt as if he was starting to drown, if things continued the way they were he was certain he would go insane.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

Carpe Diem | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After himself being ditched by Oliver, they meet once again. Both seemingly skirting around what happened in the Common Room when they last saw one another. | Word Count: 5.1k~ (oops) | Warnings below the cut!

Part One: Quid Pro Quo Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

A/N: I feel...like the word count is overboard but FUCK IT it's my blog 😈

“Greek and Latin both belong to the Indo-European language family, which does not necessarily mean they are similar. The branches are totally different. Whereas Latin belongs to the Romance branch, Greek belongs to the…”

She half-listens to the lecture, caught between Professor Wardon’s monotone ramblings and scribbling whatever bits and pieces she can string together in swirly handwriting, trying to ignore Trevor two rows in front of her, typing loudly on his brand new Macbook that he no doubt got from his well-off parents for Christmas.

Pencil and paper for the peasants, she thinks bitterly.

The laptop she has back in her dorm is clunky, too thick for carrying in her bag, and any notes she makes now will have to be typed up meticulously later. She supposes it’s a good way of getting the information to be irreparably printed into her brain though. That’s the only thing keeping her from going insane.

Which is where she finds herself now, in the wee hours of the morning, her fingers so tired and eyes so strained she feels that all the letters and characters are beginning to merge together.

She's just about to close the damn thing when a notification blares in the bottom right corner of her screen.

‘m_gav_314159265359 is now online’

She presses her lips together to stifle a laugh at the username, it makes her giggle every time. Of course his username is fucking Pi.

After their little ‘happening’ in the Common Room, they'd talked for a bit over MSN, sometimes texting when she had enough credit and even more rarely meeting up at Trinity College campus. Their timetables never seemed to line up very often, so their meetings were quick and over before they could even get settled into really getting to know each other.

It felt strange to have done something so exciting and yet not really know someone.

The memory made her blush. She was never usually that impulsive and brazen. But she didn't regret it.

Everytime Michael saw her, his cheeks flushed almost without her even needing to try. And it felt nice to see someone act like that in her presence.

After lectures had started after Christmas into the New Year and then into Spring, she found herself somewhat self-conscious. Second guessing herself. Wondering if the freedom and calmness of the holiday period had given him a new sense of clarity.

After all, he'd not spoken to her once since lectures had started again.

A heaviness weighed in her chest, bitterly like rejection.

Maybe she was delirious from the time of night, but she felt a surge of courage, desperately wanting to just know if this was going to be more or not.

She felt her cheeks heat somewhat, rubbing the backs of her knuckles against her lips. There was no time to reply before he sent another.

And if what he'd said before didn't make her face burn, that certainly did. She nearly smirked when she thought to herself, 'you mean when I sucked you off in the Common Room?'

But she didn't type that. She decided to have mercy on him, if only a little.

His replies were so blunt and to the point that they were so quintessentially Michael. She found herself wondering if what he'd typed before had been for the intention of making her blush, but she doubted it. He seemed the type to be somewhat oblivious to how words could affect the opposite sex.

Or anything to do with the opposite sex for that matter.

Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she typed off a few quick goodbyes and with a soft, plastic tap, shut her laptop for the night.

“There are no fit guys in my class this semester, fucking livid,” Priya rolls her eyes, nursing a stale pint and a cigarette.

“Did you really expect Modern Languages to be teeming with attractive men?” She smirks in response.

“No. But I at least expected a good shag within the first three months.”

“Does they have to be within our course?”

“No, course not. I'm not lazy as fuck. Can’t be arsed to go off campus.”

She laughs, waving the smoke trail that's formed between their faces, the smell of cigarettes and damp, beer-soaked carpets fill her senses, nursing the only pint she's capable of downing.

“Don't shit where you eat, Priya.”

“Don't you fuckin’ start,” she grins with all her perfect teeth before checking her phone, “fuck, is that the time. Sorry mate you've got like half your pint left-”

“Don't be silly, just go. Whoever you're meeting is bound to have a bigger cock than me anyway.”

“You're a nasty bitch, you know that?” she smiles, standing and pulling her mini-skirt down, “see you later? Catch up?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Have fun!”

“Oh I will!”

She smiles, sipping the stale beer as Priya rushes out the door excitedly tapping the keypads on her phone in reply to a guy no-doubt, nearly running right into a lamppost.

She pulled out her own phone, spotting a new message from the ex-boyfriend she hadn’t heard a peep out of since Freshers Week, groaning with a displeased expression at the first few lines of text that read as if he were desperate. Even over the crackling sound of the speakers and Daniel Powter’s ‘Bad Day’ lulling quietly through the pub, she was still sensitive to the sound of his voice.

“-get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.”

She had to crane her neck, half-swivelled on her chair, but it was undoubtedly him. Only one person had that hissy, direct way of speaking, had dirty, blonde hair that touched the nape of his neck and was likely to wear such an…interesting selection of clothes.

Her mouth was barely open before she realised it was Michael, and by then he was too far away to shout from across a busy pub. She found herself with a sort of stupid grin, watching him walk with such a lanky gait, as if walking were an inhuman thing for him to do.

It took her a few moments to text back a reply to her ex before she looked up again, eyebrows furrowed when she saw that whoever Michael had been with, was now umming and ahhing about whether to join the popular lot, for which she recognised Felix Catton amongst them, shockingly ill-dressed in a ‘what happens in Kassiopi stays in Kassiopi’ t-shirt, with a cigarette between his lips that had been inhaled to a nub.

She grimaced. Only rich people could dress so fucking shocking.

And then her heart leapt in a different way when she saw Michael look distantly at Oliver, his hand half-raised in an awkward wave, his face crumbling in a way where she knew he was disappointed and yet, not surprised in the slightest.

It was when Michael pushed his glasses up his nose in a way she couldn’t help but find sweet and go for the door, that she slipped from the stool she was on, a quarter of her pint left, and took off after him.

“Michael!”

The late winter air nipped at her skin, cursing internally that his legs were so fucking long he could stride a hell of a lot further than her.

“Michael!”

It wasn’t hard to see the glint of his glasses lenses off the streetlights once he’d turned to face her, his lips parted in surprise and a heat rising to his cheeks.

He swallowed visibly, “H-hey..”

She felt her own heart rattle in her chest at how easy it was to fluster him, “Hey, you alright?”

For a moment, the self-proclaimed mathematical genius seemed genuinely lost for words, his throat closing up on him like he was having a sort of allergic reaction to the opposite sex. So with all that, he simply nodded, his hands clenched as if not knowing what to do with them.

“Sorry about your mate, that was a shitty thing to do.”

“Oh, he’s…he’s not my mate.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together to warm them from the chill, “d’you wanna go somewhere?”

Michael’s eyes behind his glasses widened, “like…together?”

“No, I’ll make you go off on your own,” she grinned, “yes together!”

He huffed an embarrassed but elated laugh, and only now her eyes studied his shirt, cocking her head in amusement at the ‘that’s how I roll’ shirt with what looked like a maths equation beneath it. The actual meaning was lost on her, but it was so dorky it made her smile.

“U-uh, my mum bought it me for Christmas...” he muttered quickly to which she cracked an even bigger smile, the two of them laughing quietly for a moment before he spoke up again.

“Do you wanna come to mine?” he asked, and it was so direct it made her blink, her lungs feeling as if they were fluttering, “I mean-my dorm.”

She wet her lips from the dry cold, watching how nervous and twitchy he was. And how it reminded her of the last time they were alone together.

“Like…catch up or something. I-I’ve got alcohol if you-”

“That’d be lovely, Michael.”

He at least seemed grateful that she’d actually replied to save him from rambling, and even cracked a thin-lipped smile himself, clearly and delightfully nervous. Thirty-minutes ago, he’d have never considered this to be the ending to his evening.

Michael’s room is disturbingly tidy, she wonders if he actually even lives here. It’s like those university rooms that they take photos of to advertise the ‘spacious’ and ‘community-driven’ atmosphere of campus life.

At least it was clean, she mused as Michael passed her a bottle of the only alcohol he had, which were lukewarm WKDs.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking a sugary sip and looking about the room. Michael has since cracked open his own drink, but seems disinterested in it as it rests on his bouncing knee, looking up at her from where he’s sat on his desk chair from under his brow.

His laptop sits shut, pencils in a neat line next to it. His walls are bare, with what she can only assume are blue tack marks from the previous tenant’s last year. With the exception of a wall-mounted calendar next to his desk.

“No posters? Was hoping I could be nosy, see what you like.”

When she turns back to Michael he quickly looks down as if not wanting to be caught staring, “It’d just be maths stuff.”

“And Carol Vorderman?” she teases mindlessly, not catching the way his cheeks go alight.

She hums an amused laugh behind the bottle at her lips, “It’s very tidy.”

When he just replies with a shrug, she scoots off the bed to have a roam about the place, needing only a few steps to cross the room to his bookcase, filled to the brim neatly with books. She runs her finger along some of the spines.

“You’re not going to mess anything up are you?”

She laughs, coming out more of a snort, which makes her cheeks warm, “Sorry. Just curious about your books. ‘Mathematics of Language. Sounds like a bit of me and you.”

There’s that flush again.

That deer in the headlights look.

“Uh…just sounded interesting.”

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

She smirks, “interesting.”

There’s a silence that for a moment neither of them are able to shake.

Michael swallows visibly, “don’t know yet..”

She sees something in his expression when a playful smile lifts across her face, suddenly the memories and implications of what they’d done before now weighing heavily on them. And all at once, he’s able to smell the body scrub she’d used in the shower that morning and eyes flitting to the glint of her stud earrings. He’d remembered brushing past them with his fingers when her mouth wrapped around his-

“And who says you’re not a languages man?” she presses with a teasing lilt to her voice. The tone and sing-songy nature of her voice has his heart doing backflips, feeling as if he could feel the erratic beating between his ribs.

Michael seems stuck in the position he finds himself as she lazily crosses the room, slipping back on his bed, one hand brushing across his bedsheets and the other setting the drink on his bedside table. For a long moment, his eyes couldn’t leave her. The whole situation was suitably extraordinary. A girl who had come onto him (to say the least) was now in his room, sat on his bed, touching his things…all while wearing something he personally deemed unsuitable for the cold, a dress with black tights beneath.

She turns her head to him, smiling, “you seem nervous.”

He swallows, trying to claw at any sort of reply, “is that an accusation?”

It comes out a bit harsher than he probably expected, but instead of recoiling, she bites her lip as if to stifle a full-toothed grin, “an observation.”

He shrugs, “just never had a girl in here before.”

“Worried I’ll mess up your feng shui?”

“My what?”

She genuinely laughs at that, nearly smacking her head on the bed frame, but a hearty chuckle all the same. And Michael doesn’t know why his own cheeks start to heat up at that, taking this opportunity that her eyes are shut to look down at her legs. For some reason, making her laugh just makes him want to try more.

He’s never had that feeling before. Wanting to make someone laugh.

“No, really, my what.”

She meets his eyes brightly with her own, “feng shui, it’s like…the vibe of a room, a space. Like, how you place your furniture or whatever.”

Michael raises a brow, his lip quirking on one side, “sounds like bullshit.”

“It probably is.” she laughs.

“Can I ask you something?”

The quick u-turn and tone in conversation has her eyes meet his nervously, her interest and curiosity piqued. Her hands find themselves nervously stroking her legs, the texture of the tights providing some level of comfort, “yeah sure.”

She can't quite figure out what expression he's trying to put on. His brows are furrowed in judgement and a curious sense of guarding himself. And yet he's sat back in his seat, looking at her like he is trying to figure her out, and yet wants to know why she is the way she is.

“Why did you do that?”

She blinks at the accusatory and monotone rhythm of his way of speaking.

“Do what.”

“Don't play stupid. Doesn't suit you.”

She nearly scoffs at that, “what? Why have you gone all weird all of a sudden?”

“Why did you do…that at the Christmas party?”

She shrugs and shakes her head, as if the answer should be obvious, “because I wanted to? And you didn't seem to mind either.”

“I didn't-that's not the point!” he retorts, “are you genuinely taking the mick out of me?”

“You've asked that before and no.”

“Well why then?”

“Is it not enough to really think that I find you interesting? And nice to talk to?”

Of all the things she expected Michael Gavey to go quiet at, it certainly wasn't that. But she watches him all the same, the line between his brow slowly disappearing as his frown vanishes.

She cocks her head, “and not bad looking either.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean it!”

“Nobody wants the fucking maths virgin-”

“Michael. I don't give a fuck about that,” she says calmly, “Hell, I was a virgin not that long ago. You keep saying ‘nobody wants the virgin’ but you can't keep using that as an excuse just because you're embarrassed you haven't done anything.”

He sighs, like he doesn't want to believe her. And she can hardly believe how self-deprecating and yet direct this man can be in a single breath.

“Look, if you don't want to talk to me, I can always go-”

Almost as soon as she is stood, he is too, one large hand wrapped around her forearm, “No.”

They've been sat so long, she had almost forgotten how tall he was, and the difference between them briefly has her tummy doing back flips. From here, she is able to smell whatever body wash he uses, and if she had to guess, probably blue radox.

“No, I didn't say I wanted you to go. Stay…”

He doesn't say ‘please’ once, and yet she's able to hear the desperation.

When she doesn't move, his grip loosens, and she feels tingly all over when his hand slides up her arm.

“Can I kiss you again like last time?”

She almost smiles in adoration at how he asks it, but for the sake of saving him the embarrassment of thinking she's laughing at him, settles for a simple and gentle nod of her head. She is sure she's not really thought it through. Weighing up the pros and cons isn't exactly the first thing on her mind right now though as Michael has to bend significantly to crash his lips to hers.

Much like last time, he is a bit endearingly clumsy, his lips moving quickly on hers like he's running a race with his mouth. This time there is no pool table for him to cage her against, but all the same his legs take him forwards until her knees hit the edge of his bed.

By the time he is on top of her, she's managed to weave her fingers through his hair, her nose nudging against his glasses every now and then, and guiding him with her own movements to slow down and enjoy the moment, with no need to rush.

She knows that secretly he's probably just excited.

But this time, his hands are extremely active.

She's unable to help the breathy whimper between desperate kisses as he tentatively squeezes her thighs, not quite brave enough to go beneath the dress yet and drifting upwards to her breasts, touching and clutching fondly, as if any harsh grip or movement and she'll get up and leave.

He's still unsure, maybe even nervous, she can feel it.

It's here she realises that whether he is doing it subconsciously or not, she can feel the strained bulge at the front of his trousers rubbing up against the inside of her leg, probably chasing friction that feels too good for him to feel lucid.

“Can I see you…” he asks as his lips break away.

