#this is making me want to drive a screwdriver into my eye I have tried so many different things and combos and I cannottt figure it out

[jolalibrary]

7. honey cream

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

[fandomnerd9602]

Closing a Book

Fem!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

They say when one door closes, another opens. For you, the door closed on one Wanda Maximoff and another opened on a miss Petra Parker - the spectacular Spider Girl.

You loved every minute of every day you could spend with your spider monkey. She was incredible in every sense of the word. You loved spending time with her Aunt May and Petra loved spending time with your family.

But something always bothered you. When Wanda decided to dump you for Vision, it left you with many questions. And those questions pounded on your mind daily.

You needed to find the answers. So one day you took a little jaunt up to the town of Westview. Despite how they had hurt you, you bought a small suburban house for the happy couple. They were still Avengers and a Stark always looks after their teammates.

You walk up to the front door of the nondescript house in the middle of a suburb in Westview. Was this a good idea? Was Wanda gonna catapult you off her porch with a blast of magic.

You ready yourself to knock the door but Vision opens the door and gives you a gentle smile, “(Y/N), it’s wonderful to see you.”

“Hey Vis” you give him a little hug. In truth, before this whole Wanda thing, Vision was the closest thing you had to a brother. You kind of missed these little interactions.

“Come on in. Wanda’s in the guest room.” He guides you into the living room.

Wanda comes down the stairs a few seconds later, covered in a little bit of paint and caulk. “Detka I can’t find the screwdriver” she tries to tell Vision but she gasps when she sees you, “(Y/N) hey”

“Hey Wanda”

“What brings you by?”

“I-I can come back later. Remodeling? Or are you trying a new style. Cause it works for you”

She gives you a smile, your jokes were never that good but she loved it, “no no I’m…I’m decorating the nursery”

“Nursery? You and Vision?”

“Yeah we’re adopting. Two little boys from Salem.” She explains.

“C-congrats. You’ll make a great mother.” Your mind briefly races, “so uhh…the reason I’m here is…well that is to say…I-I…”

Wanda’s eyes quickly flash red. She gives you a sad smile, “you want closure”

“Y-yeah I guess so?” You find yourself a little confused that she was able to word in such-

“I read your mind, Stark” she gives a little sad laugh.

“So…” you try to formulate what you need to say, “what happened to us?”

“Let answer with another question. Did you love me?” She looks you in the eyes, no anger only compassion.

“Yes” you answer, “but it seemed like you and Vision were…were…”

Wanda takes your hand, “I know. That was my mistake. It was never you.” A few tears make their way down her face, “You were amazing and thoughtful but you were never mine”

The words cut you a little deep. “Oh”

“Vision and I we just…click. What’s it like when you’re with Petra? When she holds your hand.”

“I feel every problem melts away,” your mind wanders to Petra. “I love her smile. The way she looks at me and her family. The way she upstages me and corrects my math or fixes a design”

Wanda lets out a little laugh, “see? I tried to comprehend what you were saying most of the time but I couldn’t.”

“Really? I’m sorry” you try to hide your face a little.

“No it’s great. You’ve found your other half (Y/N) Stark. Don’t let her go.”

You look to your phone, its wallpaper being an image of you and Petra together. Your heart flutters. “I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

You give Wanda and Vision hugs and depart back to New York. You drive straight to Petra’s apartment.

You knock on her door. Aunt May answers, smiles and lets you in. You walk right over to Petra who’s currently sitting on the couch.

“Baby?” She asks, getting to her feet. “Where have you been? Are you alright?”

You simply hug her tight, you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe in her scent.

“You’re my other half” you whisper in her ear.

“And you’re mine.”

Tags @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @jacenradio7 @texaswolf23 @russianredassassin @revanshand @pinklawyerwinnerzonk

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I turned my coworker in for using his phone?

☎️ for obvious reasons.

So I’m gonna put this up front: this isn’t actually about the phone, it’s about the coworker. The phone is just convenient.

