#the type of anger that has me growling foaming at the mouth and gripping the bars of my enclosure

[schemelin]

Watched The Empire Strikes Back. will implode in exactly 5 seconds

just finished watching Star Wars (1977) for the first time

[ambrial-blog]

The Serpent’s Mate Part 1.

It had been two weeks, two- long and restless weeks since their return from the human realm. 

THERE WAS NO ESCAPING THEM. No matter how hard Blitzo tried, he just couldn't outrun those horrific parodies that followed him into his dreams, chasing away any remnants of sleep. While his mate stirred beside him, Striker had grown increasingly worried about him in the time he had been home. Night after night, the sun-kissed serpent had stood by his side, rubbing his back, waiting for the nightmares to ebb. Blitz flinches in his sleep, shrinking away from his touch. His eyes suddenly pop open, his breathing is hitched. Someone is on top of him, shaking him and calling his name. The guff country drawl echoes in his head. As his body trembles, he clutches his ears, trying to drown out the voices. 

'Blitz, Blitz, can you hear me" Striker calls frantically, fighting to keep Blitz down. 

Striker's voice continued to blend, overlapping with the Boss imp's waking nightmare. Blitz fought him using all of his strength. Seeing the crazed eyes, hearing the high-pitched voice berates him from above. 

"Worthless spec of mud, you don't want to do anything alone. BlitzO - But you are alone, you drive everyone you love away, with your selfishness... too afraid.. the only use I have for your darling, is breeding with you so we can usher in the next generation of superior imps..... . Blitzy...... 

"Shut up, shut up. Shut up," growls Blitz reaching out and wrapping his hands around Striker's neck. 

"It's the truth, sugar-cube..... 

Striker's eyes are wide as Blitz continues to choke him, his claws digging into his neck, his eyes an off-color of amber- all Blitz can see is the swirling mud and those laughing eyes. 

"Sugar-cube..... Striker chokes as Blitz finely open his eyes in horror at what he is doing. He was quick to let go as fear pounded in his heart. He looked at his hands in disbelief at what he had just done. 

Blitz topples off the bed, stumbling back, his blurry eyes lacking focus as he ambles towards the door. Striker tail lashes out from underneath the covers gripping Blitz's hand and leading him back to bed. The country imp stares down into the glossy eyes of his mate. 

"It was just a nightmare Blitz, it wasn't real, can you hear me sugar-cube" Striker's voice held the tell-tale signs of panic and fear. He could feel Blitz's shake underneath him. 

"Let me go, Striker, Blitz hisses, trying to move, but the snake has him pinned underneath him. 

"Not until, you calm down, your acting like a scared colt, Blitzy what's wrong do you want to talk about it?" 

Blitz just shakes his head, but his arms are pinned down at his side, and Striker is straddling his waist. 

'Not until you calm down," Striker repeats. "And I have all night, darling, to figure out what's bothering you," Striker reassures, cupping Blitz's cheek. 

Blitz drinks too much coffee like he is desperately trying to stave off sleep. There is always a cup, or a mug of steaming coffee clasped, tightly in his hand- like it is his lifeline. At the morning meetings that Striker is rarely there due to prior obligations. Blitz is a mess zoning out and then brushing it off when either Moxie or Millie asks what is wrong.

Moxie keeps an eye out for Blitz while they are on missions, reporting anything he found as peculiar to the Goeitic prince- and he found a lot of things strange these days.

It was Moxie's fault they got captured, to begin with- it was his fault, the truth-seekers- got the information that they did. And maybe it was his guilt-ridden conscious that kept the data away from the snake-imp.

At night Striker crushes sleeping pills into Blitz's coffee, returning an hour later to see Blitz passed out at his desk coffee spilled out across important clientele documents, his finger pressed up against the coffee buzzer. The Assassin looked around at the mess figuring Blitz had caught on to what he was doing and was attempting to get somebody's attention. He disregarded the frayed documents that littered the desk. The imp from wrath didn't give a crap about it. It was a dead-end job to him, though Blitz had made an effort to include Striker in the meetings. Moxie always talked over him, puffing up his chest and trying to one-up the Cowboy, still sour at how Striker wanted to strangle him back on the farm. It was impressive that Blitz had started a business all on his own, saving up enough money from his days in Loo-Loo land- then putting Loo-Loo land in the rearview mirror.

But now, it was just plain pathetic the lengths Blitz was willing to go to sustain IMP, let it fall, and from those ashes, "Homicidal Husbands" would arise after Striker took IMP, to the cleaners wringing out their finances on Blitz's behalf.

Striker wasn't the sharing type. If he saw something he liked, he took it. He was a possessive bastard conniving and treacherous but always wanted the best for Blitz without any regard for anyone else. Being the dominant one, it was the Cowboy's right as Blitz's mate to protect his submissive even if it was against himself.

The Outlaw growls at Loony, his eyes overshadowed by his cowboy hat, seeing the steaming mug of coffee in her hands as she appears in the doorway. Picking Blitz up, he headed for the stairwell.

"Loony, be a good girl and clean up this mess for me, before I tell your daddy that it was you who drugged his coffee," Spoke Striker before disappearing up the stairs with Blitz. 

Loony shivered at the ice-cold malice in Striker's voice and the chill in his glare before fleeing to her room, Only to get on the phone a moment later with Moxie and Octavia after shutting, locking, and bolting her door.

Something was unsettling in those eyes. It felt like Striker was plotting against them, then working for them- half the time. But Blitz was sure Striker had their best interests at heart. But ever since Blitz returned, Loony could see the shift in his personality. Which at first, she had chalked up to too much coffee. Now, reared its ugly head, his scent was off, and there was a tangible walking around imp headquarters in a pair of cowboy boots and spurs. 

And she was damn sure that Striker had plans of his own because why would a mate come out of the woodwork's of Blitzo's past without him mentioning something before?. It didn't add up to the teenager.

Meanwhile, Moxie was at a loss for words when he came in one morning to see Striker at Blitzo's desk, his feet cross-crossed, leaning back in a chair with his hands behind his head. His eyes were closed. The anger within the Cowboy simmered behind closed eyelids. It was clear to Moxie that the snake imp had sifted through a pile of finances. Striker's demonic gaze fell upon him.

"Close the door, Possum I'm speaking on behalf of Blitz now, the Boss man, needed some downtime, So I obliged him by coming in today." 

"I don't like where this is going," Moxie stammered, closing the door.

"Relax, I'm not gonna skin ya, vermin."

The Outlaw had been away on business, cementing a few kills and collecting data on a few higher-ups that he would put on his black-list

When he returned home, he didn't know what the fuck had happened. All he knew was that everyone was keeping secrets from him, and Blitz was missing. When he had left, he had made sure everything was running smoothly. Blitz was his up-beat self getting ready for another killing spree.

Kissing Striker and telling him it would be as easy as drowning puppies in the river. Then, the next thing he knew, he was getting a call from an agitated possum who sounded like he had lost a bet. Saying that they were home, but Blitz was not. That Blitz had returned to the Goetic mansion to reward Stolas. Stella cleared things up and painted a picture that had Striker foaming at the mouth.

Striker's molten yellow eyes swirled with all the probabilities that might have Blitz running to Stolas instead of him. Stalking towards the door, he punched a hole right through it before entering the brisk night in an attempt to clear his head.

What is Satan's name that had happened? In the time it had taken Blitz to complete a simple in and out job, he had disappeared. Only then, to wrench the invisible knife sticking out his gut. Only to be found hours later and rescued by that miserable owl. 

Within minutes Striker had Moxie spilling the beans about that night, the horrible acid trip, trapped within the human realm with no way home. The strenuous torturous they had gone through and the truth serum and the effects it had on them. 

The Outlaw was not impressed. 

"Satan Dammit!, why wasn't I there? Then I could have avoided this entire mess." Growled Striker punching a brick wall over and over until his knuckles bled. Tears blinded his vision as he sunk to his knees. A picture flutters out of his jacket and lands in some garbage water near an open dumpster.