She doesn't even reply, she just complies, pulling the sleeves of her dress over her shoulders and the bra straps along with it. The position she's in making it near impossible to reach behind her.

If she could print his face in her mind as she pulled her dress down to her ribs, she would. He looks entirely mesmerised in adoration, and once the only thing covering her breasts is the thin material of her bra, Michael looks at her with an almost dream-like gaze.

His hand moves before his mouth, or at least before he catches himself, “Is it oka-”

“Course..” she says far too quickly.

All she can hear as Michael pulls the thin straps of her bra fully down her arms, exposing her breasts, is his breath, staggered and uneven. His hand easily covers one of her breasts, squeezing experimentally, his thumb gently drifting over her nipple and watching them stiffen to needy buds.

She doesn’t need to look between them to see how hard he is, she can feel him against her thigh, where her dress has since ridden up to her hips.

His glasses knock against her chest as he leans down, all-too-carefully covering her nipple with his tongue, like he is trying to print the taste of them to memory.

There is an unconscious desire to press her thighs together, but she settles for rolling her hips, causing Michael’s voice to rumble against her chest where he mouths at her breasts. One hand forever stays at the one he isn’t paying lip service to, testing the weight and shape in his palms.

It feels like all sensitivity has been turned up to 1000. He is so slow, so unsure, that every languid movement has every nerve feel as if it’s on fire. A selfish part of her wants him to go faster, so used to the fervent, almost rushing nature of who she’d been with before. It was never like this, borderline worshipping.

“Michael…” she breathes, rolling her hips against him experimentally, rewarded with a low whine from him.

She watched as her nipple slips from his lips in the most erotic manner she’d ever seen, before his clear eyes are on her again.

“Is this okay? Am I doing something wr-”

“No,” she shakes her head quickly, “feels nice.”

Michael licks his lips, a sign of how nervous he is, “Can I do something else?”

He is so eager to please, to learn, that looking at his face as he asks she can hardly deny him. And her head moves without effort, nodding as she watches his hand disappear beneath the hem of her dress to pull her tights down her legs.

It then becomes obvious what he wants to do.

“Are you sure, I-”

“I’m sure.” he adds, rolling the black nylon down her legs until all that is left between Michael and her bare skin below her hips, is her underwear. A flush of embarrassment engulfs her face at the thought of how aroused she might be, knowing he has no experience, she doesn’t want to scare him off. The tender and yet needy way he’d mouthed at her breasts had her body all warm, and she can’t remember the last time she’d been this ready for anything.

“I just want to do the same for you as you did for me. Make you feel good.”

And that certainly doesn’t help that feeling either.

She’s not sure if she will get tired of the sight of his long, lithe fingers gripping her thighs apart, and for a moment she finds herself entranced by the view, until he is pressing sweet kisses to the inside of them. Open-mouthed, with an addictive cooling sensation when he pulls away, only to edge closer to the centre of her underwear.

Her breath remains stuck in her chest as she watches him navigate the female body, mapping it out in his head. She knows better than to say anything, knowing him as she does now, he is immensely competitive, and wants to get things right. It’s likely if she stepped in to instruct him, it would only embarrass him more. So she stays quiet, and lets him come to her.

His thumb dips beneath the leg hole of her underwear, “Can I?”

She swallows visibly, now for some reason it’s her being the nervous one. Possibly because the first time, it was her doing something for him. And now, it is very much the feeling of being studied, of being watched to see what made her tick. A feeling that has her desperate for some kind of fulfilment. Anything.

She lifts her hips to help him slide her underwear down her legs, her cheeks warming at being so utterly exposed to him herself for the first time. There is a finality to it that she just can’t quite put into words. A point of no return.

A full body shudder made its way through her when she felt his thumb trail across the spot where her leg met her hip, trailing the line there that led to her sensitive womanhood.

Michael looked as if he was being presented with an equation, she could practically hear the thoughts in his head. But beyond not entirely knowing what to do, it didn't dissuade his curiosity.

She could tell though, that he didn't know what to do.

Michael nearly flinched when she took his hand, encouraging his thumb to touch her bundle nerves hidden between her folds.

She watched him as his thumb cautiously collected the wetness that had begun to come out of her and used it to gently apply pressure to her clit. Breath was hot in her chest as he started slowly.

“Does that feel good?” He asked softly.

As soon as she nodded, confirming how pleasurable it was, Michael's first reaction was to go faster. And so he did. Like he was trying to light a fire.

“No, no, no, it's fine to go slow.”

“Shit, sorry…”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, “just more gentle.”

The panic on his face had been clear. But at her gentle instruction, she saw him relax, taking her words and applying gentle pressure in slower, tighter circles. And it seemed Michael was now fully aware of its intended effect, as his eyes were able to lift up to hers underneath the rim of his glasses to see her breathing had increased, and blood rushing to her cheeks.

It felt incredible to watch his expressions, she thought. Seeing the little thoughts rattling around in his head, to be able to awaken something in him for the first time. But it also felt utterly exposing, and every time his thumb drew circles against her clit, she heard the soft click of her arousal that made the room feel as if she were inside an oven.

Michael’s lips parted, his head moving as if pulled by an invisible string to her core.

“Can I…?” he asked again, but more uncertain this time.

The anticipation gnaws so much at her skin, combined with the way he is taking his time that she has become somewhat impatient, so it’s completely involuntary when she nods her head and somehow manages a whispered ‘yes’.

She doesn't really, really know what's wrong with her. She's had head before. But when he dives between her thighs so quickly and eagerly, his thumbs almost pulling her skin gently to expose as much of her as he can, and swiping his tongue over the centre. From her entrance, all the way to her bundle of nerves.

It has her breath stuck in her chest, instinctively reaching down to run her fingers through his sandy hair. Even the slightest tug on it has a low groan vibrating through her where his mouth moves slowly against her.

“Michael…”

At first he is careful, taking the instruction she'd given him before and applying it to tasting her instead. But his eyes flit up to her when she breathes his name like that, so he redoubles his efforts, gripping the underside of her thighs to tug her towards him in a teasing rhythm.

She didn't really know what to expect, assuming he hadn't done anything like this before. But Michael seems eager to please, as he nudges between her sensitive folds to tease her entrance with his tongue, the sharp shape of his nose butting against her bud with every movement, as little as it is.

With one hand in his hair, her hips move against his face, the glasses perched on his face hanging askew. And all she can see is that his eyes are closed as he tastes her, every now and then he makes a noise between a whine and a moan, as if he didn't want the experience to end.

Dragging his tongue back up to her bud to focus his attention there, Michael experimentally slides one long, slender digit easily inside her, pleased at the breathy sound it seems to elicit from her. Two feelings at once, just as she'd given him before.

“Oh, shit-”

He fights the urge to smirk when he hears that. She's so warm and wet, that it's easy to slide in the second, feeling her walls suck him in as they clamp around his fingers moving in and out of her. It's a feeling he couldn't describe if he tried, and he daren't think of what she'd feel like around his cock, or if she'd let him.

She can feel her stomach muscles tightening, an orgasm bubbling up to the surface when he gains confidence, flicking her swollen clit with his tongue and pistoning two fingers with a pornographically wet smack into her over and over. Brushing that sweet spot inside that he manages to find sometimes, seemingly without realising.

“Michael - fuck - I'm gonna-”

He groans as her fingers tug at his hair, her hips grinding herself against him and chasing that delicious friction as her high barrels through her, sparking pleasure down each notch of her spine until it fizzles out through her limbs.

She can feel Michael grinding himself against the bed, searching for his own, as he maintains his actions, lapping up everything she gives him with determination. When she dares to look down at him, as if he can sense it, his eyes open to watch her expression, the blue of his eyes nearly entirely eclipsed by black.

As if something had been awoken in him that even he couldn't recognise he'd wanted.

With one last swipe of his tongue over her centre, Michael withdraws his fingers, gripping her thigh with them and making the skin there glisten.

Her cheeks feel as if they're on fire when he rights himself to his knees before her, looking down at her with admiration at how she is still essentially half naked. The tightness at the front of his jeans makes it obvious how he felt about what he'd just done.

Engrossed by watching her breasts move as she breathes heavily, the slight shimmer of sweat on her collarbones, Michael raises his hand to his face, using his palm to wipe her slick from his lips and chin.

She breaks the silence with a tired laugh when he pushes his glasses back up his face, one half of the lenses completely fogged up. It prompts him to laugh too.

“Was I okay?”

This time she doesn't hold back her smile at the way he asks it. As if she hadn't just shaken with the force of her high all over his face.

She nods, “More than okay.”

He seems genuinely relieved.

She bites her lip as she looks at him, his cheeks all tinged pink, his mind reeling at what they'd just done.

He doesn't know what to say or do, and she can see it.

“Do you fancy having a girlfriend, Michael?” she asks.

“Uh…I've never had one, not properly anyway.”

“Yes, but would you like one?”

She watches the bob of his Adam's Apple as he swallows heavily, “Y-yeah…”

She pushes herself up to meet him where he's knelt, admiring his features for a moment, before leaning forward to kiss him, encouraging him to kiss her back. It takes a second for him to respond, but when he does, it's needy, teeth and tongues clashing as the musky taste of her is captured on him.

“Tell you what, after your exams, when you can relax, I'll be your proper girlfriend. In every way..”

His breath comes out shuddered against her lips, “what do you mean?..”

She wets her lips as she smirks, “I think you know exactly what I mean, Michael.”

She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of seeing him blushed and bothered.

And when they're both dressed, sharing awkward giggles and nervous kisses, she gives him a look with a cock of her head as he checks his wall-mounted Countdown-themed calendar.

“What you looking for?”

“My last exam is the 15th. There's exactly 12,246 minutes between now and then and all I'm going to be thinking about is whether you'll really be my girlfriend or not.”

She nearly smiles at the fact he does the maths so quickly. 8 days, 12 hours and 6 minutes until his last exam. And even though she's made it clear she wants him, he's still unsure.

She meets his gaze, unable to hide the grin off her face, “Better get studying then. You've only got 12,245 minutes left until you've got me.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian@randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya@urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey smut #michael gavey saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #michael gavey x fem!reader #michael gavey x female reader

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matchamiko · 10 months ago

Note

hello!! could I please request prompt 25 with toshinori?

˚₊ ⊹ 25. The first makeout session that could lead to more + Toshinori Yagi

˚₊ ⊹ Warnings: dry humping, previous established new relationship, canon small-might, making out.

He was - grading papers? Finishing off a report on the last homework he set? Actually writing the next homework assignment in fact? Either way, his coffee table was strewn with papers, some in neat piles and some discarded none to kindly, caught under the fans of his laptop open on a word document baring names and grades and percentages he’s not really focusing on right now.

You came over a few hours ago with a bento box or two for the next days at school. It was just something you started doing for him, claimed it was because he wasn’t eating enough and that your love language was cooking food for people, but you loved that he would kiss your cheek and parade it around the school wrapped in its cute cloth with its cute bow. And you kind of never left, chatting idly with him from the kitchen while you brewed tea, something soft for him and a herby concoction for yourself, something to make you sleepy and all the more acceptable.

Toshinori could taste it in your mouth. The tea and something else, something distinctly you. Leaning backwards as you cup his sharp jaw, smiling when you hum and kiss his nose affectionately. There was something on the TV, something mind numbing and calm, a documentary about Geisha's he thinks but he's too focussed on his work, and on you. The futon you'd insisted on setting up for him was comfortable, soft and heavy at the same time, a perfect support for his back while he was tucked up by the coffee table while you lounged like a cat on the couch behind him, asking lazily every few minutes for a kiss. This was the first one on the mouth. You'd started on the back of his head, then on his long frazzled strands framing his face and then his forehead, then his nose and when you pecked his lips; Toshinori found himself chasing and chasing and chasing.

"Don't tell the kids that I abandoned their grades for you," he's twisted at a strange angle with his lips muttering yours, a prayer only for you to taste, "Aizawa'll kill me if he knew,"

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed and drawing your hands up the sinewy expanse of his neck,

"You have your priorities in perfect order, thank you very much," Toshinori allows you to slink down to the floor, following the droop of your legs and curling into his lap with deep, yearning sigh "I require kisses and you're supplying them, you're serving your duty to your partner,"

He laughs and then moans with the shape of your lips on his jaw,

"I suppose, if you put it like that," he looks at you for a moment, a soft smile stretching over his features and you return it, a little something extra in your eyes he can't quite make out. You two had kissed before, a lot and often but this felt different, felt like honey trickling down his bones and crystallising hot in his belly. Toshinori hums with the tracing of your mouth over his neck, sucking something mean into his delicate skin and he shifts, hands settling on your hips.

Hips that slot deeper against his and give this shy little shudder. A large slender hand cups the back of your head where you practically vibrate against him, the air suddenly palpable and sweet. You think he might ask you to stop, that you've gone far enough and that he's not quite ready for anything more intense, given his injuries and situation and maybe he wants you to go home or even take a break or even -

"Do that again, please," he's far from sober, drinking your lips and swallowing your gushing whimpers, desperate for the kisses and the licks he's come to know so well. These are different, headier, a little smoky and a little dangerous, slow and hard and all things moreish. His free hand guides your hips, into what he's not sure but you gain confidence at his request, undulating with such wantonness that he's the first that moans out loud. Punched and loud and startling, Toshinori flushes right down to his stomach, peaking from where you'd shoved your hands under his shirt, hardly denting your frantic kisses. His grip is harsh, demanding and selfish, smoothing to your ass and this time it's you that grunts at the way he massages a spreads you, slouching lower and wider against the couch.

"I want - I wanna -," you're stuttering but it's from lust, from the sheer magnetic want for the man beneath you, heavy lidded and panting open mouthed, "Please, can we - we don't hav'ta but also, y'know?"

Toshinori kisses you again, slow and deliberate, decisive with his answer; wordless save for a whimper and a jerk.

#miko.prompt challenge #miko.chats #kisses u !!!#toshinori yagi x reader #all might x reader #all might smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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creamhoodie · 8 months ago

Text

Hunted

synopsis: You're walking home late from work one evening and encounter a stranger..

Tags: yandere, smut, kinda dubcon, non canon characterization, afab reader, satoru gojo

You felt it again, that unmistakable feeling of the fine hair rising behind your neck.

That feeling had been your loyal companion for the last few months, coming on and off. It came just often enough for you to not forget about it, but not enough to warrant true concern. You chalked it up to getting accustomed to this climate, you had recently moved to the area around the same time you first noticed it. Oh how naive you had been.

As you walked home from work after staying late to put in overtime, that feeling was accompanied by the rustling of footsteps. Soon enough the racing of your heart joined in, creating a daming trio. It was nearly midnight and though the office you worked at was only a few blocks away from your small town home, the route was dimly lit.

Again the rustling permeated the air.