Our players are me (35 AFAB), Coworker A (~30 M), Supervisor C (N/A M), D (N/A F), and L (N/A F).

So first, the reason I have beef with A: he has never had a conversation with me that didn’t involve hitting on me and/or inappropriate questions. These have included demanding to know who I voted for, how my paycheck is delivered, whether I’m in a throuple with my roommates, and whether I have a boyfriend, which wouldn’t be weird except it was literally the first question he ever asked me—he didn’t even know my name yet. After I yelled at him over the voting thing because he refused to take “I don’t discuss politics at work” for an answer FOUR TIMES, he tried to break my glasses when I put them down so I could put on my safety goggles.

You may be wondering why I haven’t turned A in for harassment, ESPECIALLY after the glasses incident. I have. The problem is, he’s very good at looking pathetic and saying “I was just _________.” In this case, he was just looking at my glasses (never mind that you shouldn’t be playing with someone else’s expensive medical device!), and just making conversation. In spite of the fact that he was ignoring his trainee and distracting me from my work, he somehow got away with this. After a few of my screwdrivers went missing the same day he went pawing through them and he broke my brand-new pen, C told him to stop having anything to do with me, that his attention WAS NOT WELCOME.

Now we get to L and D. They’re two of our coworkers who can solve just about any problem you have. Ever since A was warned off, I’ve noticed that if I’m working with L or D, suddenly A needs all kinds of help that keeps bringing him over to our machine, and he always seeks out help from whoever it is I’m working with—if I’m with L he’ll go to L, if I’m with D he’ll go to D. If you’re a dude and think I’m overreacting, go ask a couple of the women in your life—you probably know someone who’s had similar experiences. (And for the record, another coworker I only know to say hello to has commented that his behavior toward me makes her feel like “he wants to wear your skin or something.”) I don’t think A is actively dangerous, but he’s very clearly a creep—especially because he also has a girlfriend and baby and still keeps doing this.

Now we get to the phone. I work in a factory where we’re not allowed to have phones on the floor because we work with food product and a phone dropping in a box is a huge contamination issue, on top of which distraction at my job can lead to life-changing, possibly even life-threatening injuries. (I was on a machine that threw its chain drive once and the only reason I didn’t lose an eye is because there happened to be another machine piece between me and the snap.) So: phones are a big no. Management will look the other way for people in extenuating circumstances, like having a sick kid at home, but in those cases your phone is to remain in your pocket and if it rings and you need to answer, you have to leave the floor.

I have caught A texting FOUR TIMES in the last month. Once I caught the words on his phone screen, and he was making plans for a party. That’s definitely not extenuating circumstances, and twice I’ve found his phone in the product catch tray.

So: very against rules that are there for the safety of us and our end users, and if I turn him in he’s going to get a writeup and possibly even a termination, which would mean I didn’t have to deal with him anymore. On the other hand, if he gets fired for violating safety standards he’ll have a hard time getting new work, and his baby doesn’t deserve hardship just because Dad is a creeper. Also, while I don’t carry my phone on the floor, I worry that turning him in could lead to a blanket ban that affects those in extenuating circumstances, because I’m almost positive he’d try “I was just checking on the baby” as his excuse.

WIBTA?

[anna-hawk]

Distraction

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank can be incredibly distracting without realizing it.

Warnings/Tags: pretty much silly PWP, vaginal sex, bearded Frank

WC 2,2k // Explicit 🔞

This was meant to be part of the Beardthal Bash, but I didn't have the time to finish it until now. It's inspired, once again, by the look Jon has in the GIF by @darlingshane just below. He makes me absolutely weak looking like this, and this little fic shows it 😅. Check out the full gifset for more drool worthy Jon.

Catching yourself staring again, you pressed your lips into a thin line in annoyance at yourself and dropped your eyes to the documents you were supposed to be going over on the coffee table. 

“He’s only fixing a freaking shelf, get a grip,” you mumbled under your breath, while you tried picking up where you’d left off and adjusted your position on the couch. 