The Outlaw was quick to fish it out and looks at it in fondness. It was a picture of Blitz and Bombproof, back on Millie's farm Blitz on top of Bombproof. that stubborn horse had refused to leave the ranch after the confrontation and the botched assassination attempt of the Goetic prince. The damn horse wouldn't let Blitz off him- he had even ridden away from Striker when he tried to hop on. 

"Too slow cowboy" Blitz cackled.

Bombproof snickered as he played keep-away with his rider.

Striker had run, halfway across wrath: on stead, he had borrowed from Lin and Joe to catch up with them. The Outlaw took a ragged breath tracing Blitzo's face in the picture, now his partner wouldn't even look at him, and that fire in Blitzo's eyes was almost extinguished. Striker had to resort to some underhanded tricks to get his mate to sleep- and later, when Blitz finely caught onto who was actually drugging him and what he was doing, he had to bribe Loony.

"I'll rip them apart with my bare hands," growls Striker. "One thing was for sure, those assholes who had done this to his mate, their days were numbered if Stolas wasn't going to help him, he knew one Goeita that would. If only to get Blitz out of her home and be the sole heir to the Goetia fortune. 

That bitch was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Something Striker admired in her even if he was just using her to get what he wanted.

Fizzouali might've had his issues with Blitz in the past, especially burning down Loo-Loo land. But to see him like this, jumping at shadows on the walls. Skittering about. In hindsight, it might have had something to do with all that coffee he consumed. But there was a bitter-broken-hardheartedness about him. that made Fizzouali want to hug him- and never let go.

To be a fly on the wall and get to see Striker, the lone Assassin, slip into the palace wall and pluck some feathers from that ditsy blue blood- oh, he had heard about the fight- the whole ring of pride had heard about that fight. 

Striker had just about enough of hearing of the honesty-induced acid-trip and seeing Blitz crumple before him, hearing him scream! Night after night, nightmare after nightmare. Striker grips Blitz and starts to shake him, calling his name and pleading with him to open his eyes. Only to have fierce amber eyes pop open in fear, to feel his mate tremble beneath him as he tries to peel away only to stumble into the kitchen a moment later in search of an early morning coffee.

It was the last straw. This was all too much for the snake imp. IMP had seen its final days' Striker would keep Blitz home. It was for his own good, Striker told himself as he waited outside the shower to ambush Blitz with a rag soaked in chloroform. Rest was what he needed.

The former ranch hand had kept telling himself.

Blitzo pauses standing in a steam-covered room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He wiped the moisture from the mirror in time to see Striker lurking in the door. He was leaning against it, blocking the imp's fast retreat.

"I canceled all your meetings today, Blitzy, I even called the possum and said you wouldn't be in today."

"You did what?" Blitz screamed at the mirror. 

It infuriated the Outlaw to be shunned by his mate. The look on Blitzo's face as he trapped him underneath him, his tail massaging Blitzo's thigh, it was their thing, or at least it used to be. The eerie trepidation in Blitz's movement as he tried to sneak past the snake imp. Only to have the seasoned Killer grabbing him by the waist and throwing him onto the bed. Covering his mouth with a cloth. He fought off Blitzo's hands, holding them above his head.

"Striker, stop! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Blitz growled with a feral hiss. Craning his neck away from the drug-riddled cloth that inched closer to his face. 

The Cowboy had gotten so starved for Blitz's affection that he was willing to take it any way he could. He punched Blitz in the stomach; gripping his head, he covered his mouth with a drugged, soaked rag and waited. 

Blitz wheezed, crying into the cloth. Tears matted his eyes as he reached up, gripping Striker's arm. 

Blitz's hand slid off his bicep as he shut his eyes. Striker watched his mate slip peacefully into slumber for the first time in weeks. The Outlaw had spent weeks sleeping in an empty bed, while Blitz sought comfort elsewhere. 

The dull ache in his chest crippled him. As the mating mark seared his skin, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he thought about Blitz being unfaithful. 

The Outlaw leaned over, whispering into Blitz's ear. "I'm done, done with it all. I'm willing to fight for you, Blitzy, ready to take you back."

"I'll splatter the walls with his blood, then make you lick it off the walls, I'll have you begging for forgiveness." 

Heck, the way he was feeling that night, the whole Ares Goeita bloodline was in danger, all for the love of a bit of devil. An imp with a damaged heart.

Blitz awoke with a start, early that morning as remnants of a dream started to trickle away, he could feel Striker spooning him from behind, feel the weight of his head resting on the crook of Blitz's neck as the soft trickle of breath ran down his spine. It felt like ages since they were like this, bodies intertwined, tails loosely lapsed together.

"Too bad this couldn't last," he thought, his back growing rigid: His body throbbed and ached with a new mark, appearing on his inner thigh. The Outlaw pulled him closer to his mud-slacked body. 

Pressed up against a growing erection, Stryker moaned in his ear, his voice a high-pitched parody of his own his swirling eyes took him in, rubbing his body against Blitz. 

"The only use I have for you, Darlin, is breeding. I wish you could see yourself BlitzO, a hot mess unable to tell reality from fantasy. No matter, I don't care if you are damaged on the inside or not. All I care about is what's on the outside. Stryker hissed, ripping open his clothes and bending down to kiss his stomach. Even here, where they cannot reach you, you still have a purpose. Stryker flipped Blitz onto his stomach, rimming his finger around Blitz's hole, scissoring him open with his fingers. Keeping pressure on his neck and Blitz's face pressed into the pillow as he slid in. Blitz thrashed, clawing at the sheets, his voice hoarse as Stryker gripped his horns and rode him. 

Blitz gasped as he bucked into Striker's touch, as the hand down his pants kneaded him, his eyes flickered behind closed eyelids as Striker held his arms down at his side, trying to wake up the imp beside him. Goosebumps ran down his spine, his eyes shooting open, gazing up at the shirtless Cowboy hovering above him with a worried look on his face. 

"Sleep well Darlin." spoke Striker caressing Blitz. His body trembled at his touch, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He made a move to get out of bed, his rear end throbbing. He crumpled to the floor, blood staining his pants. 

The Outlaw was out of bed, quick as lighting and at Blitz's side cupping his head. 

“Please-no! No, more Stryker” 

Swallowing thickly, unsure of what to do, he wrapped an arm around Blitz's waist, hauling him up and towards the bathroom. He would call Moxie as soon as he drew a bath for Blitz. But if he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't even sure he wanted to do that. Blood was coming from somewhere. That frightful look on Blitz's face was directed at him, and the way he said his name sent shivers down his spine. 

He held him by the shoulders as he tried to sprint for the door; Striker held him tight as he turned on the faucet in the bath. "Blitzy can you hear me, I'm going to take off your clothes darlin, and than I'm going to put you in hot water, everything is going to be alright," Striker reassured him. He rubbed the mark he had given Blitz, trying to get the imp to smile.

"will find a way around this, Boss-man, hopefully without Goeita interference."

The bathtub bubbled. It wasn't as big as Stolas's, but it was both deep and inviting, built for two. Placing Blitz on the lip of the tub, Striker slid off his pants, locking the door before slipping into the hot soapy waters. Blitz stared at his mate, cocking his head to the side at the tumbled in, Striker catching him as he fell. It was getting harder and harder to tell Striker from Stryker. Blitz knew he couldn't keep this up. That if he kept going the way he was going, to end up blacking out and putting in danger someone he cared about. Striker took a scrubby and began washing Blitz's back, placing his nails around the grooves he found on Blitz's back.

It was a perfect match, but he didn't remember scratching Blitz, not to the point where he cried out of pain.

Everything was coming back to the week; Blitz had gone missing, Striker buries his face into Blitz's back.

"Blitzy, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me, that you had to depend on the Goeita filth , overlord slaying can wait, sugar-cube I need to take care of you first." 