Pausing now, you turned around.. no one.

It was only when you turned the corner that you peered over your shoulder and saw a tall male figure walking towards you.

Instinctively, you picked up the pace but his long stride made it difficult to out pace him.

“Hey are you okay? You seem shaken,” the male called out. His voice was smooth and confident and when he stepped into the light pole’s beam you understood why.

This man wasn’t like anyone you had seen before. His skin radiant, free of blemishes, and his hair was a snowy white. Most striking were his eyes, a celeste hue that made it seem as though pieces of the sky fell into his lids.

“You okay?” He asked again, laughing slightly. You figured he was used to the ogling. Who would suspect that someone who looked like they could be on the runway would live in the shadows?

“I think so.. I was just walking home from work,” you voice said, still timid.

“Me too, mind if I walk with you?” He asked.

“Guess not,” you shrugged.

He fell into a stride next to you, matching your slower pace.

“So you’re a workaholic,” he teased.

“I suppose. It’s only temporary, I need the money to pay my rent. I moved here not that long ago,” you said.

He let out a tsk.

“You don’t have family to hold you over?” He questioned.

“No, I moved for my career.”

Silence settled as the townhomes came into view. Why were you letting him walk with you? Why were you telling him personal things? It went against every survival instinct you knew.

“Well this is me, I'm going to head home now,” you said as the two of you entered the neighborhood.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said.

“Oh you don’t have to-“

“I insist,” he said with enough permanence you knew it wasn’t up for debate. Perhaps he had been raised a gentleman and insisted on making sure you got home safe.

When you were at your door you turned to thank him and saw he was watching you intently.

“Thank you,” you said a little dismissively, hoping he’d leave now.

“You’re welcome,” he said, with no sign of leaving. It was then you noticed how empty handed he was, a detail you had missed earlier due to his striking appearance.

“You don’t have any work equipment with you,” you stated suddenly your laptop bag on your shoulder felt much more heavy.

“Left my stuff at the office,” he replied coolly.

Your heart began to thud.

The thud reminded you of the trio: the hair rising, the rustling, heart racing.

At the current moment they were all present except one.

One had stopped once this stranger had appeared and only silence had ensued in his presence besides his questions.

“I think I’ll be going inside now,” you said, quickly fumbling with the lock.

As you opened the door and bolted in, his strong hand stopped it from closing.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asked, smiling, his brilliant white canines like daggers.

You tried to force the door close but his strength allowed him to open it just enough so he could side step inside.

You backed away and he closed the door behind you, locking it ominously.

Even more frightening, your laptop bag fell off your shoulder and onto the floor with a thud so loud it rivaled that of your heart.

“Now we can be alone,” he laughed as if it were an inside joke only he knew.

“Please leave. Please don’t hurt me,” you began to plead.

He raised a brow.

“Hurt you? I’d never hurt you, unless you ask me to,” he teased.

His demeanor was a combination of playful and menacing.

Bridging the space between the two of you, his lips came down roughly on yours before you could even process it.

Moaning into his mouth from the shock, your head spun as he devoured your tongue with his own. He was a good kisser, his lips moving skillfully.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered once the kiss broke apart.

“What?” you asked.

By way of response, his lips moved to your neck, and your body betrayed you by responding, a jolt of heat formulating between your thighs.

“Mine. All mine,” he said between kisses on your neck.

“I don’t even know your name,” you stammered.

He laughed against your skin.

“Satoru,” he replied before continuing to lay kisses on your neck with his soft lips.

“Satoru…” you repeated more to yourself than to him but you felt his lips curl up in a smile.

“That’s right, it sounds so much nicer coming from you,” he said.

His lips came down on yours again, more passionate and hungry than before. Your head began to spin when suddenly he broke away.

“Take me to your bedroom,” he demanded.

“What?” you asked, voice shaky.

“You don’t like that idea?” he asked. For a moment his face seemed extremely vulnerable but then it was replaced by a stern look.

“No it’s not that, it’s just- I don’t know you,” you stammered, hoping he wouldn’t grow angry. On the contrary, your words made him playful again.

“You don’t need to. I know you, I’ve been studying you,” he said, his hands going to rest at your hips now, “I know you’re lonely, so let me take care of you.”

You couldn’t even feign offense. You were so deeply lonely. Moving here for your career away from everyone you knew was no easy feat. You had the same routine work, home, and occasionally the store for errands. His hands traveled lower resting right on your thighs, one hand gripped the flesh lightly. You let out a whimper at that.

“That’s a good girl, I can tell you want me. So it looks like I’m just gonna have to take us to your bed myself.”

The next thing you knew, he lifted you up with extreme ease, throwing you over his shoulder with your rear end a little too close to his face.

“Satoru!” you exclaimed.

He seemed to move through your small home a little too comfortably, a little too familiar.

Finding your bedroom at the end of the hall, he threw you down on the bed.

Your face flushed with embarrassment at all your trinkets on shelves and your plushies on the bed, by all accounts you have never had a man over before.

Satoru only seemed to have eyes for you, however.

He bent down on his knees before you, parting your legs open. He jeered at the sight of your white panties, easily accessible due to your wearing a skirt.

You gasped and clamped your legs shut again.

His eyes narrowed at that.

“Don’t be rude, let me look,” he said.

A part of you felt violated while another part of you felt excitement.

“Satoru, this is all so fast,” you said.

He raised a brow.

“Actually it is not going fast enough for me. I’ve waited months for this moment,” he replied.

It had been several times now he made comments of the sort implying he had been watching you, and it shifted things into perspective.

The hair rising that had been your one and only companion in this stage of your life was due to him.

“How long have you been watching me?” you asked.

“Since you first moved in,” he replied simply as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He inched forward until he was hovering over you on the bed, his hands resting along on the mattress. He kissed you again and you fell further into the cot. You hated how your body seemed to love his touch so much, you were so responsive to him. You even felt your panties begin to dampen with arousal.

When the kiss broke apart, he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours, an act of unwarranted intimacy for two strangers.

“I want you and I intend to have you. I won’t take no for an answer,” he said directly. His striking eyes were serious.

“Satoru you’re handsome and I’m not saying no but this is just so sudden,” you said trying to hold on to some shred of dignity.

“I want you and I know you want me, what more is there that needs to happen?” He asked.

He slipped back into his prior position in front you before speaking again: “If I have to prove how good I can make you feel, I will do so gladly.”

His hands effortlessly parted your legs again and when you tried to clamp them shut again he held them in place.

“Stop denying yourself pleasure,” he said. He smiled upon seeing the wet stain on your panties, “look at you all eager for me.”

His voice grew husky and his eyes were lustful. His fingers intruded their way into your underwear, pushing them aside slightly so he had access to your folds.

Your breathing hitched as you felt him find your clit, the mere touch inducing a pulsing sensation that was impossible to ignore.

“Satoru.. please..” you said but you didn’t know what you were pleading for anymore.

Was it for him to stop? Was it for him to keep going?

“Hmm?” He teased as his fingers gently rubbed little circles on your clit.

Eyes rolling back in pleasure, you felt your resolve to resist him begin to fade away.

“That’s a good girl. See you don’t know what you want, you have to be shown,” he said. Suddenly he stopped rubbing. Your expression like you just had cold water thrown on you made him laugh. “Don’t worry, I have something better.”

He removed your heels, tossing them to the floor, soon afterward your underwear followed as he rolled them over your knees and discarded them. Your skirt remained, but it was thrown over your plush thighs, no longer offering coverage.

“Fuck, so this is your pretty little bud,” he whispered as he parted your legs again.

You were still pulsating, it grew more fierce as he had stopped before you could reach your climax.

He leaned forward smirking and suddenly you felt his tongue at your folds. He began to slurp at your arousal causing guttural moans to slip out of your mouth and your back to arch slightly.

Your hands went to his soft hair as you searched for something to anchor you when every part of you felt like it was setting afloat.

He was ravenous, his mouth greedily tasting every part of you, and he was nearly abusive to your clit with his rough laps.

“That’s it… that’s a good girl,” he coaxed as he felt your sweet release coming on. He talked you through it, telling you sweet nothings of how good you looked right now and how he had fantasized about this for so long.

Three.

Two.

One.

And your breasts raised and fell like setting suns as you caught your breath.

“Now I want you to do something for me too,” he said as he began to unbuckle his pants.

“Satoru, wait,” you began to protest again.

“I told you I won’t take no for an answer. I proved myself and made you feel good,” he said. He took his pants off so he was in his boxers, his shirt soon following after. Calloused hands pulled your skirt off. Your blazer and blouse were soon discarded roughly.

He hovered over you again going to kiss your lips, salvia intermingling with yours so when he pulled away again a translucent string connected the two of you. Leaning back, he pulled down his boxers revealing his big cock, some slight precum on the angry pink tip.

“Satoru.. I’m not on anything,” you began.

He had been right, you were so dreadfully lonely it had been a long time since you had been touched like this.

He smiled as if he suspected no different.

“It’s fine. I’d look after you and the baby,” he said.

You whine at this.

“Please, be serious,” you chastised.

“Fine, I’ll pull out. I’ll take care of everything but for now,” he paused as he lined himself up with you, he placed his dick on top of your labia rubbing up and down before he continued, “just let yourself enjoy it.”

Your body was on fire, every nerve seemed to make itself known and you were embarrassed by just how aroused you really were.

He was so dreadfully attractive, the perfect predator. Even his scent was intoxicating as it wafted into your nostrils from having him so close.

The truth was you were doomed to lose from the moment he set his sights on you. He was the hunter and you had been the naive and ignorant prey. Everything about him was inviting. In truth that’s why you had let him walk with you, why you had told him personal details. In the end you had been responsible for your own demise but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Now you were going to have sex with your stalker, how fucked up was that?

“You’re so fucking soaked,” he whispered as you felt him move his cock down and between your folds now. “Ahh.. fuck.. you’re so goddamn tight. How many guys have you let in here? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to get mad.”

You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his impressive and imposing girth. He pushed himself deeper in, using his hands to wrap your legs around his waist so he could go even deeper still, until at last he was bottomed out inside you.

He seemed delirious now, completely pussy drunk as he began to set a rhythmic pace of fast thrusts.

“So big,” you whispered, but he heard you all the same, groaning at that.

“Fuck.. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you.. Had to stop myself from taking you then and there-“

Your bed frame had begun to hit the wall with each thrust and you blushed to think of any neighbors who may hear.

You could feel his pulse beating inside you as if it were your own and the lewd sound of wet skin slapping against skin only aroused you more.

“Moan my name,” he commanded.

“Satoru..” you moaned.

He groaned at that and his hands went to grope at your breasts, sensitive nipples spilling over onto his fingers as he continued to thrust into your mercilessly.

“Such a little minx, you know that? I loved watching you.. following you.. coming into your place at night while you were sleeping.”

Your eyes widened in fear at that, mortified.

No wonder he had been so familiar with your place.

“Shh.. did that scare you baby? Don’t worry. I’d just watch you sleep is all. Sometimes I’d stroke myself off when you’d moan in your sleep. Believe me it took everything in me not to ram myself down your throat when you’d do that.. but even I have morals,” he laughed.

You felt your heart racing in panic now, in fear of the invasion of your privacy but he took the opportunity to fuck you even harder than before.

“‘Toru.. so rough,” you moaned as your hands went to his muscled back in an effort to stabilize yourself.

“Fuck- your pussy is gripping me so much tighter. Thought you were scared, but maybe you like the attention.. hm?”

His strokes became slower now, more deliberate. And for a moment his rough fucking turned into intimate love making as he kissed you, his tongue chasing after yours.

You felt yourself nearly close to your peak, and he felt it too, his lips moving to your neck biting as he returned to his fast speed.

He found your sweet gummy spot and his cock nicked it over and over, practically abusing it to the point of overstimulation that you felt tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks.

“Satoru… it feels so good,” you moaned.

“Yeah, I bet it does,” he teased, his own eyes half lied and full of lust.

He himself was enjoying this as well, enjoying how incredibly tight and warm you felt it was like nothing he had ever experienced before and well worth the months of waiting and meticulous studying of you.

God, how he had enjoyed watching you, had enjoyed following you home from work every night.

Tonight has been his breaking point, he couldn’t stay away any longer and when you didn’t resist him didn’t tell him to go away and that he could walk home with you.. well you had practically invited him to fuck you, or at least that’s how he saw it.

“I’m.. I’m so close,” you whimpered underneath him.

“Shh I know baby me too,” he cooed.

“Satoru.. remember not inside-“ you tried to remind him, but your face was so flushed, makeup smeared, and voice so breathy, you couldn’t possibly mean that could you?

Your words didn’t seem to have any effect on him as he continued to thrust into you.

In truth he was imagining you pregnant, it would be a true testament that you were claimed by him, belonged to him.

Because as far as he was concerned you did belong to him, he hadn’t invested all this time into you for nothing.

“Fuck…” he groaned as he felt you gripping him even tighter still.

Close so close..

Then the two of you finished and you screamed out in panic as his hot fluid rushed into you.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby,” he coaxed, shutting up your panicked babbles with a tongue filled kiss. You relaxed a little at that, he did have a way of calming you down with his touch, with his out of place intimacy which was far too familiar for what the two of you were to each other.

He reluctantly pulled out of you and cradled you against his chest, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead.

In this moment it was easy for you to close your eyes and pretend the two of you were lovers.

Too bad the truth was much darker.

#jjk drabbles #jjk x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere jjk #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #dark jjk #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #dark gojo satoru #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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yxngbxkkie · 1 year ago

Text

miss you (b.c)

i found this picture of channie, and i instantly had to write a short blurb on it. he's so handsome 🥹 i hope you guys like it 🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You step off of the elevator, dragging your suitcase behind you. You're feeling really giddy, ecstatic to be seeing your boyfriend for the first time in seven months.

Chan and the rest of the members have been on their second Maniac tour. It was nearing the end when you decided to surprise Chan with a visit.

All the members knew about your arrival, feeling thankful that they're helping you out. You read the number on the key card, making sure not to end up at some random person's door.

Felix sent you a text telling you that Chan is expecting him so he won't bat an eye when the door opens up. You giggle to yourself, biting on your lip as you get closer to his hotel room.

You stop in front of the room, staring at the keypad for a few seconds. You place the plastic card against the sensor, hearing the locking mechanism. You turn the handle on the door, opening it up slowly.

Your boyfriend of four years sits at the desk, headphones snugly fitted to his ears while holding a microphone. His singing voice echoes off of the walls as you quietly shut the door behind you.

After setting your luggage to the side, you step further into the room. Chan's singing stops, and his gaze moves from his phone to the laptop in front of him.

“Finally, Felix,” he laughs, setting the microphone to the side. “I thought you'd be here half an hour ago.”