You jotted down a few notes before you stopped to think, and your gaze automatically moved upwards to land on Frank. Again. Rubbing a palm over your forehead, you pursed your lips at your boyfriend, who was completely unaware of your predicament since he had his back to you. He had the day off and after running some errands earlier that morning, he’d decided to take up repairing that one bookshelf that always looked crooked for whatever reason. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, you were unable to not stare at him. The issue actually lay in how he looked. He’d let his hair grow out again, the soft strands falling to the sides or into his face, and he was sporting a nicely groomed beard instead of his usual thicker one. You loved the fuller beard, but the trimmed version definitely did something for his jawline. If that wasn’t enough, he’d gone for a pair of jeans that hugged his long legs and ass, while a red tee shirt spread over his back and chest. He looked completely at ease, since those clothes were comfortable and simple. There wasn’t anything fancy or specific about them, but the look as a whole was turning you on wildly and driving you to complete distraction. Something you really didn’t have the time for. You wanted to be done with that boring paperwork and move on. You had considered going into the bedroom, but you didn’t have enough space and the printer was in the living room and…

As Frank raked his fingers through his hair to push it out of his face, which caused the shirt to ride up and reveal a large part of his lower back, you threw your hands in the air with an explosive sigh. 

“Frank?”

“Hm?” he replied distractedly, as he checked the level of the shelf. 

“Would you mind finishing with the shelf a little bit later?”

Frank turned around and gave you a surprised look. 

“Uh, sure? Am I makin’ too much noise?”

“What? No, no, you’re not. You’re just really distracting,” you said, before you could stop yourself. 

“Distractin’?” He cocked an eyebrow and put the screwdriver on the shelf. 

Your mouth worked silently and you ended only nodding. There was no way you were admitting to why he was so distracting. 

Frank approached you with a partly curious and partly amused smile, his lips pulling up to one side. 

“But I ain’t bein’ noisy,” he asked for confirmation. 

“You’re not,” you replied with a faint nod as you glanced at the documents before you and not the gorgeous man coming closer. 

How did your request of him to stop the repairs backfire on you like this? Now you didn’t only have him right in front of you, but you also had his full attention. Chancing a brief look up at him, you saw him watching you attentively, obviously waiting for you to elaborate. 

“Your… shirt’s distracting me,” you blurted out stupidly. 

“My shirt,” he deadpanned. 

“Yeah, just…” You made a shooing motion as you got up to head for the printer sitting on a small desk behind the couch, trying for nonchalant, but not succeeding in the least. 

Frank snorted from behind you at your behavior, and you soon felt his presence at your back. Of course the man wouldn’t listen to you. 

“So it’s just the shirt? What if I take it off?” 

“No!” You whirled around with wide eyes, knowing that a topless Frank would only make things worse, especially when his scent was already doing things to you. 

Frank smirked and narrowed his eyes at you. 

“I meant that I could change into another one.” 

You blinked at him and cleared your throat. “Oh… uhm… that’s…”

“Wanna tell me what exactly is distractin’ you, Sweetheart?” Frank asked, his voice lowering. 

You were standing so close now and Frank’s eyes were boring into yours with an intensity only he knew how to use. 

Briefly looking away with a huff of a laugh, you slightly pursed your lips and shrugged. 

“You,” you muttered with a small wave to indicate his whole form. 

“And how exactly? I wasn’t doin’ nothin’.” He tilted his head to one side, eyeing you curiously from under his lashes. 

“Just don’t, Frank,” you groaned and closed your eyes for a second. 

“Don’t what?” he chuckled. 

He was the worst. 

“Come on, I need to get this done,” you whined, lifting your hands to push at his chest as he moved in closer. Well, push really wasn’t the word, since you didn’t put a lot of force into it. At all.

“Tell me,” he coaxed with a rough voice, while he was leaning in to graze his lips over yours, his hands going to your hips. 