The wrangler had felt sick to his stomach. Something was attacking his mate and using his face to do it; whatever it was, it originated in the human realm. 

This only solidified his resolve to put an end to IMP and do the same with Stolas.

[spacesnail3000]

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 4: Don’t Get Handsy, Doll

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: The calm is supposed to come before the storm, but with Steve, it comes after. Unfortunately, he’s a storm that goes on and on and on.

Word Count: 5042

Warnings: Language, abuse (slapping), smut between Steve and Bucky (rough blowjobs, handjobs), manipulation tactics and Steve being a controlling asshole

Masterlist / AO3 

The weekend started off cloudy and rainy, much to Y/N’s chagrin. She had been enjoying the nice weather and their days spent swimming together. It was like old times, and she felt liberated from the constant watch of her father. She knew Steve was supposed to be upholding her father’s stern rule, but he seemed to forget himself in the past few days as they played around, allowing her the freedom to act how she pleased and do what she wanted—as long as she didn’t get too bratty with them.

After a breakfast of French toast and a mid-morning nap on the sofa, Steve and Bucky took a work call in the office, leaving Y/N up to her own devices for a short time while they spoke to Tony about mob developments. The phone call took almost an hour before they were done. Then they were walking into the kitchen discussing what they should do for lunch.

“It’s whatever you want, Buck,” he snapped, a little harsher than he meant to. Steve didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t have the patience for it. 

He hadn’t started the day off in a good mood. The phone call with Tony had worked him up even more. On top of that, Peggy was still cross with him, and she hadn’t been accommodating for phone sex, so he was frustrated in more ways than one.

His relationship with Peggy was one of convenience at first, but more and more these days it was becoming the opposite. He began dating Peggy about a year before because he liked her, her beauty, her sharpness, how refined she was, so he fell into a relationship with her. Then, it became clear that she wasn’t the type of woman who would understand the mob life—she didn’t grow up in it; she only came to New York from London for work. 

Sometimes she spoke to him about moving back to London—together. He never told her he had no intention of doing so—more because he didn’t want to deal with the fight that would result, but he also didn’t want to break up with her for the time being. His relationship with her was just so easy for him—sex and affection when he wanted it, and radio silence at other times.

But she wasn’t pleased that so much of his time was spent with the mob—which was only increasing now that Tony was giving him more responsibility. That was why she was so mad about the trip to Martha’s Vineyard. She said if he had time to go on vacation there, he should be able to spend more time with her in the city. She didn’t understand that it was his job to be there, protecting Stane’s daughter. 

Peggy didn’t understand most of the things he had to do because of the mob. That was the most annoying part for him.

And now, Bucky and Y/N were both testing his limits.

Their days at the pool were almost torture, with Bucky’s short shorts and her little bikinis. Bucky had spent all day the day before cuddling up to him and batting those long eyelashes at him. Steve didn’t even know if Bucky knew what he was doing to him. And Y/N had spent the last few days provoking them any way she could, pressing up against them in the pool, getting them to put sunscreen on her back. He definitely knew she didn’t know what she was doing to him.

Regardless of how they both made him feel, he knew he couldn’t act on it. Peggy didn’t deserve to be cheated on. When he started dating her, he broke things off with Bucky—but they had always been on-again-off-again, so he didn’t think Bucky would mind. They would start fucking when it was convenient and stop fucking when they started dating other partners. If either of them wanted more than a friends-with-benefits situation—well, neither of them ever said anything.

And Y/N—she was probably off-limits. Stane’s daughter? Steve would be missing nine fingers if Stane found out Steve was after her. But then again, nobody really had to know—right? Not this summer when they would be practically alone on Martha’s Vineyard almost the entire time.

Steve had warred with himself in his head like that since he first saw her in that pearl choker necklace.

Unfortunately, his arousal only added to his anger from the call with Tony, and now his irritation was threatening to boil over at any moment.

“Y/N!” Bucky called into the house, getting out sandwich ingredients. When he got no answer, he called again, “Sweetheart, c’mere, we’re gonna make lunch!”

Several minutes passed and they still had no answer. Steve and Bucky shared a look, and his irritation mounted with each passing second that she ignored them.

He shouted her name using his no-nonsense-voice. “Get down here, now!”

She wouldn’t disobey one of his direct orders.

Right?

“Buck, go get her.”

Bucky sprinted upstairs, and moments later, Steve heard several doors opening and closing. He called her name, his voice soft but a little panicked. “Steve! She’s not up here?”

Bucky and Steve checked the downstairs rooms quickly before Steve was growling, “She’s not here, where the fuck is she?”

“Calm down, Steve,” Bucky tried, but Steve shoved past him and into the backyard. She wasn’t there either, and it was still drizzling a little bit, so she wouldn’t have gone far.

Right?

“She’s over there!” Bucky called. He was at the edge of the backyard, looking over the fence, and then darting out the back gate. Steve quickly followed, and then he saw her.

She was some ways away, standing at the edge of the water, the hood of her windbreaker pulled up to protect her from the rain. Her old Polaroid camera was in her hands and she was crouching, taking photos of the tide.

Steve yelled her name, anger clear in his voice. She straightened up immediately and looked over at them. One hand raised in a tentative wave, but Steve was on her before she could say anything. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her back towards the house.

“Ouch!” she yelped, and his grip tightened. She wasn’t walking as fast as he wanted her to be, and she whined at him, stumbling a little in her effort to keep up with his long strides. “Steve! Stop! What are you doing?” He yanked her forward and she whimpered. “Steve, please! You’re hurting me!”

But he didn’t stop, not until they were back in the house, where he shoved her roughly onto the sofa. There were tears in her eyes and her hand came up to rub at her arm where he has grabbed her.

“Just what the hell was that?” he snarled.

“I just wanted to take some pictures,” she answered, voice reedy and wavering. “The sea foam gets really pretty when it rains and I wanted some pictures of it…”

Steve couldn’t fault her for wanting to take pictures of things she liked—she did that all the time, ever since her father had given her a Polaroid camera when she turned 12. Snapping pictures of sun beams through the window, fresh snow on the streets of Brooklyn, the asphalt just after it rained. He was used to it. 

But he couldn’t shove down the intense panic he felt when he realized she was gone.

“You should have told us where you were going,” he told her, anger still boiling over, lacing his words and the tone of his voice with venom.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said, “I know you guys were on the phone. I knew it was important…”

“Don’t give me that. You should have waited for us or—"

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” she protested, standing up abruptly. “You’re being such a jerk about this!”

They all heard the crack of Steve’s palm against her cheek before any of them had time to process it. He hadn’t smacked her that hard—her father had surely done worse—but a bright red mark was already clear across her cheek.

Bucky jumped slightly at the sound, but he knew he couldn’t intervene. Steve would never allow him to. He watched the two of them, every single muscle in his body tense.

Slowly, she turned her face to look at him, eyes shimmering. But Steve wasn’t finished yet.

Swiftly, he gathered her hair in one hand and yanked her head back, straining her neck as he forced her to look up to him. His face was close to hers as he spoke and she could feel his breath on her lips. “You don’t talk to me like that,” he growled, “You don’t disrespect me like that.”

“Steve—”

“Shut your mouth!” he barked, silencing her easily with a yank to her scalp. “You’re going to listen to me carefully, sweetheart. I will not tolerate your attitude, nor will I tolerate you disobeying my rules. Now, I have rules for a reason—to keep you safe. You’re not allowed to go off by yourself without telling us first. I do that to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

A few tears slid down her cheeks, and she didn’t answer him until he yanked on her hair again, shaking her a little. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes, S-Steve,” she stuttered through a fresh wave of tears.

“Good girl.” Steve met Bucky’s eyes, gave a quick tilt of his head towards the couch, indicating for him to come and help him comfort her.

Then he released his tight grip on her hair, but he slid his hand down to grasp the back of her neck firmly. She was boneless under his touch, and he maneuvered her easily so that she was sitting sideways in Bucky’s lap. Steve sat close, her legs draped over his thighs so she was practically sitting in both their laps. As Bucky stroked up and down her spine to soothe her, Steve kept a hand on her neck so she couldn’t turn her face away.