You chuckle silently, not wanting to give yourself away just yet. You hum in a deep voice, pressing your lips together while standing behind him.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, gently massaging them. “Hey, has Y/N messaged you at all?” He suddenly asks, keeping his eyes on his work.

“Why? Did you miss me?” You ask him, whispering into his ear.

Chan jumps in his chair, causing you to fling back quickly. Giggles come from your lips as he stands up from the chair, whipping his head around to look at you.

“You're here?!” He asks, reaching his hands out to you.

“I'm here,” you whisper as tears begin to pool in your eyes. “I've missed you.”

He lets out a cute giggle and brings you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck as his snake around your waist. “I missed you too, baby,” Chan whispers in your ear, hugging you tightly.

The room is silent as the two of you stay in each other's arms. Your fingers gently comb through his hair, feeling his gliding up and down your back.

“It's been too long,” he huffs into your shoulder, pressing your chest further into his.

You giggle and nod your head, leaning it back so you can look at him. “It's also been too long since I've tasted your lips,” you flirt with him, combing his hair back.

“Hehe, yeah?” Chan giggles, grinning like a fool in love. “Well, I guess you should taste them then.”

You can't help but giggle again. “I guess I should,” you smirk before kissing him.

His hand grips your waist while tilting his head to the side, deepening your first kiss in seven months. You hum into the kiss, your fingers trailing along his jawline.

Chan breaks away from you, letting out a couple of heavy pants before reconnecting your lips. He takes a step towards you, making you take a step back.

A gasp comes from you when the back of your knees hits the mattress, losing your balance. He hovers over you, gently pushing you to lay on your back.

“I suppose Felix coming here was a cover up for you to come in,” he whispers before planting kisses on your face.

“It was,” you laugh, slipping your hands beneath the robe he's wearing.

He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, kissing, biting, and sucking on your skin. “Which means they know you're here,” Chan mentions, marking up your neck. “Which means I can reminisce with you all night long.”

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

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rikiislvr · 3 months ago

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✧ moonstruck - nishimura riki

pairing: nishimura riki x afab!reader

summary: you two haven’t spoke since senior year graduation, and didn’t end on the best terms.. until he spots you at the place he least expected

you swore yourself up and down you would NEVER speak to nishimura riki again.

before, you two were the bestest of friends, you could say you even managed to catch feelings for him in some way. he treated you with nothing but respect and love.

he offered everything you’ve ever wanted, even homework.

you’ve known him since freshman year, he was the first person you’d turn too whenever you needed ANYONE.

and that was what led you to ask him out, he said yes, and it felt like the best thing you could ever imagine.

but it wasn’t.

the day of your first date, you were told to meet him at a pretty empty park with tall flowers and lots of trees, you wore a pretty white flowing dress with your hair into pigtails,

you made your way to the spot that you were supposed to meet him at, and your heart has never dropped faster before,

there he was, but he wasn’t alone. he was with his.. ex?

she looked up at him, tears in his eyes, niki slowly cupped her face and pressed his lips onto hers, and that was what broke you.

you didn’t understand. why would he say yes to you if he didn’t have things settled with his ex yet. you knew of her, he would always tell you that he was over her thanks your help.

but it sure didn’t look like he was over at right now.

you covered your mouth to hide any noises, and failed miserably, niki’s head snapped back your way, his eyes softening,

“yn-“ he tried but you had already ran off and back home.

graduation came, you didn’t say a word to him, for some reason your heart ached everytime you even looked over at him, as soon as graduation was over, you said your byes to your friends before rushing to the front of the school where your parents awaited in the car.

before niki could find you and speak to you.

you didn’t care about closure, or.. that’s what you thought.

which leads to now. it’s been two year since you’ve heard from him, and let’s say you were doing too well.

your mind was constantly filled with him, every second of the day for two full years.

“i wonder what he’s doing now.” or, “does he have a girlfriend?” “how’s college going for him.” and so much more.

you sighed, closing your laptop, you took off your glasses and slowly got up, the sun was setting soon, you decided to go out and get some fresh air before the night arrived.

you walked to the closet of your small apartment, putting on your shoes, you wore a white flowy dress..

white.. flowy.. dress.. gosh everything reminds you of him. and that day.

you sighed, grabbing your tote bag before leaving out the door,

you made your way down the street, you didn’t have a specific place on where you wanted to go, you just had to get out your room before you actually went insane from thinking too much.

without even realizing it, you walked into a park, you smiled, liking the peaceful atmosphere, but something seemed familiar.

because it was.

you were in the park where you saw him, where you were supposed to have your first official date with him. but.. well, you know what went wrong.

you frowned to yourself and sat on a empty bench, staring at the flowers ahead of you, your mind was just full of him.

like you said, you didn’t care about the closure. but you did. you needed it, it was killing you that you didn’t ask him why he did what he did before storming out that school for the last time.

but, you were the only one who went on a walk.

niki had a grey hoodie on and sweats, airpods in and head down as he walked down the path of the, what he thought, empty park.

his thoughts were eating him alive, he was caught in such a bad situation and never had the chance to explain it to you.

he hasn’t seen you in two years, and it’s been weighing heavy on his heart.

you two were the closest ever, always hanging out after school, getting food or icecream, staying the night, you wouldn’t even notice during movie nights you’d fall asleep on his shoulder as he played with your hair.

he fell in love with you because it was hard not too with how close you guys were. and the first date was ruined before it even started.

he continued to walk, soft music playing in his ears, he finally lifted his head, looking around the peaceful park, his took a deep breath,

but his eyes suddenly stopped,

not on just anything, but on you.

he felt his heart drop, he completely froze and tensed up, you sat on the bench, your facial expression looked empty, compared to how smiley you were in highschool.

and he sighed, knowing it was his fault, he couldn’t fuck this up.

this was probably his last chance he would ever have at speaking to you, so he wiped his sweaty palms on the side of his hoodie before taking slow steps to the bench you sat at,

oh and yes, your heart dropped as well. you saw him in the corner of your eye, but refused to look over at him at all when he sat at the other end of the bench.

if anything, your eyes began to water, you thought you would never see him again after cutting communication with him completely.

you look down at your hands, what do you do in this situation?

before you could speak up, he beat you to it,

“yn…” he says low, which makes your heart ache, hearing him say your name again, you lift your head slowly, turning it to meet his gaze,

his eyes were low, they looked almost heavy, as if he wasn’t getting any sleep, and his expression was filled with concern and worry.

“niki..” you reply, your voice small, you were scared if you even spoke too loud he’d disappear. he sighed and stood up, holding his arms out.

you wanted to reject, but the way your body unconsciously got up and ran to his arms was what stopped you, you wrap your arms around him, not knowing how much you needed this hug,

you sobbed into his chest, niki’s felt his heart breaking, he wrapped his arms around you, tight but not enough to cause you discomfort.

knowing you were crying because of him, made him feel horrible.

“i’ve missed you so much.. i never thought id see you again.” he mumbled in your hair, which was what made you lift your head to look up at him.

you had tears streaming down your cheeks, your nose slightly red from sniffing, “why’d you do it..” you whispered, niki sighed and sucked in his lips,

“i don’t know. she was crying to me about some.. personal family problems.. she asked for just one kiss and of course.. i did it.” he groaned and ran his fingers through his hair,

you didn’t reply, i just looked up at him still, “i’m so sorry yn. im such a idiot for doing that.. i haven’t stoped thinking about you ever since.” he frowned,

you’ve never saw him frown before, and let’s just say, you didn’t like it.

“if i could go back in time and rewind the whole process, id do so with no hesitation.” he cups your face, “i broke your heart. which is what broke mine. i am so sorry..” he whispered,

you felt your eyes water again, you didn’t like the reasoning on why he kissed her, but you couldn’t stay mad at him since it happened years ago,

you melt into his hands, before slowly replying, “i forgive you.”

and niki could burst into flames just from that, he felt his heart connecting back together, “w-what..” he says, lower than a whisper.

“i forgive you niki. i can’t stay mad at you forever can i?” you smiled softly, niki didn’t reply, instead he pulled you back into his embrace, tears pricking in his eyes.

you hugged him back, you’ve been craving this for so long, you wouldn’t let it up so easily.

“please. give me another chance. i promise you i won’t disappoint you again.” he whispered into your hair.

and you couldn’t say no. you slowly nod in return and his grip on your tightened softly. both of you back to where you both belonged.

in each others arms, comforting each other. he was once your best best friend, and he still was. you were willing to forgive AND forget,

just one more try.. the universe brought you two back together for a reason, right?

a/n: i am so sorry for the lack of posts lately! so here’s a big fat drabble i made in two days for you all! hopefully you enjoy, and i am glad to say i amm backkk! <3

taglist : @certified-ni-ki-lover @noblub-4ulolz @yourmyst4r @vixialuvs @ni-ki-ismyluv @judeduartewannabe @soobs-things @en-chantedtomeetyou @definitelynotherr @heyniki @wntersm @geniejunn @pkjay @baevsxii @k1ttylvr @geniejunn @pkjay @chaevibes @jiyeons-closet

#enhypen #niki enhypen #nishimura riki #enhypen niki #enhypen fluff #niki x reader #riki nishimura x reader #niki fluff #mae’s works —!

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doctorbitchcrxft · 4 months ago

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A Very Supernatural Christmas | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: discussions of childhood trauma lol, discussions of religious trauma lololol, canon violence, canon gore, talking about Dean's deal sad face

Word Count: 7223

A/N: One of my favorite episodes of all time ever. I am so excited to share this with you guys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the support. I love y’all!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

In the middle of nowhere in Michigan, you and Dean posed as FBI agents investigating a holly jolly potential case.

“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” the woman before you shakily explained.

“Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof, and then, I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.”

“And you didn't see any of it?” Dean questioned.

She shook her head tearfully. “No, he was… he was just gone.”

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” you asked.

“That’s right,” she replied.

“Does anybody else have a key?” you suggested.

“My parents.”

“Where do they live?”

“Florida.”

Sam then walked out of the house. “ Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Dean told her.

The three of you started down the steps.

“Agents?” Mrs. Walsh called.

You turned to face her.

“The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be,” Dean shrugged.

“Then… why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-Or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” she began to cry.

“We’re very sorry,” you said empathetically. You watched the distressed woman turn to go back inside, and the heavy Christmas wreath on the door clunked against the door when she shut it.

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam as the three of you walked away from the house.

Sam sighed. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” He took something out of his pocket and dropped it into Dean’s hand.

You inspected it. “A tooth?” you asked upon seeing the bloody bone.

“Where was this?” Dean looked up at Sam and away from the tooth.

“In the chimney,” Sam replied.

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow,” Dean grimaced.

“At least, not in one piece,” you winced.

“Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—”

“We need to find out what dragged him up there,” Sam finished.

***

Christmas had never been a completely happy time for you. Growing up Catholic, there was always a hint of, perhaps, fear that came with the holiday. The idea that Christ was supposed to come again, and his second coming would mean the end of the world was unsettling to you, even as an incredibly pious child.

Working jobs around the holidays always managed to recreate that unsettled feeling for you. Something so gruesome like the case you were dealing with now around such a happy holiday always made you nostalgic for a childhood you never had: an innocent one.

Around your motel room, Sam was pinning pictures of demons up while you researched on your laptop. The door opened, and Dean came inside.

“So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean smirked, carrying a brown paper bag.

Sam mirrored Dean’s expression. “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.”

Dean looked confused, but you snickered.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Dude,” you said, “Mary Poppins?”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, god, you’re hopeless,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month,” Dean explained.

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Sam asked.

“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof,” Dean shrugged. “So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Sam replied. “Uh, it's gonna sound crazy.”

“What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?” Dean deadpanned.

“How ‘bout evil Santa,” you smirked.

Dean considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

“Yeah… I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture,” Sam said while he showed Dean drawings of the creature. “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.”

“Saying what?” Dean looked incredulous.

“Saying, back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean snorted. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, ah, I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says.”

“Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember,” Sam sassed at his brother.

Dean looked down, seeming to feel a little guilty.

Finally, Sam sighed. “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I gotta be wrong.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You and Sam were confused.

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched,” Dean explained.

“Where?” Sam asked.

***

The place Dean was referring to was a cutesy little craft fair called “Santa’s Village.” Children played and people bustled around wearing Christmas costumes.

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean remarked, looking around himself.

“Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be,” Sam replied.

“It’s a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year,” Dean suggested casually.

You remained quiet, feeling almost sorrowful at his statement given he’d discussed bringing this up to Sam with you.

“Have one what?”

“A Christmas.”

Sam scoffed. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam,” you said, swallowing your emotions.

“Yeah, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little,” Dean continued.

“Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me, you know,” Sam reminded his brother.

“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.”

“Whose childhood are you talking about?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Sam.”

“No! Just… no.”

You and Dean were both surprised by Sam’s petulance. “Alright, Grinch,” Dean snarked. He walked ahead, and you remained by his side.

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked quietly.

“Ah, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I mean, Dad was out all the time, and Sammy and I fought… a lot… as kids, but I didn’t think it’d scar him.”

You turned back to Sam who still seemed lost in thought.

“Hey, Scrooge,” you called, which seemed to shake the younger brother out of his own head, “you comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.” He caught back up to you and Dean.

“What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked him.

“Um…” Sam trailed off, “lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.”

“Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa,” Dean said dryly. “Why the sweets?”

“Think about it, Dee,” you replied. “If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer. Which is wrong on just… so many levels.”

Sam chuckled.

“How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Dean turned toward a man dressed as Santa taking pictures with a child whose mother stood close by. “Maybe we do,” he noted.

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters were just about to confront and kill who you thought was your Krampus. Fortunately for the Santa actor from earlier in the day, you realized the man was just a lonely old creep.

After an uncomfortable rendition of “Silent Night�� that Dean led you and Sam in singing in an attempt to explain why you were in the creepy Santa’s house, you slumped down in the backseat of the Impala.

“Well, back to square one, I guess,” you sighed. “Also, Dean, couldn’t you have picked a song you actually knew the words to?”

“Hey, I did know the words,” he replied, beginning to drive off.

“Yeah, all two of ‘em,” Sam chimed in.

You giggled. “Hey, Sam?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

The younger brother sighed. “(Y/N)...”

Dean took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. “I mean, I admit it. Y’know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.”

“ ‘Bumpy’?” Sam scoffed.

“That was then. We’ll do it right this year,” Dean tried.

“Look, Dean. If you and (Y/N) want to have Christmas, knock yourselves out. Just don’t involve me.” Sam shifted in his seat to face the dark night that had fallen outside of the car.

Dean grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and (Y/N) making cranberry molds.”

You knew Dean wasn’t actually opposed to just enjoying Christmas with you, but he wanted to involve his brother.

***

“Wanna smoke?” you asked Dean.