“Frank, I need to finish this,” you whispered desperately, but Frank only kept going. “You just look fucking hot,” you finally admitted when his mouth trailed towards your jaw. 

Frank lifted his face a bit to look at you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you huffed through heavy breaths. “The hair, the beard, the shirt, the jeans… just… I need to finish filling those in, and you’re being so …ugh… Can you go do something else now?” you practically pleaded. 

Frank laughed lightly under his breath, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in again. His tongue moved into action now, the tip gently stroking over your upper lip and making you whimper. 

“Frank”, you tried, as your eyes closed on their own accord while Frank maneuvered you until you were standing with your back to the couch again. “Need to…”

“Yeah, I know, baby, but I don’ think you’d be able to concentrate now. How ‘bout you lemme take responsibility for distractin’ you?” 

As he cupped one side of your face, his tongue licked over your bottom lip now. He hadn’t really kissed you yet, but you felt as winded as if he’d kissed you breathless. Your legs shook and it didn’t take any effort on his part to get you to sit down and lean back until you were lying flat on the couch with Frank slipping between your thighs. 

“You’re leaving the apartment once we’re done,” you pouted while simultaneously wrapping your legs over the back of his thighs. 

Frank’s loud bark of a laugh had your stomach jumping happily, right before your heart accelerated when Frank finally sealed your lips with his after he gave you a nod of agreement. His beard scraped over your mouth, and you loved the contrast of his soft lips and the coarser hairs of the short beard. You lifted your hands to his head and stroked your fingers through his hair, getting a low grunt from him whenever you pulled at it lightly. Frank made quick work taking off both of your tops, before his mouth was at your jaw once again and trailing a row of kisses all over it and down your throat. While he was busy driving you crazy with his mouth, his hands went to your pants to open them, before he leaned up far enough for him to pull them down along with your underwear. You were now fully naked under him, while he was still half clothed. The sight of him, with his flushed chest and large bulge in his jeans, had you squeezing his thighs with yours and reaching down for his fly. Frank grinned as he looked at your eager hands before he leaned down on top of you for another deep kiss. About to complain that he was stopping you from opening his jeans further, you could only gasp when one of his hands slipped between your legs and two large fingers stroked through your folds. Frank groaned into your mouth at your long moan of pleasure when his fingers slowly slid inside you one after the other. 

“Frank, please,” you breathed through the kiss, as you gripped at his shoulders while he was gently fucking you with his fingers. “Please, don’t tease me.” 

Frank made a soft humming sound before he lifted his head to slowly caress his lips over yours with the faintest of touches. For a second, you thought that he wouldn’t listen to you and tease you some more, something you usually did enjoy and Frank knew it, but he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before he knelt up. Your hands instantly shot down again, finishing what they’d started as they opened the jeans all the way and then pushed them down as far as possible to free his length. As you leaned up to try to get the pants lower, Frank grasped your wrists and gathered them in one palm before he was pushing you down on the couch again, your hands held over your head on the armrest. 

You could feel his breath hitting your skin as you both panted, your faces only a few inches away from each other, while Frank’s eyes bored into yours. Taking his weight on the hand holding yours captive, Frank used his other hand to guide himself inside you. You were unable to look away from his intense gaze as you gasped loudly when he slowly entered you, never stopping until his hips were flush with yours. Frank stayed like this for a few long seconds, until you keened and moved your hips instead, wordlessly begging him to move. Move he did, but he didn’t thrust. He gyrated his hips, grinding them into yours and making you feel his whole length as it moved inside you. It was the sweetest of torture, since it wasn’t enough to actually get you anywhere, but the pressure of his thick cock rubbing along your inner walls felt incredible all the same. 

“Frank, please,” you repeated, while your legs wrapped around his hips, and you tried to use the leverage to move up and down a bit, but Frank forced your hips down. 

You whined and looked into his eyes. You needed him to move so badly, it was driving you crazy. 