For a moment, Steve just watched as she cried, appreciating the sight. Flushed cheeks glistening, red rimmed eyes and nose, eyes sparkling in the low light. She was one of the prettiest criers he had ever seen, and something swelled inside his chest at the idea that he was the cause. That she looked all pretty and vulnerable for him.

He really did have a thing for making people cry—Bucky was right; he didn’t know what it was, it just did something for him.

However, it wouldn’t do to get hard now, with her on their laps like this, so Steve tamped those thoughts down. Still, he made sure to mentally catalogue the image of her tear-stained face for later.

“Let it out, sweetie,” he purred, voice taking on a gentler tone as he pulled her into his chest, stroking her hair. As she sobbed, Steve met Bucky’s gaze. The other man’s eyes were dark, and as Steve looked at him, he licked his lips. He had a knowing look on his face, like he could see every one of Steve’s thoughts.

Steve only smirked at him.

She eventually pulled back, and he used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks tenderly. “I forgive you,” he whispered, stroking a few errant strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Frowning at that, she tried to pull back, knowing she wasn’t in the wrong—Steve was. Both Steve and Bucky kept her close with their firm grips. She felt conflicted. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and then Steve got so angry and slapped her. But then he was so sweet and tender, soothing her as she cried.

“I know you want to be a good girl for me,” he murmured, still stroking along her cheeks, large hands framing her face. He thumbed along the dip right below her lower lip, just a fleeting touch. “We have rules for a reason. Be a good girl and follow them.”

She supposed he had a point. He was supposed to keep her safe, and how could he do that if he didn’t know where she was? 

Plus, how could he be bad if he was being so nice to her?

Steve saw it when she resigned herself to him, to his will. He smiled softly at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead, his firm grip keeping her close for a moment. She could smell him—all peppermint and sharp aftershave. When he pulled back, he touched his own cheek with a finger, asking her for a kiss. She relented easily, leaning in to press her lips against his jaw.

Manipulating her had always been so simple.

Satisfied that he had her wrapped around his finger again, he patted her thigh. “Now, you’re going to go up to your room and stay there until dinner. Understand?”

She didn’t hesitate before nodding. Helping her up and leading her to the stairs with a hand on her lower back, he kissed her on the crown before sending her off.

Once her door closed, he went into the kitchen, gesturing for Bucky to follow, and poured a glass of scotch for both of them.

“You liked that a little too much, I think,” Bucky said, watching Steve as he downed the entire glass at once.

Steve exhaled with the burn of the drink, and then poured another. He needed it. Her insubordination had been just the right catalyst for his anger to boil over. Yelling at her, manhandling her—it had released a little bit of his tension, but he needed more. Now that he had seen her crying so pretty for him, his anger had shifted more to a heated desire simmering under his skin, one that needed taking care of now.

He had sent her up to her room so he wouldn’t do anything he might regret.

To her, at least.

“You think so?” he asked, eyeing Bucky. Bucky was only wearing a pair of short shorts and one of Steve’s sweatshirts. The thin cloth of his shorts didn’t hide his erection, which rivalled Steve’s own.

“I know so.”

“Looks like you enjoyed the show, too.” Stalking towards Bucky, he gestured towards Bucky’s groin. 

Bucky didn’t respond to that, but he did blush fiercely, so how was Steve supposed to resist? He was on Bucky in no time, pressing their bodies together. “I’m feelin’ a little worked up here. Care to help me out?” The subtle grind of his hips against Steve’s own told Steve all he needed to know.

“This why you sent her to her room?” Bucky asked, already a little breathless. 

Smirking, Steve moved closer to whisper into Bucky’s ear, “Well, it wouldn’t do to fuck your mouth in the middle of the kitchen when she could just walk in on us, would it?” He could smell Bucky’s cologne and a little bit of cigarette smoke as he ran his nose along the side of Bucky’s neck, eliciting a shiver out of the man.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Bucky groaned as Steve shoved a thigh between his own, pressing up into his crotch. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together that Bucky could feel Steve breathing, the rapid thrum of his heart.

Steve hummed. “No, it hasn’t. I wouldn’t care if she saw me using you like that. But it might confuse her. You know how she is.”

“A virgin, you mean?” Bucky’s hands came forward to grab Steve’s hips, his head falling backward as Steve pressed up against his cock.

Steve huffed a laughed. “Yeah. She’s just so… innocent.”

“You liked it when she cried, Stevie?” Bucky goaded, trying to provoke him more. He loved it when Steve got all hot and bothered like this.

“I did,” Steve confirmed, pressing his cock up against Bucky’s hip, grinding into him for some relief. One hand came up to cup Bucky’s jaw, thumb tracing his lips. “Looked so pretty, all teary-eyed for me.” His other hand came down and cupped Bucky’s cock. “And you? This? Where did this come from, hmm? Did you like to see her cry? Or did you like it when I slapped her? Or maybe it was when I sat her on your lap and wiped her tears away.”

God, it was just so debased, but yes, Bucky had enjoyed all of it. For some sinful reason, Bucky was turned on by Steve’s rough handling of their girl, and Bucky had wanted nothing more than to kiss her and hold her while she cried, distract her from the sadness with something else—something she wasn’t ready for. 

More importantly, Steve knew that Bucky had enjoyed it. Steve knew exactly what Bucky wanted.

It was a dynamic of theirs. Steve yelled at her, she cried, and they comforted her together. Bucky had always done most of the comforting, being extra sweet to her for days afterwards to try and make up for when Steve was an ass.

Bucky just… wanted more.

Steve was kissing at his neck now, sucking harsh marks into the skin below his jaw. Bucky buried a hand in Steve’s hair and yanked his head up, joining their mouths in a sloppy kiss. It had been a while, but they knew each other’s bodies too well, knew how to move together, how to make each other feel good.

Steve bit at Bucky’s lips and then was putting pressure on his shoulders. As Bucky sank down to his knees, he nipped at Steve’s neck, pushed up his shirt to lick at his abdomen, then, once he was seated back on his ankles, leaned his head forward and nuzzled into the line of Steve’s clothed cock.

“Such a good boy,” Steve praised him, petting his head and then pushing his face into his crotch more. Bucky loved it, could feel his own dick leaking into his shorts. Bucky mouthed at his dick, wetting the fabric of Steve’s joggers with his mouth. “Take them off, baby.” Steve pulled his hand away from Bucky’s head.

Bucky obeyed, quickly pulling Steve’s joggers and thin briefs down. Steve took control then, fisting Bucky’s long hair with one hand and taking his length into his other hand.

“Open,” Steve commanded, and Bucky complied. Steve traced the line of Bucky’s lips with the tip of his cock until they were glossy with precum. “Pretty,” Steve said reverently, “So pretty like this.” The praise went right to Bucky’s cock.

Bucky licked his lower lip, just a quick little flick of his tongue to taste Steve’s precum, salty and a little bitter.

Steve didn’t waste any more time. He pushed Bucky’s head forward with the vice grip on his hair and slid his cock into the man’s mouth swiftly. “Oh, God,” Steve groaned. Bucky was always so good at this—always had been able to take Steve right down to the root, nose buried against his dusty blond pubic hair. 

And God, Bucky just loved it. He loved the feeling of Steve’s cock obstructing his throat, the weight of it in his mouth, stretching his lips wide.

Steve stayed there, reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s wet mouth, tongue gently caressing the underside of his shaft, throat convulsing around the head of his cock. Then he adjusted his grip on Bucky—framed his face with large hands on either side of his head, fingertips digging into the place where his jaw met his neck. Steve could feel his carotid pulse right on his fingertips, and if he pressed hard enough, he could cut it off, make Bucky real dizzy.