Sam was still wide awake in his bed, and you and Dean had some things to talk about without the younger Winchester present.

He nodded and followed you out of the room.

Despite the lack of snow on the ground, you were bundled in one of Dean’s hoodies to protect you from the slight chill in the air.

“I think you’re turnin’ me into a fiend,” Dean commented as you lit your joint.

“Well, I’d rather you smoke a plant than drown yourself in booze,” you replied, a slight tremble in your voice from the cold.

“I meant to tell you earlier,” Dean began, taking the joint from you and looking at the ground, “you’ve got a real beautiful voice.”

You laughed softly and hopped up on the trunk of the Impala. “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause you and Sam are terrible.”

“I’m serious,” he said, blowing the smoke at you playfully.

You scrunched up your nose and shut your eyes to avoid the puff. When you reopened them, you found Dean staring at you with that confusing expression again. After all this time, you still couldn’t place what that look meant.

“What?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, still admiring you and smirking. “Nothin’.”

“So, do you want me to talk to Sam? About Christmas?” Dean’s intense stare was making you nervous, and you needed to break it up with the conversation you initially wanted to have with him.

“Nah,” Dean shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

You opened your arms to him and gestured for him to come lean against you. He turned his back to the Impala, and you wrapped your arms around him. You kissed his shoulder before placing your chin on top of it. The two of you just sat like that in silence in the cold, enjoying each other’s company while getting lost in thought.

“What was your Christmas like? As a kid, I mean?” Dean asked, breaking the silence.

You picked your chin up off his shoulder and stuck your hands in your pockets. “Oh, gosh,” you sighed. “It was always a little less ‘candy canes and Rudolph’ and a little more ‘fear and condemnation’.”

Dean jumped up on the trunk next to you and turned, clearly a little surprised by your answer. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “Christmas always kinda felt like a threat to me. Y’know, ‘Jesus is gonna come again’ and all that.”

“That’s… weirdly dirty,” Dean commented.

You gently nudged his shoulder with yours. “Perv. Meaning Jesus is gonna come back to life and, like… destroy the planet. My mom always said Christmas was a reminder that this is not our true home.”

“This, as in, earth?” he asked, genuine intrigue in his eyes.

You nodded. “And we’re all gonna end up being judged. And if you don’t believe or follow the commandments, you’re sentenced to Hell.”

“Jesus,” Dean grimaced. “That’s a little dark to be telling a kid.”

“Tell me about it,” you smirked. “But… if that’s the truth, at least we know I’ll be seeing you again.” You turned to him, smiling a little lopsidedly.

He tried to return your smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m scared, (Y/N).”

You nodded. “I know. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head.

You took a moment to let his mind recover from his anxieties. “What were your Christmases like growing up? You said they were good, but you never told me why they were good.”

“Uh, let’s see,” Dean began, reflecting on something in his memory. “There was this one time when Dad was supposed to make it back from a hunting trip. He’d promised Sammy he’d be home for Christmas. But, uh, Dad never showed.”

You looked at him sadly.

Dean’s eyes remained focused on his hands in his lap. “I was maybe twelve. Sammy was eight. And on Christmas Eve, while he was asleep, I went out and found this really nice house.”

“You did not!” you scolded playfully, knowing exactly where he was going with this.

“I did,” Dean chuckled. “Only, I didn’t know they were chick presents. Sam was pissed when he got a Barbie instead of the green army men he’d been asking for.”

“You did the best you could,” you reminded him.

Dean shrugged. “And, uh, since he never made it back, Sam gave me the present he was planning on giving to Dad.” He thumbed the amulet around his neck and showed it to you.

“That’s so sweet,” you smiled, a tinge of nostalgic sadness behind your smile. “My little brother and I always gave each other what we could. Normally, it was just stupid little things from the gas stations around or something.” You smiled, remembering your brother fondly. “When he was seven, Steven gave me a little bracelet. He stole it out of a girl’s backpack pocket when she was waiting for her parents to finish booking a room in the motel lobby. He was a great pickpocket; you guys would’ve gotten along great.”

Dean chuckled.

“But anyway, uh, it was a little friendship bracelet. I was so upset when I grew out of it,” you said. “Biggest regret of my life is burning it with his body.”

Dean nodded somberly. “Why’d you do it?”

You shrugged. “I kept telling myself, ‘He doesn’t live in the stuff. Keeping his stuff doesn’t keep him alive.’ And I’d grown out of it, so I figured, I’d never have any use for it again. But, uh, I was an angry teenager. I was so angry at him for so long after he killed himself. I definitely threw the bracelet in the fire in a moment of anger.”

Dean just stared at you, and once again, you couldn’t read his expression.

“You keep giving me that look,” you said, staring deeply into his beautiful eyes.

“What look?” he asked. Dean clearly knew what you were talking about, as his face hadn’t really changed from the look in question; there was simply a slight tease behind his eyes on top of it.

“That look,” you said, giggling. “It frustrates me so much ‘cause it’s, like, the only facial expression on the planet I can’t read.” “Then, I’m definitely not telling you what it means now,” Dean taunted, still smirking.

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the car. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around to face him, putting you back on the trunk and standing between your legs. He kissed you deeply, hands eagerly trying to pull you closer despite there being no more room between the two of you.

“Dean,” you said between kisses. “Dean—”

“What?” Dean pulled back just long enough to ask you and then returned to kissing you.

“We have to go to bed now, c’mon,” you replied.

“Aw, c’mon, not yet,” Dean groaned, trailing his lips down your neck.

You sighed shakily at the feeling of his soft lips against the sensitive skin, and your eyes closed in content. “C’mon,” you whined. “I’m freezing.”

“Fine,” he groaned.

***

The next day, another poor soul had gone missing. According to the son of the man who was abducted, Santa had dragged his father up the chimney. As you left the house, Sam noticed a wreath on the hearth he’d felt noteworthy enough to ask the grieving wife about.

“Wreaths, huh?” Dean taunted, sauntering away from the woman’s house. “Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.”

“We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring his brother’s flippance.

“Where?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.”

Dean eyed Sam curiously. “I know. I was just testing you.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking down into the Impala.

***

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, dropping your head back.

Sam sat up from behind his laptop. “What, why?”

Dean turned to you from his spot on your shared bed as well.

“That smell,” you said. “Guys, we’re not dealing with Krampus.” You laughed at your own stupidity. “I should’ve known it from the wreath on the door at the Walshes’ house!”

“(Y/N), would you cut to the chase?” Dean asked dryly.

“It’s meadowsweet,” you revealed.

Dean whistled mockingly. “Wow! Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?”

“It’s pretty rare, and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore,” Sam replied.

“Pagan lore?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Meadowsweet’s for human sacrifice. It’s kinda like chum for the gods. The gods are drawn to it, and they’d stop by and snack on the nearest human.”

“Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean wondered.

“Almost every Christmas tradition is pagan, Dee,” you replied.

“Okay, Ms. Catholic, I thought it was Jesus’s birthday,” Dean snarked, a smile playing on his lips.

“No, uh, I had to unlearn that when I left the Church. Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. Yule was the winter solstice festival the church stole and renamed ‘Christmas.’ ‘Cause, y’know, eurocentrism. Hooray,” you explained.

Sam added, “The Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit; that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”

“How do you know that? What are you two freaks gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” Dean remarked.

Both of you rolled your eyes.

“So, you really think we’re gonna be dealing with a pagan god?” The older brother quirked a brow.

“Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, god of the winter solstice,” Sam noted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean huffed, “And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.”

Dean deadpanned, “Great.”

“Wait, Hold Nickar makes sense, though,” you chimed in, something dawning on you. “Guess what he gives you in return?”

“Lap dances, hopefully,” Dean smirked.

You gave him a look. “Mild weather.”

Dean looked out of the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

“For instance,” shrugged Sam.

“Do we know how to kill it yet?” Dean asked.

“Have you met me? That’s all I’ve been looking for the past hour.”

“While you work on that—” Sam turned to his brother, “we got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean questioned, sitting up on his bed.

“Feeding the victims to this thing?”

Sam sighed. “Let’s find out.”

“You keep workin’ your pagan-god-killin’ angle, (Y/N),” Dean told you, moving over to you. “Sam and I ’ll be back soon.” He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead, and your cheeks heated at the brief contact.

***

“How ‘re you supposed to kill a god, (Y/N)?” Bobby droned through the phone.

“I don’t know, dude, that’s what I’m asking you,” you sighed. “I mean, I’ve been pouring through this shit online for hours. I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out.”

“Lemme make a few calls, kid, and I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby said.

“Thanks, Bobby. You’re the best.” You sat back in your chair and clicked your phone off.

Almost as if on cue, Dean burst through the door with Sam trailing behind him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the older one drawled. “Got somethin’ for me?”

“I wish. Just sent Bobby lookin’,” you replied. “Got anything for me?”

“Actually, yeah,” Dean said. “That store we went to? Turns out, lady named Madge Carrigan gave ‘em to the store for free. How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?”

“A couple hundred dollars, at least,” Sam answered while you clacked away at your computer looking for Madge Carrigan’s home address.

“Sounds pretty suspicious,” you said absentmindedly.

“Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” Dean laughed while he took his jacket off.

“You mean, the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam responded, an unimpressed expression crossing his features.

“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He sat on the bed closest to you and went to lean over and look at your computer.

Despite the fact that you were still on the phone, Sam asked Dean, “Alright, dude… What’s going on with you?”

You stopped typing, and both you and Dean sat up to face Sam.

“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden?” continued the brunet. “Why do you want Christmas so bad?”

“Why are you so against it?” Dean challenged. “I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?”

Sam’s voice became heavy with emotion. “No, that has nothing to do with it. I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean’s voice had less of an edge. “This is my last year.”

Sam huffed out a quick breath. “I know. That’s why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay, when I know next Christmas, you’ll be dead.” The near-casualness Sam spoke about Dean’s almost-five-month-out deadline with made your breath catch in your throat. “I just can’t,” Sam finished, voice almost too quiet for you to hear.

The three of you went silent. To distract yourself from the heaviness in the room, you went back to typing on your laptop to find Madge Carrigan’s address and any information on her that suggested she really was your bad guy.

You could feel Dean staring at you, though, and you knew he needed you at that moment. So you shut your laptop and got into bed with him. He laid against your chest, and you kept your arms around him tightly. Soon, you drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

***

The next day, you and Dean headed to the Carrigan’s home. Sam stayed behind to research and see if you had missed anything in your search the night before. The house you arrived at was decorated with cutesy Christmas decorations and screamed the 1950s “American dream.”

“This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?” Dean remarked, looking around. “Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?” He rapped his knuckles against the door.

A blonde, middle-aged woman in a sweater opened it. “Yes?” she answered sweetly.

“Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths,” Dean said.

“Why, yes I am,” she smiled widely.

“Ha! Bingo.” Dean turned to you with a grin.

“We just moved into the neighborhood,” you lied, gesturing between yourself and Dean, “and we were mingling with the Sylars the other day. They had one of your beautiful wreaths on their fireplace. He and I were immediately in love with it.”

“You were? Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?” Mrs. Carrigan’s smile had not lessened since she opened the front door; it was creeping you out.

“It is; it sure is,” you replied. “But the problem is that all your wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”

“Oh, fudge!” she pouted.

“You wouldn’t have another one that we could buy from you, would you?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.”

“Aww…” you whined, deflating.

“Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?” your partner asked.

A man who you assumed was Mr. Carrigan came down the staircase behind the woman as she answered, “Why, the smell, of course! I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.”

‘She… already said that,’ you thought, but you kept the smile plastered on your face.

“What's going on, honey?” Mr. Carrigan asked his wife. You noticed his outfit of choice was a cardigan and slacks, and he held an old-fashioned pipe. The two reminded you very much of “Leave it to Beaver.”

“Well, just this nice couple asking about my wreaths, dear.”

“Oh, the wreaths are fine,” Mr. Carrigan affirmed. “Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” He held out a tin, and Dean took a piece.

You gave him a harsh glare, preventing him from raising the brittle to his lips. Politely, you bid the couple goodbye and kept Dean from snacking while he started to drive.

As soon as you got out of the line of the Carrigans’ sights, you took the peanut brittle and chucked it out of the window.

“What was that for? I’m hungry,” Dean whined.

“Evil pagans, Dean,” you reminded him. “I don’t want you to get magical food poisoning.” You kissed his cheek and sat back in your chair.

He considered for a moment but finally seemed to admit defeat when he hung his head, a small smile and a blush rising to his cheeks.

***

That night, you and the Winchesters headed back to the Carrigan’s home. “ ‘O Come All Ye Faithful” played from somewhere down the street, and the soft glow of Christmas lights on strings shining through the dark night almost made you feel like a child again; falling asleep in the back of your family’s station wagon while your mother hummed along to the Christmas tunes on the radio.

An evergreen stake was hidden in your jacket’s inside pocket; Bobby was becoming your favorite person with his seemingly endless amounts of contacts and information. Sam had informed you and his brother that the last place the Carrigans had lived, three people disappeared, too.

You followed Dean into the living room of the dark home after he picked the lock. He turned around and whispered, “See? Plastic.” He gestured to the couch and other furniture still covered in sheets of it.

You headed down the hallway where ornaments and snow globes rested on shelves on the wall. You made your way into the kitchen where Sam and Dean were looking at a lock on the basement door. Dean picked it, and you followed him down the stairs. You did your best to avoid making the stairs creak as you did so.

You shined your flashlight around and realized the basement was less of a storage room and more of Hannibal Lector’s playroom; a bowl of blood and bone sat at the end of a bloodstained wooden table just big enough to fit a human on that had shackles outfitted to each of its corners. You backed up along the wall, only to bump into something that moved. You yelped in surprise and wheeled around to see a leather bag wriggling around, as if a person was inside it.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the back of your shirt, lifting you up, and you screamed.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled.

You wriggled and kicked with all your might, but Mr. Carrigan was too strong. He turned you around and held you to the wall by your throat, and you clawed at his hand to get away from him. However, slowly losing air, you were unsure whether the best strategy was to fight or to conserve your oxygen.

“Gosh, I wish you kids hadn’t come down here,” Madge smiled sweetly.

***

Slowly, your mind began to awaken. Your limbs and head felt heavy, and the light seeping in through your closed eyes felt painful. You blinked a few times, soon able to fully open your eyes and look around.

You jerked a little in your seat but soon realized your hands were bound to the chair. You turned your head to the left to see Dean tied up shoulders slumped, and on the right, Sam. You supposed the two boys were tied back to back and your chair was tied sort of in between the two. However, you couldn’t see anything going on behind you.

“Dean? You okay?” you asked frantically when you heard him groan.

“Yeah, I think so,” he grumbled.

“How ‘bout you, Sam?”

Sam just hummed in response. “So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God. Nice to know.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, breathing deeply.

You heard approaching footsteps coming from behind you.

“Ooh, and here we thought you two lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff,” you heard Madge giggle.

“Miss all this? Nah, we’re partiers,” Dean snarked.

You heard Mr. Carrigan take a puff from his pipe. “Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey? You’re hunters, is what you are.”

“And you’re pagan gods. So, why don't we just call it even, and go our separate ways?” the older brother suggested.

“What, so you can bring more hunters and kill us?” Madge laughed, voice still sugary sweet. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans, now, huh?” Sam shot back.

“Oh now, don’t get all wet,” Mr. Carrigan scolded gently.

“Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that’s a fact.” You turned to the left to see Madge put a napkin on Dean’s lap. “Now what do we take?” She did the same to you. “What, two? Three?” And then did the same to Sam.

“Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew here make six.” Mr. Carrigan took another drag from his pipe. Funnily enough, you hadn’t seen him light the thing once yet.

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” Madge crooned.

“Well, you say it like that,” Dean sassed, “I guess you guys are the Cunninghams.”

“You, mister, better show us a little respect,” Madge instructed, and you could see her leaning down to try and intimidate Dean.

“Or what?” you remarked, trying to crane your neck around to look at the Carrigans. “You gonna eat us?”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Carrigan responded. “There’s rituals to be followed first.”

You turned to Madge, who looked excited. “Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual.”

“And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?” Mr. Carrigan taunted, walking around in front of you.

“Let me guess.” The glare you delivered was challenging. “Meadowsweet.”

Mr. Carrigan nodded.

“Oh shucks,” you mockingly pouted, “you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” You could hear Madge rustling around as she spoke. Suddenly, a wreath was put around your neck. You attempted to bite Mrs. Carrigan’s fingers to no avail, and she just tapped your nose in response. “There. Oh, don’t they just look darling?

Mr. Carrigan smacked his lips. “Good enough to eat. Alrighty-roo. Step number two.” You heard the sound of a knife being released from its sheath.

Sam started mumbling, “No, no—” to which you and Dean cried his name.

“D-Don’t!” Sam wailed.

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted.

You struggled even harder against your binds.

“Hear how they talk to us?” Mr. Carrigan tsked. “To gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”

Mr. Carrigan walked around to you holding the bowl, and you started to panic just a little.

“Times have changed!” Dean growled.

“Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our– our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters.” Mr. Carrigan walked back behind what you assumed was the kitchen counter.

“But did we say a peep? Oh ho ho, no, no, no, we did not. Two millennia,” Madge continued for her husband. “We kept a low profile; we got jobs, a mortgage. Wh- What was that word, dear?”

“We assimilated.”

“Yeah, we assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays.” The woman walked over to you holding the bowl with Sam’s blood in it. “We’re just like everybody else.”

“You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady,” Dean snarked. Madge ignored your partner’s comment. “This might pinch a bit, dear.” With that, she sliced into your arm deeply.

“F-Fuck!” you screamed.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. “Get your hands off her!”

“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing?” Madge waved the knife around in your face as you panted in pain. “ ‘Fudge’.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” you sassed.

“Oh, god, you son of a bitch!” Dean howled, and you assumed Madge had cut him up, too.

“Get away from him!” you yelled, creating brush burns on your arms from how hard you were pulling on your binds.

“You kids have no idea how lucky you are,” Mr. Carrigan said. “There was a time when kids came from miles around, just to be sitting where you are.” He came to a stop in front of you holding a pair of pliers.

“What do you think you’re doing with those?” you asked, chest heaving in panic.

All he did was smile in response.

“You fudging touch her again, and I’ll fudging kill you!” Dean growled.

“Very good!” Madge praised just before you heard your love groan in pain again.

You had no time to focus on Dean because Mr. Carrigan grabbed your hand.

“No, no, don’t!” Sam begged from beside you.

“Get off me!” you cried, and your cry soon turned into a scream as the god painfully pulled your index fingernail off.

“Oh, we got a winner!” Mr. Carrigan exclaimed happily. He disappeared from your line of sight again, and you dropped your head back on your chair. Your finger and arm were throbbing, and you couldn’t help but cry.

“I swear to god, (Y/N), I’ll fucking kill them,” you heard Dean mutter through the white hot pain roaring in your ears.

“What else, dear?” Madge cooed.

“Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernails, blood. Oh! Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick,” the man laughed. “I forgot the tooth.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Dean said, out of breath.

You turned your head to see Madge and Mr. Carrigan advancing on Dean. The man held the pliers up and grabbed Dean’s chin harshly. “Open wide… and say, ‘Aah’.”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“Somebody gonna get that?” Dean asked around the tool in his mouth. “You should get that.”

“Come on,” Mr. Carrigan finally said.

You knew you had to act fast, and you started working the knife out of your sleeve as soon as the doors shut behind the Carrigans. Silently, all three of you got out of your binds. You hid with Dean behind one of the kitchen doors.

“Now, where were we?” you heard Madge say.

You pulled a drawer out to hold the door closed and trapped the Carrigans in the kitchen. Almost immediately, the couple was attempting to open them.

You made your way over to Sam at the other end of the kitchen and leaned on the door beside him.

“What do we do now? The evergreen stakes are in the basement!” Dean whispered.

“Well, we need more evergreen, Dean!” Sam replied.

You looked over at the tree in the corner of the living room. “Guys. Bingo.”

Dean smirked excitedly. “Sam, help me get this.” He had his brother assist him in moving the large cabinet next to the door in front of it.

While the boys worked, you pushed the Christmas tree over and broke three large branches off it. You tossed one to both boys who caught them with ease.

Gripping your stake tightly, you waited with bated breath as the house went silent. Suddenly, Mr. Carrigan tackled Dean to the ground. Madge grabbed your shoulder before you could help Dean and wheeled you around. “You little thing,” she chastised. “I loved that tree.”

You raised your stake, but she hit you hard and threw you back onto the plastic-covered couch. The woman stalked toward you, and you whacked her to the ground with the branches of your stake. You scrambled to your feet before she could recover and stabbed her through the chest with your stake.

“Madge!” Mr. Carrigan screamed just before Sam stabbed him with his own makeshift stake.

You moved to stand beside the two boys, chest heaving from the effort. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals,” you breathed out at the dead bodies at your feet. The two boys huffed out labored laughs before Dean slung his arm around your shoulder and began leading you out of the house.

***

“How’d you keep Dean from finding this stuff?” Sam asked.

You pulled a few plastic bags out from under the bed you shared with the older Winchester. “He doesn’t look under here unless it’s for his shoes. I’ve been making sure they’re next to mine by the door every night,” you explained with a smile. You handed one of the bags to Sam. “It’s not much, but I found a crappy dollar store down the road. I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

Sam looked down sheepishly. “You do get why I was… hesitant, though, right?”

You stood up and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

He gave you a lopsided smile.

“C’mon,” you said. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

“What?”

You stooped to pull out the little plastic Christmas tree from under Sam’s bed and held it up with a wide grin.

***

Dean returned almost an hour later holding a six pack. “What’s all this?” he asked, almost in a sort of daze as he looked around the decorated room.

You continued to busy yourself with making eggnog while the brothers talked.

“What do you think it is? It’s– it’s Christmas,” Sam replied.

You walked over to Sam with a cup of your concoction.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked him.

“Oh, thanks,” Sam told you without answering his brother.

“Lemme know if it needs more of a kick,” you said.

Sam took a swig and coughed. “Nope, all good.”

“Yeah?” you grinned.

Sam nodded and smiled.

Dean came up behind you and slipped an arm around your waist, his hand landing just above your ass. He smirked down at you and took the other cup of eggnog from your left hand. He gulped almost half of it down, unfazed by the strong whiskey taste.

“Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do… Christmas stuff, or whatever,” Sam awkwardly said.

You sat beside Dean on the couch next to the small Christmas tree decorated with car air fresheners. Sam pulled up a chair across from you.

“All right, first things first,” Dean nodded, and you handed him the two packages he’d wrapped shoddily in brown paper bags. “Merry Christmas, Sam.” Dean handed him one of the two bags.

Sam smiled widely. “Where’d you get these?”

“Someplace special,” Dean smirked. At Sam’s deadpan expression, Dean continued, “The gas mart down the street. Open them up.”

“Well, great minds think alike, Dean.” Sam brought out two packages wrapped in newspaper. He gave the first to Dean.

“Really?” Dean asked, eyes shining with surprise.

You left Dean’s arms momentarily to reach under the couch and brought out two packages daintily wrapped in brown paper. You handed one to each of the boys, and they handed their gifts to you. “You didn’t have to get me anything, guys,” you said.

“Yeah, we did. Shuddup,” Dean remarked, smirking.

You relaxed back against him while Sam opened his gift from Dean. “Skin mags!” he laughed. “And shaving cream.”

“You like?” Dean questioned.

Sam smiled and nodded. He then opened the gift from you. “Oh, no way!” He held up the Staind cassette tapes you’d gotten for him to add to Dean’s collection for long drives; especially for when Dean was gone.

You grinned widely as he admired the tapes. “Okay, Dee, your turn,” you told him.

He chuckled and unwrapped Sam’s gift to him. “Look at this! Fuel for me and fuel for my baby.” He held up a candy bar and a bottle of oil, and you laughed. “These are awesome,” the older brother said. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“Okay, now mine,” you beamed.

“Oh, holy shit,” Dean breathed out while he opened the Bowie knife you’d gotten engraved for him. On the hilt of the blade were his initials, and the handle was engraved to look just like the side of his prized Taurus pistol. “Jesus, (Y/N), this is—” he couldn’t seem to find the words, instead opting to place a long kiss on the side of your forehead.

At last, you opened yours. Sam gave you the second book in a series you’d been reading on Greek myths, for which you were eternally grateful, but Dean’s gift truly floored you.

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, fingering the small beaded bracelet Dean had given you.

“Off some kid in the lobby,” he smirked.

Tears filled your eyes at how close of attention he paid to you and your stories.

“There’s something else in there, too.”

You looked up to Dean with complete admiration before rummaging around in the bag once more. You pulled out a ripped piece of paper from the notepad at a motel you’d recently stayed at with the words, “Redeem on Dean’s expiration date.” You looked up to him in confusion.

“It’s, uh, for this,” Dean revealed, thumbing the amulet around his neck. “I want you to have it.”

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He returned your fierce embrace, pulling you impossibly closer across his lap.

“Merry Christmas, Deano,” you whispered into his shoulder.

Dean pulled away from you and kissed your forehead. He then held his eggnog up to cheers you and Sam. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

The three of you sat in silence sipping your drinks before Sam broke the quiet.

He looked quite sad as he began, “Hey, Dean, y—” but Sam cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head. “Do you feel like watching the game?” he finally asked.

Dean grinned in relief. “Absolutely.”

You clicked on the television before settling into Dean’s side. He lazily thumbed your hip and sighed in content. Sam turned his chair to face the television.

***

Later that night, long after Dean and Sam had gone to bed, you were still wide awake. Snow had begun softly falling outside the motel room window, and the moonlight reflected off the white blanket over the Impala beautifully. Wrapped in a blanket, you made your way over to your duffel bag. You hadn’t taken the bracelet that Dean gave you off, and you were still holding the piece of paper to “redeem” when Dean was gone.

You took your wallet out and slipped the piece of paper into the see-through pocket where your ID sat, and there it would stay until this was all over.

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undertheorangetree · 1 year ago

Text

Snowed In

Summary- A snow storm leads to an opportunity.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Modern Aemond. Cat Vhagar is modern AU canon. Friends to lovers vibe. Thigh riding. Blowjob. Cunnilingus. P in V sex. Safe sex practices for once. Probably ooc Aemond cuz he's experiencing joy.

Author's Note- Yes all of my fics take place in the winter what about it?? That's my business that I am now involving you in link to full fic below :)

dividers by me

"They've just closed campus."

Her head pops up from behind her laptop, staring at Aemond in wide eyed disbelief. Already, there is a sympathetic wince on his face, the kind that is only ever present when he knows she is about to get upset, but even then she refuses to believe him.

"Closed? What do you mean closed?"

"It says they had to on account of the weather."

"No, they haven't. Let me see."

He spins his laptop screen to face her, forcing her to push her own down in order to see properly. His email has been left open on the page and her eyes rove over the message she had so desperately hoped he had made up. There before her in big bold letters are the words URGENT- CAMPUS CLOSED followed by a brief explanation blaming a snow storm and apologizing for any inconveniences the decision may have caused.

She lets out a groan, leaning back in the library's old chair, a pleading look on her face as if Aemond is the one responsible for making such decisions. He may as well be, with his family being such heavy contributors to Oldtown University's alumni fund, his last name plastered across the front of one of the many building on campus. She has half the mind to ask him to go speak to whichever family member is on the chair committee to convince them to reverse the decision and allow them to go back to finishing their final papers, though somehow she doubts that would be likely.

"The storm wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow. It can't already be that bad, can it?"

He reaches over toward the blinds they have long since closed, both of them having agreed that the glare from the sun was too distracting hours ago, only to be met with the sight of a now white campus, the snow blanketing near everything in sight. It's evident now why they would have shut down campus - it must have been snowing for hours- but she still feels something close to dread work its way up her spine.

She sucks in a heavy breath, turning to face Aemond once more. "Do you think they would have shut down the buses too?"

She knows it's a lost cause even as she asks it. The university is located away from the port, standing alone at the top of one of the mountains. It's a steep drive even in idle conditions and she knows that with the snow on the roads, the chances of her being able to commute back to her apartment are slim to none.

Just as she suspects, he simply looks at her, face contorted in a way that clearly implies that she already knows the answer. She bites out a curse, half slamming her laptop down before dropping her face into her hands.

The last thing she wants to do is spend the night on campus. She doubts that they were the only two caught unaware and trying to find a place to camp out for the night is going to be hell. Not for him, of course. Aemond's family connections came with seemingly endless perks and he had been set up with a beautiful flat on campus, less than a five minute walk from the library. He has lived there ever since she has known him and she had been there more times than she could count. Since first befriending him during orientation week in their first year, she had spent countless nights eating take out and studying for finals there. With their joint history major, they had taken nearly every class together, making last night studying near second nature at this point, so close to finishing their degrees.

There's a faint burn of envy in her gut at the thought of his flat- warm, isolated, cozy- but it's quickly snuffed out by her nervousness, fretting over where exactly she is meant to camp out tonight. She doubts she will actually sleep, not while she’s alone on campus, but she still wants to be at least somewhat comfortable. A padded chair would be ideal, though she knows they will be difficult to come by if she doesn’t act quickly.