Just the thought of Steve doing that made Bucky dizzy. Well, that and the fact that Steve’s cock was still lodged in his throat, cutting off his airway. But he had always been able to hold his breath for a long time. It came in handy.

Steve pulled back and immediately set a punishing rhythm, fucking Bucky’s throat without delay.

It was rough, sloppy, saliva pooling in his mouth and dripping down over his lower lip, trailing down his chin. His jaw ached and he was making obscene noises every time Steve’s cock stormed the path across his tongue, past his gag reflex, and right into his throat—and back.

“Fuck—yes,” Steve grunted, “So good at this, baby. Your mouth was made for this, Buck. Made for my cock.”

Bucky palmed at his own erection lazily, just to relieve some tension while Steve used his mouth. Steve noticed. “Good God, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot for this, aren’t you? Love it when I fuck your mouth like this? It turns you on?”

Bucky gave a broken little moan in response, but it was quickly cut off by Steve’s cock. Steve laughed at the noise and hummed. “Yeah, I know, sweetheart. Can’t help yourself, huh? Should use you like this all the time, keep your throat around my cock every second of the goddamn day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky gave another rough little noise, and then Steve was groaning loud, grip tightening on Bucky’s jaw. “You would like it, I know you would. God—fuck,” he groaned and his hips stuttered. It didn’t take long to get him to the edge after his lack of sexual activity for the last few weeks. “Too good at this, Buck, gonna make me—ohh—come—fuck!” He growled and buried his cock in Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s lips and nose pressed against Steve’s pelvis as he came, forcing Bucky to swallow everything.

Finally, he pulled back, and Bucky took several moments to catch his breath, dark spots dancing in his eyes. Then Steve was pulling him to his feet and kissing the taste from Bucky’s mouth, tongues dragging together lazily in Steve’s post-orgasm haze and the oxygen-deprived fog of Bucky’s mind. The only thing keeping Bucky standing was Steve’s unyielding body pressed against his.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve muttered into his mouth, then dragged his lips down Bucky’s neck. “Can I—” He didn’t wait for Bucky to answer before Steve was shoving his hand down Bucky’s shorts to palm at his hard cock. “No boxers, Buck?” Steve teased, “Were you hoping for this to happen?”

“Mmm,” Bucky moaned as Steve quickly stroked up his length. “Maybe.” Truthfully, he had been horny since they had gotten to Martha’s Vineyard but Steve had hang-ups in the past year about not wanting to cheat on Peggy, so Bucky hadn’t pushed his luck.

He supposed that Steve’s resolve to remain faithful had gone right out the window now.

Multitasking skillfully, Steve slipped his other hand down the back of Bucky’s shorts, kicked his legs further apart with one foot, and continued marking up the column of Bucky’s neck, all while whispering filthy things against his skin. “Been teasin’ me all week, these little shorts, goin’ around shirtless. What’d you want, Buck? You wanted this?”

His fingers circled Bucky’s rim, only pressing lightly, not breaching his entrance. He pressed a knuckle against his perineum while still fisting his cock, swiping his thumb over the head with every stroke, making a mess with his precum.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky gritted out, grinding his ass back against Steve’s hand. “Please, yes, fuck,” he babbled nonsensically as Steve worked him, and in no time he was begging to come. Steve knew exactly how to work him.

“Yeah, Bucky, come for me,” Steve hissed. Bucky tilted his head up for a kiss and moaned his orgasm into Steve’s mouth. Steve kept stroking him as he came, sloppy and wet with each spurt of ejaculate. Steve kept touching him until Bucky was shuddering and pushing Steve away.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, running his hands through his hair to collect himself. “Fuck, Steve.”

Steve laughed, pulling his hand out and lapping at the mess on his palm and fingers, humming at the taste. “That was pretty good, huh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Hey, we both needed to blow off a little steam,” Steve said, dipping his head to press his lips to Bucky’s jaw, just like their girl did to him not long ago. “The sex is best when it’s like this. You know it.” Then he gave Bucky a gentle kiss, loving and sweet, running his clean hand across Bucky’s waist. They kissed like that for a while before Steve pulled back. “We should get cleaned up.”

Bucky smirked. “Wanna shower together?”

“I suppose so,” Steve teased, “After all, she’ll be in her room for the rest of the day. We can take advantage of that.”

“Well you know the walls aren’t that thick. We need to keep quiet so she doesn’t hear us.”

Steve shrugged, kissing Bucky again. “I’m not too worried about that.”

Steve dragged Bucky upstairs and into the shower, and they stayed in Steve’s bedroom for the rest of the afternoon.

Once dinnertime rolled around, they cleaned up one last time and slipped out of Steve’s bedroom. They both went down the hall to her door. Steve knocked softly, and when they didn’t get an answer, they opened the door and glanced inside.

Her back was facing the door where she was sitting at a little blue desk pressed up against the window. It was still raining lightly, and she was working on something in front of her. She had headphones on, so she didn’t hear them come in.

They both snuck up behind her and looked over her shoulder. She was writing in a journal, one that they had seen her working on before. They knew the pages were filled with sketches and poetry and little blurbs that she wrote. The one she was working on had a little drawing of a cluster of sunflowers, the stems dropping down to frame the words she was writing.

She had always been artistic. Steve taught her when they were kids how to draw and paint. He was satisfied to know she still had that creative side in her.

She still hadn’t noticed them, so Steve dropped one hand on her shoulder abruptly. It startled her and she yelped, turning to look at them with wide, red-rimmed eyes. When she calmed down, Bucky slid the headphones from her ears.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky said, “Time for dinner. I was thinking spaghetti Bolognese. How ‘bout it?”

Her stomach growled at the mention of food. She was very hungry, not having had the chance to eat lunch before she was sent to her room. But something seemed different between her boys. She had heard weird noises earlier, and she had wondered what it was, but she didn’t want to risk another punishment by leaving her room. And now there they were, Steve’s arm slung around Bucky’s shoulders, almost too casually.

“What are those?” she asked, pointing to Bucky’s neck, where dark purple bruises lined his throat.

“We were wrestling earlier,” Steve answered for Bucky. Bucky smirked at the euphemism. “We both needed to blow off some steam.”

She was silent for a moment, considering them both, eyes flickering between them, like she was trying to figure out what was wrong. They were both looking at her with easy little smiles, eyes on her almost predatorily. 

“C’mon, doll,” Bucky said, trying to disarm her, “We know you’re starving.”

Steve added, “We’ll even let you have a little wine with dinner.”

Something seemed to settle in her eyes, her shoulders relaxing, and she smiled. “Spaghetti Bolognese sounds good.” Nothing was wrong, nothing had changed. They had forgiven her for earlier—she had nothing to worry about.

She stood, and Bucky said, “Hey, wait a second.” His hand fell to the hem of her shirt. She had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and a faded blue t-shirt—one that was suspiciously familiar. “I don’t think this belongs to you, doll.”

A blush came over her face, but she smirked at him instead of seeming bashful. “Yeah, well. It looks better on me.”

He agreed, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Oh, you think so?”

Bucky’s hands slipped to the sides of her waist, and she tensed up again, because they both knew she was the most ticklish on her sides. Before she could try and stop him, he was digging his fingers in, tickling her as she squealed.

“Stop!” she gasped, moving away from him and into Steve’s waiting arms. Steve tightened his arms around her, holding her in place for Bucky to tickle, and they both laughed at her cries for help.

“You’re both evil!” she gasped through her laughter as she thrashed in their grip.

“Say uncle and we’ll stop,” Steve said evenly. She caved to him almost immediately, crying out uncle and begging them to stop.

When they let her go, she shot away from Steve, only to run into Bucky’s chest. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder, making her screech again. Walking to the stairs with one hand resting on her upper thigh to keep her steady, he said, “Listen, you’re gonna eat everything on your plate since you didn’t have lunch.”

“You’re bossy.” She reached down to pinch his ass through his shorts.

In retaliation, he smacked the skin of her thigh, soliciting another shriek. “Don’t get handsy, doll, you won’t like the result.”

Steve watched on with amusement, following them downstairs.

As Steve tossed together a salad, Y/N brushed a loaf of ciabatta bread with garlic and olive oil and snuck tastes of the cabernet Bucky was using in the sauce. Once dinner was done, they sat down and enjoyed the food.

Steve had to admit that Bucky was a very good cook, but he would never say that to Bucky’s face. It would just feed his ego.

 After dinner, they put on a movie, and Steve held her close to him as a way to apologize and make up for his anger earlier. As he sat there, with his girl in his arms and his boy at his side, he felt more content than he had in almost a year.

[lean-mean-sam-and-dean]

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Word Count: About 2400

Warnings: Swearing, FLUFF, some kid being a dick- harassment

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The reader decides the three of them need a break and takes the boys to a baseball game after a hunt. But the reader is in for a surprise when what she thought was going to be only a fun night with her two favorite boys, turns out to be more than she expects. The man she has loved for years decides he’s gathered the courage to tell her how he feels about her.

A/N: For @bkwrm523 ‘s 30 prompts challenge, I had a lot of fun writing this and was secretly glad that the deadline was March because it takes me absolutely forever to get a fic out. Anyways, my prompt was “I need more excuses to eat cheese”, not gonna lie, this one was a little daunting because I had no idea what to do with it! (I did change it a bit to nacho cheese so I hope that’s okay) Hope you enjoy!

“I need more excuses to eat nacho cheese,” You turned to see Dean shoveling a handful of chips into his mouth. “This stuff is like liquid gold.” He said, bits of food falling from his cheeks onto his New York Mets shirt you had bought a few minutes ago. You laughed.

Dean seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the Mets game you had convinced them to attend so far. The boys definitely deserved a break, the werewolf pack the three of you had followed to the big Apple had proved to be difficult.  Truth was, you weren’t some huge fan of baseball, but upon remembering a few games spent in the summer sun of the past, you decided it would be fun. The smell of hotdogs and the roaring of the crowd was exciting as a kid, even if you didn’t know what was going on in the game, it was still time well spent with your family.

“Can you at least act like an adult?” Sam chuckled on your other side, shifting in his seat to get a better view of his brother who had currently brought his shirt up to his face, licking the cheese that had made it may down the Mets logo. “Dude what else do you want me to do? I am not wasting perfectly good cheese!”

You threw back your head as you laughed once again and Dean smacked the bill of your backward baseball cap causing it to fly into your lap. “Hey shut up! You’re the one who dropped her ice cream on her seat and then ate what was salvageable!”

“But I didn’t lick it off the chair! And an ice cream here is like five bucks, I would’ve eaten it even if it fell on the ground.”

Dean was the one laughing now and Sam muttered something next to you about how many people use these seats, about how many germs you had ingested.

It was currently the top of the third inning, still pretty early in the game, and you could tell the boys were already enjoying themselves. This was such as great idea. The best part of the game wasn’t just the atmosphere of excitement but the fact you got to see the boys smile and have fun. You were sick of their ‘all work, no play’ attitude.

About two innings later you wove through the crowd with three beers in a holder. For a moment you stopped to check your shoe after they began to resist lifting from the concrete, you had stepped in something sticky. That was a ballpark for you. You continued on with a grimace, making a mental note to clean your shoes when you got back to the bunker. It wasn’t until someone grabbed you by the arm did you realize you had walked past your seats. But the hand holding you was too small and clammy to be either one of the boys.

Looking up you found yourself looking into the eyes of a tall brown haired boy who couldn’t have been older than eighteen. He flashed you what you assumed was his attempt at a flirty smirk.

“You like a man with an arm, sweetheart?” You were utterly confused. You had no idea who this kid was or what the hell he was talking about. “What?” You suddenly grew conscious of his tightening grip on you and you would have removed it if you didn’t need both hands to hold your drinks. The boy pointed to sign hanging on the chain link fence a few feet away reading 42 mph. It took a moment to realize he was trying to boast about his “success” in the pitching game he stood beside.

“Dude, just get off me.” You tried to shake him off but he held fast. He was starting to give you a bad feeling, he hadn’t let go of you since he had first spoken to you. You looked around in a panic, hoping someone around you would lend you some assistance and tell the guy to fuck off, but no one said a word as they strode past you. You were obviously uncomfortable and this kid was starting to get too rough for it to be considered friendly.

He pulled you over in front of the game and picked a baseball up off of the ground. The set up consisted of only a few nets to keep passer-bys safe while the participant pitched to the back board, a large picture of a catcher. You briefly wondered if the cheap nets would keep anyone safe if someone playing actually had an arm like that of the players on the field. But your attentions were drawn back to the stranger as he threw with the hand not currently holding you captive. 39 miles per hour. Smack. It hit the backboard.

“Kid, I don’t know who the hell you think you are-”

He swung around to face you again as he towered over you. “I think I’m just your type.” You would have taken a step back if you were free, his breath smelled. But it didn’t matter, you were starting to push past the feeling of uncomfortable to afraid. He was much bigger than you and if the people around you blatantly ignored you as they were now, he could easily overpower you and take you where he wanted to. No, you’d drop the beers and sock him before that would ever happen.

“Get your hands off her.” Dean’s growled behind you. You felt his hand on your arm release as it fell to his side awkwardly. You thought for a moment the kid might try and challenge him but he seemed to think twice when Dean stepped in front of you, shielding you with his body and looking down on the stranger. You knew Dean was puffing out his chest a little, trying to look big and scary and the thought made you chuckle a little.

The kid swallowed. “I was-I was leaving.” He took a few quick steps to get around Dean but Dean sidestepped in front of him. “If she weren’t here to stop me,” Dean pointed to you and he spoke lowly now. “I’d. Kick. Your. Ass.” He jabbed his finger into the now frightened kid’s chest with each syllable.

You puffed up with pride as the high schooler sprinted away after Dean let him go. Dean turned around and let out an angry huff.

“I love it when you do that.” You smiled. Dean attempted to smile in return but was still too angry to do anything but take the beers from you and gently bring your arm to where he could see it. It looked like it would end up bruising. Fantastic. “Dammit.” He muttered. “I should have actually kicked his ass.”

“Yeah, he was a dick.” You rubbed your wrist. “But that’s what I have you for. To beat up guys like that.” You grinned up at him. He snorted, no longer angry, or at least hiding it. He wrapped an arm around you and led you back to the seats. “I’m not gonna let this guy ruin your day, Y/N. How about another ice cream, one that won’t be eaten off the seat of your chair.” You smacked his chest as he laughed.

At the end of the current inning, there would be but one left and the Yankees were closing in on the Mets. The scoreboard showed 4 to 5 as the stadium’s lights flooded the field, it was getting dark.

When you had returned to your seats earlier Sam had agreed with Dean that if either of them saw that kid in the parking lot they’d run him over with the Impala. They were joking of course, or so you hoped, but they were both still pissed he had hurt you. However, Dean had kept his promise and the three of you returned back to your state of excitement as the game drew closer to a close and both teams closer in score. Both of them would jump to their feet with the rest of the crowd as one of the outfielders dropped the ball, the runner flying through the bases in long strides. Sam and Dean both held their hands on their heads, cheering for the batter at the top of their lungs.

“Move your ass!” Dean yelled beside you. “Go, dude! Run!” You were jumping up and down on your toes and the man in the row in front of you threw his popcorn to the ground as he shouted at the players. Sam was no different than the rest of the crowd, “Let’s go! C’mon!”

“He’s gonna make it!” You grabbed Dean by the arm. “He’s going home!” He began to jump in time with you, grinning ear to ear.

As the player crossed the home plate the fans cheered louder than you had thought possible. All around you people waved foam fingers and glow sticks, tooting the plastic horns you had seen in the gift shop earlier, and ringing cow bells. You jumped into Dean’s arms as you pumped a fist in the air. He was laughing as you cheered and half held you with one arm while the other joined yours in the air as you both shouted.