Shoving her laptop back into her bag, she begins collecting the handful of papers she had sprawled out across the tabletop. "I guess I should go and try to find somewhere to sleep. It's going to be a blood bath trying to find something with decent cushioning."

He scoffs. "You're not going to be fighting any blood baths. Just spend the night at mine."

Read the rest here

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theemporium · 1 year ago

Note

Dear CeCe

I have a request it’s something along the lines of

"You brought me breakfast?" "Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I'd make sure you ate something."

Where the reader (much like myself because of my adhd) forgets to eat breakfast so the driver (preferably Carlos because that man can cook and I believe it’s one of his favorite things to do when not racing) brings them breakfast so they can eat.

(Ps can it be an plus sized!reader)

Thank you ❤️💙

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

When you had made the comment with the Spaniard present, you didn’t think it would amount to anything.

It had been during a rainy stint between free practice sessions. The rain was still going heavy and the track was too wet to even attempt a few laps, so most of the teams had been huddled in the garages as they waited for the weather to ease.

You had been on Carlos’ side of the garage, along with some other Ferrari workers that were on the social media team. Originally, you were planning to use the extra time to get some shots of both drivers for the Instagram page, only to find yourself seated with both drivers and some others from the engineering team as you discussed random topics of conversation.

The topic of the drivers’ insane meal and dietary requirements came up, along with superstitions and favourite meals on race day when you had made the passive comment.

“I don’t think I could be a driver. I forget to eat breakfast half the time, let alone remember which foods I can and can’t eat. It would be a mess!”

The comment had stuck with Carlos, and not in a good way. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the idea that you were skipping out on meals. He had noticed a handful of times you’d forget to eat whilst you were at the paddock because you were too immersed in your work. But the fact it went beyond that? That you were forgetting meals outside of work?

He didn’t like it one bit.

You had been in the Ferrari motorhome the first time it happened. You had been sitting at one of the tables, your laptop sat in front of you and your eyes focused on the screen as you worked on editing some photos that were supposed to be going up that afternoon.

You didn’t even notice the Spanish driver leaving the catering kitchens, let alone making his way towards you until the chair he pulled up beside you was scraping against the floor, the screeches hard to ignore.

You smiled when you noticed him, opening your mouth to greet him, only to freeze when he placed a plate in front of you.

You blinked. “What is this?”

“Breakfast,” he said simply with a smile as he took the seat next to you, placing his own plate in front of him.

“You got me breakfast?” you questioned, unsure why the action made your stomach flutter. Maybe it was the hunger you didn’t even realise you felt, or maybe it was the handsome man beside you.

“I made you breakfast,” he corrected before pausing. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else—”

“No!” you said suddenly, flushing a little at how loud and abrupt you were before clearing your throat. “No, I…thank you, Carlos.”

“No problem, amor.”

But what you assumed was a one time thing started to happen every day you were at the paddock. On race weekends, Carlos would always have a plate ready for you when you arrived, from Thursday straight through to Sunday. And on the weeks where there was no race, you found yourself exchanging numbers with the Spanish driver, only to find yourself receiving constant reminders from the boy.

smooth operator: remember to eat something today xx

smooth operator: did you drink enough water today, amor? xx

smooth operator: remember to eat dinner before midnight please

It sent a flutter of butterflies down to your stomach every time he texted. It made your heart thrum whenever he called. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were falling for the Spanish driver. Despite knowing his actions were probably just a show of friendship, it didn’t change the way you felt for him.

And you were happy to keep your feelings reserved to yourself until Charles had made a comment one race weekend.

“Carlos, your girlfriend is here!” The other Ferrari driver called out through the garage in a sing-song voice.

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh no, I—we are just friends.”

Charles looked sceptical. “Friends, huh?”

You frowned a little at his tone of voice. “Yes?”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “I knew Carlos’ whole ‘food is the way to a woman’s heart’ was a load of bullshit!”

“Ay, no it’s not!” Carlos scoffed as he made his way over, smacking his teammate on the back of his head before he turned to you, a smile on his face. “Ah, mi amor.”

“Hey,” you murmured with a shy smile before you raised the bag in your hand, the rustle catching both boys’ attention. “I, uh, thought it was time for me to repay the favour. It’s not as good as your cooking but—”

“It’s perfect,” he insisted, not even caring what was inside the bag.

“What a nice friendly gesture,” Charles piped up with a grin plastered across his face.

Your face heated up and Carlos frowned a little.

“You think we are just friends?” Carlos asked, his head turning to look at you.

You blinked. “We aren’t?”

“Is my flirting really that bad?”

Your lips parted slightly. “You were flirting?”

“Oh, this is brilliant,” Charles snorted.

“Mi amor, I don’t just make meals for any girl,” Carlos said with a sheepish expression on his face.

“Oh,” you murmured.

Carlos raised his brows. “Oh?”

“I didn’t think you felt the same about me,” you admitted with a shy smile.

“Well, you’d be wrong,” he teased, something darker and more tempting shining in his eyes. “Think I can convince you to agree to dinner then?”

“Will you be cooking for me, Mr Sainz?” you asked.

“It’s just one of many things I’ll be doing for you, amor,” Carlos said, his darkened gaze meeting yours.

“Then I’d be a fool to say no.”

“This is horrible to witness, by the way,” Charles piped up once again. “I’m glad you two admitted your feelings but really, get a room, please.”

#carlos sainz #formula one #f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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nochukoo97 · 1 year ago

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boyfriend drabbles (pt.16)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: the one where you can’t sleep, but jungkook is there to soothe you

word count: 500+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

You’re tossing and turning beside Jungkook restlessly, your boyfriend fast asleep, soft snores coming from his mouth.

It’s 4am in the morning and you’ve taken every sort of substance possible to make you fall asleep, from a warm glass of milk to melatonin, somehow your body is wide awake.

You don’t dare to wake Jungkook up, he was clearly exhausted from a long day of rehearsals, boxing lessons, and his two hour long live with army at the end of the day.

But you’re so desperate to fall asleep, even though you had no schedule planned for tomorrow, it was exhausting having to lay in bed for almost four hours already and not yet being asleep.

“Sorry Bam,” You step over the dog’s sleeping body, envying how even the animal can sleep so well while you’re the only one wide awake.

You decide to try out the last idea you had, playing sleep music.

As you reach over to your laptop at the far end of the desk, you accidentally knock over Jungkook’s mini speaker on the edge of the table.

BAAM.

Oh, shit.

The dog that was once sleeping peacefully on the floor jerks awake, standing up immediately and searching for the loud sound.

“Bam, it’s okay, shhh,” You try to calm the startled dog.

“Jagi-ah?” There's a hoarse, low voice coming from your bed, it’s Jungkook, who’s now wide awake.

“It’s okay, I just dropped something, go back to sleep,” You wave off his concern, but your boyfriend has other plans.

“Are you hurt?” Jungkook walks to you, hair messy as he grabs your hands, inspecting them.

“No baby, it’s okay,” You chuckle at his concern, finding it cute that he immediately checked up on you.

“Why are you awake anyways, I was all alone in the bed,”

Jungkook whines, wrapping his arms around your figure as he sniffs the top of your head, a habit he often had when hugging you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” You mumble against his chest, Jungkook pulls away from you and stares at you with a frown on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to wake you up, you had a long day,” You cup his cheeks, smiling fondly at your boyfriend.

“It’s fine if you wake me up, you know that,” Jungkook scolds you, “I’ll end up sleeping with you again anyways,”

“Okay sorry sorry, let’s go to bed now then,” You roll your eyes at his nagging tone

Jungkook suddenly picks you up, tossing you on the bed as you let out a squeal.

“Yah! You can’t do things like that! I got a shock!” You whine, but soon your boyfriend is hovering above you, peppering you with kisses as you giggle under him.

“Oof,” Jungkook’s muscular and heavy body plops on top of you as you groan.

“How are we suppose to sleep like this,” You’re whining under him as he laughs, finally getting off you.

“Come here and cuddle me,” Jungkook pulls your figure to snuggle against his chest, you sigh in content.

“Love you Jagi,” Jungkook whispers against your head as his hands rub your back, soothing you to sleep.

“Love you too,” You mumble out, falling fast asleep in his arms.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #boyfriend jungkook

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cillianmurphysdimples · 4 days ago

Text

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fifteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Fifteen: Y/N is getting by with minimal contact with Cillian whilst he continues to work away, but a rare chance to see him on a Zoom call brightens her mood. When she gets a call the same evening from his sister, she prepares herself for a Corkonian takeover at the end of the following week. His sister says something, and she finds herself taken aback by Cillian's reaction. [Family life/Fluff/Angst] (I've run out of grey haired GIFs that apply so take this one!)

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meadowshelby @strangeions @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme

Yoke - thing (keep getting asked about that one)

Gatting - heavy drinking/drinking

Leaba - Irish word for bed

Síle is pronounced like Shee-lah

.......

You went three days with just a few texts between you and Cillian once he'd landed back in England. He had night filming, interviews, and a desperate need for sleep to occupy him. But on the evening of the fourth day, sitting in your office, it surprises you to receive a Zoom invite a few moments after you log out of your accounts for work. You can barely contain the buzz of excitement as you connect and wait to see his face. His face fills your screen and it's so good to see him. His beanie is pulled over his hair, and he's got a coat over his clothes that tells you he's either coming in or going out.

“Hello,” you beam. “It's really good to see your face.”

He smiles brightly back at you, “Ah fuck - it's good to see you, too.”

“Are you coming in or going out?” You ask, and you chuckle when he looks down at himself then back up at you.

“Heading out,” he says. “Dinner with Packy, Sophie and Matt.” He elaborates. “But I wanted to see you a wee bit before I go.”

“You had a busy day?” You ask. He'd text you around five am, having finished a night of filming again, and let you know he was back to filming in the daytime tomorrow. You didn't know, though, I'd he'd fallen into bed after that or if he had a string of things to occupy him and planned on sleeping tonight instead.

He shakes his head, “Not overly. I was asleep til gone eleven,” he grins, “Then I sat on my arse for a while but it was in front of this yoke for interviews so I suppose I was working.” He chuckles. “I had the glasses on there for a bit, my eyes are wrecked from looking at this all afternoon. I don't know how you cope with it for work.” He shakes his head. “Can't wait to crawl back into me leaba later.”

“You'd live in your bed if we let you.” You laugh lightly, and he grins back at you. “Still coming back home for a few days after next week?” You ask him hopefully.

“Of course,” he nods earnestly. “Missing you farting in the bed,” raises his eyebrows and the giggle he erupts into as he slags you leaves you unable to defend yourself even in false annoyance.

“You're a prick,” you smirk, shaking your head. “But I miss you. Not having you moaning at me to turn the brain-rot TV off is actually getting boring.” He laughs lightly, and you watch his tongue draw back and begin flicking against his bottom teeth. “Did you talk to the boys?”

He nods his head, “Yeah, just off the phone there actually.” He says with a bright expression. “They're grand by all accounts.” His head whips around to the door behind him suddenly and you can hear the faint sound of it knocking. He gets up from the seat he's in. You watch the screen as he walks towards the door of his hotel room and drags it open enough to see out. “Howeya…no, you're fine, come in. Just talking to Y/N, there.” His voice is quieter with the distance from the laptop but you can hear him well enough. You watch him step aside from the door and pull it further open, and there's a little anxiety in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of whomever is on the other side of it. You relax almost instantly when it's Packy who walks into view.

With a cheeky grin, he approaches the laptop and all but shoves his face into the camera. “Well, Y/N, what's the craic?” He laughs, and you can hear Cillian's light giggle behind him.

“Hiya,” you smile brightly back. “You lot out on the piss tonight then?”

Packy purses his lips and shakes his head comically, “God no, no getting on it tonight.” He insists as he steps back from the laptop. You can see Cillian loitering with a little awkwardness, like he's a little on edge now that somebody is in his space, but beyond his hand being close to his mouth, he gives no other indication of unease. “Well, I suppose we could?” He looks to Cillian and you watch Cillian's brows rise up, “Well Sophie's fella is driving, there's no use everyone being a pioneer for the night.” He laughs and Cillian shakes his head with a bright smile.

“You'll have to take his shoes off for him if that's the case, he's not so good with them after a few.” You speak up, and while Cillian makes a face and laughs lightly Packy doesn't seem to have heard you at all. “And take him to the toilet before you leave a bar, yeah? I'd rather not be WhatsApp’d another string of images of him peeing in the street.”

Packy laughs - evidentially he'd heard you that time and of the event in question - and points at Cillian who shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Don't worry, Y/N, if he gets it out in the street we'll give him a slap.”

Cillian frowns and bends at the waist, and stares straight into the camera. “You can fuck off,” he says with raised eyebrows, but all you can do is laugh. “No gatting tonight!” He promised, “Here, we’re away. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” He says with a genuine and bright smile. “Go on and watch your shite on TV.”

You laugh and wave into the camera. “Have a good night. Love you.” You say with a soft smile.

“Love you too.” He says with a serious expression. He gives a thumbs up and then the call ends.

You hadn't expected a call, so you try to keep the nice surprise of it as a pleasant thing and not dwell on the fact that he was now gone again. You decide to do as he suggested - bullshit TV. And maybe a takeaway.

You make your way down the two flights of stairs and into the kitchen. Immediately, you feel how cold it is and adjust the thermostat on the wall beside the sofa. You need to remember to change it back, or Cillian will be moaning about the cost to heat the place, and that it's a sauna in the bedroom. Back in the kitchen, you leave your phone on the island and begin searching through the kitchen drawers for a takeaway menu. You're certain there are Chinese and Indian takeaway menus knocking about, but by your third unsuccessful drawer, you're beginning to assume that Cillian has thrown them out on one of his mad moments of domestic service. About to surrender, you check in the fourth drawer, strewn with poorly organised cooking utensils, and ‘a-ha!’ to yourself mentally as you find the menus pinned beneath the ladle and wooden spoon. You shut the door with your bum as you turn around, hands occupied with scouring through the menus. Definitely Chinese over Indian, and definitely egg fried rice over Cillian's preferred mushroom rice. The decision of what to stuff yourself with along with the rice, though, is a harder one. Chicken balls and BBQ sauce, or a spice bag, or Cantonese sweet and sour chicken? You could get it all, and take a small amount from everything, and have the leftovers tomorrow, of course, but you weren't sure you were willing to spend fifty euro on a Chinese takeaway for just yourself.

You lean against the island as you look over the menu, and glance across when your phone begins buzzing and singing out ‘San Diego Song’ as it rings. You abandon your hunger for a moment and lean across awkwardly. You frown as “Síle” flashes on the screen. Answering the call, and pushing it onto speakerphone, you stand over the handset curiously. “Hi, Síle,” you say softly. “Everything okay?” You're a little taken aback that she's calling you at all, and even more so as his family knows he's in England right now. Why not just call her brother?