Maybe it was seeing you in the Mets jersey that was too big for you that Dean found adorable, or just the fact that you were having fun and smiling that made Dean stop and stare but he couldn’t tear his eyes from you. You continued on oblivious to his full attention on you. You looked like a normal woman, not like someone who lived the life of a hunter. You looked like you were having a good time and that’s what Dean loved the most. It was then that he realized that his happiness was derived from yours, that you were the most important thing in his life. The kid from earlier had shown him that, had shown him through his lingering anger that he would always protect you.

“Dean.” He looked up at your y/e/c eyes and raised his eyebrows. “You can put me down now.” He looked around to see that most of the fans had returned to their seat and he was one of the very few left standing. “Oh yeah, sorry.” He set you down on the ground as the both of you sat down again. Your cheeks were a bit red but Dean didn’t seem to notice. You could hear Sam snickering on your other side. You smacked his arm. “Shut up Sammy.”

The eighth inning ended and someone came on over the loudspeaker. “Well alrighty folks, we’ve got one inning to go and you know what that means!” The crowd cheered once again. “That’s right! Love is in the air!”

You watched the screen across the field to see the camera land on a young couple, a heart labeled kiss cam sat in the corner.  The girl blushed and her boyfriend tilted her chin up and kissed her with a smile. A collective “awww” came from the audience. A few couples including an elderly man and his wife who earned a loud round of applause appeared on screen before the loudspeaker came to life again.

“One more kiss on the big screen and we’re ready to finish out the game folks!” The camera panned for a few moments before landing on a frightened boy about 13, he refused to plant a kiss on his girlfriend's cheek as his own burned bright red. You laughed. “Aw, better luck next time buddy. How about someone else then…” The camera began to move again before stopping, your heart about exploded in your chest. On the big screen?! Really?! You saw a bewildered reflection of yourself and Sam on the screen and the crowd roared. You felt Dean tense beside you. You tried to laugh it off and shook your head “no”  looking across the field and Sam did the same.

“Aw c’mon we can’t have two duds in a row! Give him a kiss little lady! Go ahead!”

Sam cracked up when he saw you blush even harder at that. “Fine!” You raised your hands up. “On the cheek!” Sam turned the side of his face to you and leaned down as he continued to shake with laughter but you were suddenly stopped as someone moved between the two of you. Dean looked down to you with soft eyes and gently took your hand.

“Sorry little brother, but I can’t let you take Y/N from me.” He pulled you up to face him and twisted your baseball cap so it was facing backward again. He brought his hand up to your cheek and before you knew what was happening he crashed his lips into yours. The crowd whooped and hollered around you and you threw your arms around his neck. It was soft and sweet and over sooner than you would have liked. You stared at Dean in shock, his green eyes quickly clouding with guilt.

“I’m sorry I probably shouldn’t have-” You cut Dean off mid-sentence with another kiss, inhaling the scent you knew to be uniquely him. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss more than he maybe should have on a big screen but hell if he cared. He was going to show that little twerp wherever he was that this was how you deserved to be treated.

You broke apart as lights began to flash on the screen. “I think we have a winner!” The speaker boomed. Both of you chuckled and returned to your seats. “Thank God, I was starting to think you two would never get together.” Sam teased.

“That obvious?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Sam snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

You smiled softly and took a hold of Dean’s hand, intertwining your fingers in his.

“You know,” you said trying to keep a straight face “I think I could taste that nacho cheese from earlier.”

Dean threw back his head in laughter. “This is why I love you.” And he didn’t care that he had just said those three words here and now. They rolled off his tongue so naturally, but it was true. He loved you more than he could express in words.

Tags: @bkwrm523  @hasta-impalasta (Said you read TFW x female reader inserts? Well here you are! If you don’t mind me tagging you!)

Feedback appreciated, y’all! Don’t be shy! Criticism is welcomed. :) 

[ambrial-blog]

The Serpent’s Mate

It had been two weeks, two- long and restless weeks since their return from the human realm. 

THERE WAS NO ESCAPING THEM. No matter how hard Blitzo tried, he just couldn't outrun those horrific parodies that followed him into his dreams, chasing away any remnants of sleep. While his mate stirred beside him, Striker had grown increasingly worried about him in the time he had been home. Night after night, the sun-kissed serpent had stood by his side, rubbing his back, waiting for the nightmares to ebb. Blitz flinches in his sleep, shrinking away from his touch. His eyes suddenly pop open, his breathing is hitched. Someone is on top of him, shaking him and calling his name. The guff country drawl echoes in his head. As his body trembles, he clutches his ears, trying to drown out the voices. 

'Blitz, Blitz, can you hear me" Striker calls frantically, fighting to keep Blitz down. 

Striker's voice continued to blend, overlapping with the Boss imp's waking nightmare. Blitz fought him using all of his strength. Seeing the crazed eyes, hearing the high-pitched voice berates him from above. 

"But you don't want to do anything alone, BlitzO. But you are alone, you drive everyone you love away, with your selfishness... too afraid.. the only use I have for your darling, is breeding with you so we can usher in the next generation of superior imps..... . Blitzy...… 

"Shut up, shut up. Shut up," growls Blitz reaching out and wrapping his hands around Striker's neck. 

"It's the truth, sugar-cube..... 

Striker's eyes are wide as Blitz continues to choke him, his claws digging into his neck, his eyes an off-color of amber- all Blitz can see is the swirling mud and those laughing eyes. 

"Sugar-cube..... Striker chokes as Blitz finely open his eyes in horror at what he is doing. He was quick to let go as fear pounded in his heart. He looked at his hands in disbelief at what he had just done. 

Blitz topples off the bed, stumbling back, his blurry eyes lacking focus as he ambles towards the door. Striker tail lashes out from underneath the covers gripping Blitz's hand and leading him back to bed. The country imp stares down into the glossy eyes of his mate. 

"It was just a nightmare Blitz, it wasn't real, can you hear me sugar-cube" Striker's voice held the tell-tale signs of panic and fear. He could feel Blitz's shake underneath him. 

"Let me go, Striker, Blitz hisses, trying to move, but the snake has him pinned underneath him. 

"Not until, you calm down, your acting like a scared colt, Blitzy what's wrong do you want to talk about it?" 

Blitz just shakes his head, but his arms are pinned down at his side, and Striker is straddling his waist. 

'Not until you calm down," Striker repeats. "And I have all night, darling, to figure out what's bothering you," Striker reassures, cupping Blitz's cheek. 

Blitz drinks too much coffee like he is desperately trying to stave off sleep. There is always a cup, or a mug of steaming coffee clasped, tightly in his hand- like it is his lifeline. At the morning meetings that Striker is rarely there due to prior obligations. Blitz is a mess zoning out and then brushing it off when either Moxie or Millie asks what is wrong.

Moxie keeps an eye out for Blitz while they are on missions, reporting anything he found as peculiar to the Goetic prince- and he found a lot of things strange these days.

It was Moxie's fault they got captured, to begin with- it was his fault, the truth-seekers- got the information that they did. And maybe it was his guilt-ridden conscious that kept the data away from the snake-imp.

At night Striker crushes sleeping pills into Blitz's coffee, returning an hour later to see Blitz passed out at his desk coffee spilled out across important clientele documents, his finger pressed up against the coffee buzzer. The Assassin looked around at the mess figuring Blitz had caught on to what he was doing and was attempting to get somebody's attention. He disregarded the frayed documents that littered the desk. The imp from wrath didn't give a crap about it. It was a dead-end job to him, though Blitz had made an effort to include Striker in the meetings. Moxie always talked over him, puffing up his chest and trying to one-up the Cowboy, still sour at how Striker wanted to strangle him back on the farm. It was impressive that Blitz had started a business all on his own, saving up enough money from his days in Loo-Loo land- then putting Loo-Loo land in the rearview mirror.

But now, it was just plain pathetic the lengths Blitz was willing to go to sustain IMP, let it fall, and from those ashes, "Homicidal Husbands" would arise after Striker took IMP, to the cleaners wringing out their finances on Blitz's behalf.

Striker wasn't the sharing type. If he saw something he liked, he took it.  He was a possessive bastard conniving and treacherous but always wanted the best for Blitz without any regard for anyone else. Being the dominant one, it was the Cowboy's right as Blitz's mate to protect his submissive even if it was against himself.

The Outlaw growls at Loony, his eyes overshadowed by his cowboy hat, seeing the steaming mug of coffee in her hands as she appears in the doorway. Picking Blitz up, he headed for the stairwell.

"Loony, be a good girl and clean up this mess for me, before I tell your daddy that it was you who drugged his coffee," Spoke Striker before disappearing up the stairs with Blitz. 

Loony shivered at the ice-cold malice in Striker's voice and the chill in his glare before fleeing to her room, Only to get on the phone a moment later with Moxie and Octavia after shutting, locking, and bolting her door.

Something was unsettling in those eyes. It felt like Striker was plotting against them, then working for them- half the time. But Blitz was sure Striker had their best interests at heart. But ever since Blitz returned, Loony could see the shift in his personality. Which at first, she had chalked up to too much coffee. Now, reared its ugly head,  his scent was off, and there was a tangible walking around imp headquarters in a pair of cowboy boots and spurs. 

And she was damn sure that Striker had plans of his own because why would a mate come out of the woodworks of Blitzo's past without him mentioning something before?. It didn't add up to the teenager.

Meanwhile, Moxie was at a loss for words when he came in one morning to see Striker at Blitzo's desk, his feet cross-crossed, leaning back in a chair with his hands behind his head. His eyes were closed. The anger within the Cowboy simmered behind closed eyelids. It was clear to Moxie that the snake imp had sifted through a pile of finances. Striker's demonic gaze fell upon him.

"Close the door, Possum I'm speaking on behalf of Blitz now, the Boss man, needed some downtime, So I obliged him by coming in today." 

"I don't like where this is going," Moxie stammered, closing the door.

"I'm not gonna skin ya, vermin."

The Outlaw had been away on business, cementing a few kills and collecting data on a few higher-ups that he would put on his black-list

When he returned home, he didn't know what the fuck had happened. All he knew was that everyone was keeping secrets from him, and Blitz was missing. When he had left, he had made sure everything was running smoothly. Blitz was his up-beat self getting ready for another killing spree.

Kissing Striker and telling him it would be as easy as drowning puppies in the river. Then, the next thing he knew, he was getting a call from an agitated possum who sounded like he had lost a bet. Saying that they were home, but Blitz was not. That Blitz had returned to the Goetic mansion to reward Stolas. Stella cleared things up and painted a picture that had Striker foaming at the mouth.

Striker's molten yellow eyes swirled with all the probabilities that might have Blitz running to Stolas instead of him. Stalking towards the door, he punched a hole right through it before entering the brisk night in an attempt to clear his head.

"What is Satan's name had happened? In the time it had taken Blitz to complete a simple in and out job, he had disappeared. Only then, to wrench the invisible knife sticking out his gut.  Only to be found hours later and rescued by that miserable owl. 

Within minutes Striker had Moxie spilling the beans about that night, the horrible acid trip, trapped within the human realm with no way home. The strenuous torturous they had gone through and the truth serum and the effects it had on them. 

The Outlaw was not impressed. 

"Satan Damnit!, why wasn't I there? Then I could have avoided this entire mess."  Growled Striker punching a brick wall over and over until his knuckles bled. Tears blinded his vision as he sunk to his knees. A picture flutters out of his jacket and lands in some garbage water near an open dumpster.

The Outlaw was quick to fish it out and looks at it in fondness. It was a picture of Blitz and Bombproof, back on Millie's farm Blitz on top of Bombproof. that stubborn horse had refused to leave the ranch after the confrontation and the botched assassination attempt of the Goetic prince. The damn horse wouldn't let Blitz off him- he had even ridden away from Striker when he tried to hop on. 

"Too slow cowboy" Blitz cackled.

Bombproof snickered as he played keep-away with his rider.

Striker had run, halfway across wrath: on stead, he had borrowed from Lin and Joe to catch up with them. The Outlaw took a ragged breath tracing Blitzo's face in the picture, now his partner wouldn't even look at him, and that fire in Blitzo's eyes was almost extinguished. Striker had to resort to some underhanded tricks to get his mate to sleep- and later, when Blitz finely caught onto who was actually drugging him and what he was doing, he had to bribe Loony.

"I'll rip them apart with my bare hands," growls Striker. "One thing was for sure, those assholes who had done this to his mate, their days were numbered if Stolas wasn't going to help him, he knew one Goeita that would. If only to get Blitz out of her home and be the sole heir to the Goetia fortune. 

That bitch was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Something Striker admired in her even if he was just using her to get what he wanted.

Fizzouali might've had his issues with Blitz in the past, especially burning down Loo-Loo land. But to see him like this, jumping at shadows on the walls. Skittering about. In hindsight, it might have had something to do with all that coffee he consumed. But there was a bitter-broken-hardheartedness about him. that made Fizzouali want to hug him- and never let go.

To be a fly on the wall and get to see Striker, the lone Assassin, slip into the palace wall and pluck some feathers from that ditsy blue blood- oh, he had heard about the fight- the whole ring of pride had heard about that fight. 

Striker had just about enough of hearing of the honesty-induced acid-trip and seeing Blitz crumple before him, hearing him scream! Night after night, nightmare after nightmare. Striker grips Blitz and starts to shake him, calling his name and pleading with him to open his eyes. Only to have fierce amber eyes pop open in fear, to feel his mate tremble beneath him as he tries to peel away only to stumble into the kitchen a moment later in search of an early morning coffee.

It was the last straw. This was all too much for the snake imp. IMP had seen its final days' Striker would keep Blitz home. It was for his own good, Striker told himself as he waited outside the shower to ambush Blitz with a rag soaked in chloroform. Rest was what he needed.

The former ranch hand had kept telling himself.

Blitzo pauses standing in a steam-covered room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He wiped the moisture from the mirror in time to see Striker lurking in the door. He was leaning against it, blocking the imp's fast retreat.

"I canceled all your meetings today, Blitzy, I even called the possum and said you wouldn't be in today."

"You did what?"  Blitz spoke at the mirror. 

It infuriated the Outlaw to be shunned by his mate. The look on Blitzo's face as he trapped him underneath him, his tail massaging Blitzo's thigh, it was their thing, or at least it used to be. The eerie trepidation in Blitz's movement as he tried to sneak past the snake imp. the seasoned Killer, grabbed him by the waist and threw him onto the bed, covering his mouth with a cloth. He fought off Blitzo's hands, holding them above his head.

"Striker, stop! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Blitz growled with a feral hiss.  Craning his neck away from the drug-riddled cloth that inched closer to his face. 

The Cowboy had gotten so starved for Blitz's affection that he was willing to take it any way he could. He punched Blitz in the stomach; gripping his head, he covered his mouth with a drugged, soaked rag and waited. 

Blitz wheezed, crying into the cloth. Tears matted his eyes as he reached up, gripping Striker's arm. 

Blitz's hand slid off his bicep as he shut his eyes. Striker watched his mate slip peacefully into slumber for the first time in weeks.  The Outlaw had spent weeks sleeping in an empty bed, while Blitz sought comfort elsewhere. 

The dull ache in his chest crippled him. As the mating mark seared his skin, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he thought about Blitz being unfaithful. 

The Outlaw leaned over, whispering into Blitz's ear. "I'm done, done with it all. I'm willing to fight for you, Blitzy, ready to take you back."

"I'll splatter the walls with his blood, then make you lick it off the walls,  I'll have you begging for forgiveness." 

Heck, the way he was feeling that night, the whole Ares Goeita bloodline was in danger, all for love a little devil. An imp with a damaged heart.