“Hiya, Y/N,” Síle says, bright and cheerful. “Sorry bothering you in the evening, but I know Cill is away. I wanted to ask, would it be okay if Griff and I stayed up with you towards the end of next week? We've an event in Dublin, and it'd be nice to see you. And I know Cill should be back home there at the end of the week, I think anyway, I'm sure he said….”

You remind yourself what day you're on now. “Friday,” you say. “He’ll be back on the Friday. In the afternoon, I think.”

“I'll ring him, and I'll talk it over, but you're home there now, so.” You hear her laugh.

“I mean, you're so welcome, you know that. And the boys will be up on the Sunday, too. Bet they'd be happy seeing you both. As long as you can stick your brother being a pain in the arse, and the sofabed up in the office. Though if the boys aren't staying then I'm sure you can use one of their rooms.” You say with a smile.

“Ah, you know us by now, Y/N, wherever we hang out hats.” She laughs again. “You're a star, Y/N, thanks a million.” she says with a quiet laugh. “And you're alright yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. Working, and about to get a Chinese with as much chicken as I can stomach in Cillian's absence.” You laugh, and you hear her laugh too. “And you two?”

“Ah, yeah, sure we're grand. Same as yourself, working away and all.” She says, still bright and cheerful.

“That's good,” you smile.

“So if we say Friday, yeah? You're sure that's okay, now?” She checks.

You answer immediately in the affirmative. “Yeah, absolutely. Friday is fine. As I said, he's home Friday. And you'll stay for the weekend?”

“If youse don't mind - we've the thing in Dublin on Saturday daytime but it'd be good to be visiting for a few days, and to see Aran and Malachy.” Síle says cheerfully.

“It’ll be great to see you. But you might change your mind on Friday when Cillian gets home. He's not been getting a lot of sleep, and you'll find him going through you for a shortcut.” you laugh a little.

“Ah, sure hasn't he always been the same, girl!?” She laughs again. “Come here, Y/N, I'll let you get on with your Chinese takeaway. I'll talk to you both before, anyway, but otherwise I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Síle.” You say, and hit the cancel button on the phone. You do wonder, now, if Cillian should have been involved in the decision but you're fairly sure he wouldn't tell his own sister to get a hotel! Still, you open your texts and send a message across to Cillian, letting him know Síle’s request and that you have agreed to it.

“Dinner good? Síle rang me - she and Griff want to stay here next Friday & over the weekend for something they have in Dublin. I said no problem. I know you're back on Friday too but we can have a quiet evening anyway. Maybe call her? Love you x.”

You return to your menu, having mentally made made your choices whilst on the phone, and then scour through the app on your phone to find the Chinese that actually corresponds to the menu. Finding the ChowTown restaurant on Church Road, you put through your order and grimace at the delivery charge before finalising. Just as you go to set your phone down, Cillian's text reply comes through. You slide down the notification bar and click to open it.

“She texted me that she'd tried to ring. Didn't get any call. No bother anyway. We can get dinner or something. Can throw them in Aran's room, not like he's using it. The restaurant is loud, I want to go to bed ha ha. Love you.”

You smirk as you swipe away the message, and push your phone into the pocket of your hoodie. You slink over to the sofa and drop down, immediately flicking the TV onto Amazon Prime and began to search for a film you know Cillian would turn his nose up to, but that you really wanted to see. The only benefit you found to the little bastard being gone was that you could indulge yourself in things he didn't like - or didn't approve of - but even that didn't make his absence worth it.

You booked the Friday off as annual leave and spent the day ensuring you had the house in order - not that either of you were particularly untidy - and that all three of the available beds had clean sheets in case there was a case of musical beds once Síle and Griff arrived. You finished a quick grocery shop - wine, snacks, fresh fruit and veg, and bottled water - and finished your stint as Cinderella by sweeping and mopping the floor that covered the whole of the open plan space downstairs. Satisfied, as you stand in your gleaming kitchen, you light the wood wick candle that had been gifted to you at some point over the last twelve months and left it in the centre of the island. You love the crackle of the wooden wick, and it doesn't take long for its vanilla and coffee bean scent to start filtering around the space. It's three o'clock in the afternoon, and you're finally satisfied that you now look like you live in an untouched show home and that it smells so clinically clean that nobody will ever guess that you're human and eat or drink anything at all.

You fill the kettle with water and set it on to boil. Despite the offer on more than one occasion to collect him at the airport, Cillian had declined as he wanted to do something before coming home so all you were doing now was waiting - which you hate. You place the coffee press beside the kettle and spoon in the ground coffee, then stand awkwardly as you glance around you. Why did waiting for something always make you feel like you could do anything else? But you were excited to see him, and you were both excited and nervous to see his sister and husband, too. You were looking forward to one of your favourite phenomenons, too - Cillian's accent getting stronger in the presence of someone else from Cork!

As the kettle comes to a boil and silences, you frown. You're sure you heard the crackling of the gravel outside, but it could just be the candle crackling. Still, your stomach flutters and you walk towards the front door to peer out of the glass in the room if the door and check. Sure enough, you can see a car and a lone figure, though the mottled glass that doesn't allow a clear view out, but you'd know that figure anywhere. It does help that he's lugging a wheeled bag awkwardly along the gravel as the car reverses away. You unlock the front door and pull it open, smiling brightly as Cillian looks up at you. The beanie is ever present, his glasses are perched on his nose, and the look of exhaustion mixed with a smile across his face feels like home to behold.

“You're back,” you say, smiling brightly.

His smile widens a little as he reaches the door, “I'm back.” He says, letting go of the bag on the doorstep. He wraps his arms around you immediately and you snake your arms around his back. His kiss is soft and loving, and he tastes like coffee and smells like himself. You move to rest your head on his chest, still standing at the door. It's been a long couple of weeks and you've missed the presence of his body in the house. He laughs a little and squeezes you before letting go. “C'mon, let's get in.” He says, and begins trying to pull your arms from him. You let go, smirking, and close the door on the outside once he's in the door. “God, have you disinfected the whole house?” He asks, looking around him, as he releases his bag once again beside the coat hooks.

“I have,” you nod with a smile. “How was the flight?”

He juts his chin up, “Ah, same as always.” He sniffs. “Will we whack on the kettle? I need tea.” He smiles.

“It's just boiled actually. Which tea do you want?” You ask as you turn your back on him, as he takes off his shoes and coat, and make your way to the kitchen.

“Oh, whatever you get,” he says. A moment later, he has his arms around you from behind, his chin on your shoulder, as you pour water from the kettle into a mug with a herbal tea bag inside. “God…” he grumbles against your cheek, “Missed you.”

You smile, “I've missed you too. It's been a long couple of weeks.”

“Síle give a time for today?” He asks, and unwraps his arms from you as you push his mug along the counter for him to pick up. Taking the mug, he yawns tightly and noisily.

You shake your head, and turn to face him. “No, just that she'd be here today.” He nods slowly and yawns a second time. “Did you not sleep last night?” You ask, smirking.

He shakes his head, “I did, but…” he shrugs his shoulders as he yawns a third time. “Fuck sake.” He stretches his eyes wide as his jaw snaps shut. “You didn't hear from the boys this week, did you?” He asks and then sips at his tea.

You shake your head, “No, I mean I did text on Thursday about Sunday and Aran said he'd be coming, I didn't get anything from Malachy. But otherwise, no.” you say. “Why?”

Cillian frowns, “Ah, I was on the phone to Aran on Tuesday, I think, and he was in a bit of a mood. Couldn't get out of him why, but he told me he didn't want to come over on the weekend, that it was pissing him off.” He shakes his head.

“Well, like I said, Thursday’s text said he'd be here. You said he was in a mood, maybe he was just being a shit with his words.” You reason.

Cillian nods, “Yeah, I get that. But, I don't get why, like.” He shrugs.

“School, a fight with his mum, pissed off with his brother, hormones…” you list, smiling at him. “He's a teenage boy, don't take it personally.” he rolls his eyes at you as he sips at his tea again. “I'll throw your bag upstairs. Do you want to get the washing out first? Save bringing it up to bring it down again.”

“Ah leave it, I'll do it there in a minute.” He says, shaking his head. He sets his mug down onto the counter beside him and holds his arms open. “Come here,” he raises his eyebrows. “Didn't get enough there before.” He grins at his own cheesy line. But you oblige, and fold yourself against his chest as his wraps his arms around you tightly. His chin rests on the top of your head, and he breathes deep and contented breaths that soothe you as much as you assume they do him. You're not sure how long you stand there, comfortable and close, but you're disappointed when there's a heavy knock on the front door that signals the end of the intimacy.

You sigh and push yourself up out of his embrace. “That'll be your sister.”

He sticks out his bottom lip, “Fuck,” he raises a single eyebrow. “I was hoping for a quickie before they got here.” You slap your hand against his arm, tutting but smiling, as you walk towards the front door. All you can think now is, Let the Corkonian takeover begin!

Cillian’s shift in brightness surprises you massively as you'd open the door and welcome in his sister and her husband. But that chirpiness only lasts for the time it takes to make dinner and settle around the dining table before he is yawning, and exercising his right to live with a perpetual bitch face. He chats, and isn't rude at all, but you can see as you all ate that he is heading speedily towards switch off mode after three weeks working flat out. He smiles as Griff talks about work, and as Síle explains what they're up to tomorrow in the city, and you reach across the table and tap your fingers gently across the back of his hand.

“Do you want another?” You ask, and nod towards his empty beer bottle before him. When he nods briefly, you take to the empty one as you stand up. “Another drink, guys?” You offer. They're all seemingly enjoying the thrown-together meal, and that's helped to alleviate some of your anxiety about things going well while they're here.

“Another glass of wine would be lovely,” Síle smiles brightly. And you're a little surprised when Griff declines and gestures towards his still half full beer.

You excuse yourself to the kitchen, with Síle’s glass and Cillian's empty bottle, and take a moment to breathe before you replace their drinks. They're lovely - all of his family are, in fact - but you consistently fear doing anything wrong in case their opinions of you turn sour and they begin to see you as you'd always feared they would after the affair. As you close the fridge door and set Cillian's beer onto the island, you hear footsteps around the wall from the dining room and look up. “You okay?” You ask, as Cillian approaches, carrying his knife and fork.

He nods with a soft smile just about pulling his lips, “Knocked them onto the floor,” he rolls his eyes. He walks around to the sink and throws them in and takes a clean set from the drainer beside it. He turns and leans back against the sink. “Y'alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod and smile. “You look done in.” You say, softening your expression sympathetically.

He nods his head, “Think it's because I've stopped, you know, after going for nearly a month.” He smirks. “We’ll roll into bed in a wee while,” he says and raised his eyebrows. “Throw me out the opener, there,” he says as he pushes away from the sink and picks up the beer bottle on the island. You hand it over, and as he pops off the cap, you pour Síle's glass of wine, and you return to the dining room with him just a step or two behind.

“When are you back in England, Cill?” Síle asks as he sits down across from her. She gives you a bright smile as you hand her the refilled wine glass.

“Tuesday,” he says with a nod, then takes a drink from the bottle. “This yoke tomorrow, is it like an exhibition?” He asks. She'd mentioned that they were attending an arts event not too far from the wax museum just off O’Connell Bridge, in a small building that gave nothing away.

“I suppose,” Síle shrugs. “Griff's friend has work that is in it.”

Cillian turns down the corners of his mouth and raises his eyebrows, “Cool,” he smiles.

“And the boys are well?” Griff asks, “We do be interacting there on Facebook with them but you wouldn't be quick getting a reply from them.” He laughs.

Cillian clicks his tongue, “Phones never out of their hands, but sure if they answer a text it's a miracle.” He smirks. “But they're grand. Aran’s got the leavers soon so he's busy, and between the girlfriend, college and that wee job in Eason’s, Malachy does be hard to pin down.”

“I'm looking forward to seeing them on Sunday, Y/N said they'll be here.” Síle says, and places her cutlery down to reach for her glass.

“Yeah, dinner here every week. If I'm home, I do get Aran from school. Malachy stayed here the night before I went back there.” Cillian smiles, “I said to Y/N, wrecks the head that they're growing up.” He smirks, but you can see the nostalgia there.

“I only spoke to Yvonne a few days ago, she was wishing Griff a happy birthday and just chatting on about the boys. Do you get talking to her much, or just the kids?” Síle spoke delicately, without malice or deliberate stirring, but you still find your stomach dropping.

Swallowing his mouthful of beer, Cillian sets the bottle back down and shrugs his shoulders. “The odd bit, but it's usually only if it concerns the boys. Last I spoke to her was before I went away just to give her the dates when I'd be home because I knew the lads wouldn't remember.”

“And it's awkward?” She presses on and you catch Cillian's quick glance in your direction.

“It's grand,” he says and waves his hand. “I didn't know you two were still in touch though.” He says, and you examine the frown on his brow - is he angry, confused, both?

“Don't be reading into that,” Síle says quickly, “It's only to ask about the kids. And you two were together years, Cillian. I know things were difficult before you split up but I can't be a bitch to her entirely; she's raising my nephews.” You find yourself understanding Síle’s stance somewhat. “Are you gone moody now?” She challenges her older brother with a comical expression.

He shakes his head, once again turning down the corners of his mouth. “I'm not, no.” He sighs. His mood has shifted slightly, you can tell, but you're not sure what he's thinking of feeling.

“Cill,” Síle sighs. “I'm not ringing up and inviting her down, that's not what's happening. Birthdays, celebrations, yeah? That's all. And I just ask after the boys.” She explains.

“You can ask me,” he looks at her with a serious expression across his face. “I'm not so fucking far removed from my own kids that I couldn't answer ya.”

“I didn't say you were…” Síle says, and you can see she's taken aback by his snapping. “Cillian, I…” she shrugs her shoulders. “I shouldn't have said anything. I mean the conversations are so infrequent, it's just a touching base sort of thing occasionally…” she ambles for any way to fan out the flames, but you get the sense that everything she says digs her in deeper.

“It's been three years since the divorce, four since we split, and you're only now telling me that the two of ye are taking?!” He sits back in his chair and you feel awkward and anxious. You glance across the table and you can see your feelings echoed in Griff's expression. “I'm their fucking father, you can ask me, for fucks sake, Síle!”

“Cillian…” you reach out your hand as he gets to his feet. You appreciate his upset fully, but you suspect the ferocity of his reaction is rooted in his fatigue. Nobody says a word as he storms away, beer bottle in hand. You exhale heavily and glance first at Griff, then at Síle. “I feel like I warned you,” you say, trying to make light of the atmosphere as it pressed heavily down on the three of you.

You're grateful that she at least gives a grim laugh in response. “Yeah,” she shakes her head. “You did.”

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