“Frank,” you gasped, eyes wide. “Please. Need you to make me come. Need you so much.” 

You knew that begging and asking for what you wanted would always get you exactly that, and you sometimes teased him with that knowledge, but you weren’t playing now. You truly needed him. 

As expected, Frank instantly complied. 

“Anythin’ you need, Sweetheart,” he rumbled, right before he pulled almost all the way out, only to snap his hips forward again. 

You cried out in bliss as your legs trembled over the back of his thighs, while Frank thrust inside you over and over again. 

“You gonna come for me like that?” he asked in a low voice, as he shifted his hips just so when he adjusted his grip on you. 

You could only nod, wide-eyed, as you hurtled towards your release. The orgasm took your breath away completely, leaving you with your mouth parted, but with no sound coming out of it for the first few seconds. Your next inhale was a shuddering gasp and a long moan, your whole body trembling with the force of your pleasure. Through the intensity of it all, you barely had the time to see Frank’s eyebrows coming together as his eyes closed as he came as well, his warm release shooting far inside you. You caught his mouth with yours as he leaned down to share a long and uncoordinated kiss, before he pressed his forehead to yours. He let go of your hands after another beat, letting you stretch your arms out before you wrapped them under his arms and around his back to hold him to you. 

“Think you can focus on those documents now?” Frank smiled, as he pressed a small kiss to your lips. 

You groaned and shut your eyes at the reminder, which had Frank chuckling under his breath. 

“Promise I’ll behave,” he added with a grin, as he rose but remained kneeling between your legs. 

“Go put on a hoodie, yeah?” you grumbled half-heartedly, accepting the hand Frank was extending to help you up. 

Frank nodded and vanished into the bedroom, while you headed into the bathroom to clean up. 

As you walked back out a few minutes later, fully dressed and presentable again, ready to deal with the paperwork, you skidded to a halt at the sight of Frank. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” you yelled, pointing at his chest. “You’re supposed to zip up the hoodie or put on a shirt and not…” you flailed your hands around. “Show off your chest, for crying out loud. Okay, out.” You pushed at Frank now, intending to have him leave like planned, but Frank laughed and caught your hands before kissing you on one corner of your mouth. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he amended, making a show of zipping the hoodie up over the top of his chest when it had been open far under it at first, showing far too much skin for you to handle. 

“Thank you,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and returned to the coffee table, sitting down in front of it. 

Now, where did you stop again?

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 2 - Running out of time

TW: blood, gun violence, tourniquet, strong language, verbally abusive whumper, whumper turned whumpee, tobacco, dilf in distress, open ending

@medwhumpmay

The roles were always pretty clear between Fetch and Erick. Fetch would give orders and Erick would follow them. If Erick didn't follow them, then Fetch would hurt him. And when Erick got hurt, Fetch would patch him back up.

But roles have a tendency to reverse sometimes, and on the rare instance that it happened between Fetch and Erick, it was usually pretty drastic, like...let's say Fetch took a bullet, and it was up to Erick to get him to safety. Or, well...he got himself to safety first. Driving away from the incident, before pulling over and realising he'd already lost quite a lot of blood. Okay, no reason to panic.

"Kid, come here," he said through gritted teeth.

Erick didn't need to be told twice, for once, scrambling out of his hiding spot in the back of the van and joining Fetch in the front, sitting in the passenger's seat, eyes widening when he saw the blood pooling beneath Fetch's chair.

"A-are you okay, sir?" he asked.

"What does it fucking look like?" Fetch snapped, "get some rope and a screwdriver or a wrench. I'll teach you how to improvise a tourniquet."

"A-and then what?!" Erick asked, "Take you to hospital?"

"Absolutely fucking not!" Fetch said, "They'd call the cops on my ass right away. No, I need to call Tito, but first this!"

"R-right," Erick said, quickly diving back into the back to search Fetch's bag for rope. He didn't have to look too hard. His bag was filled with coild of rope, rolls of tape, cloths, cuffs, chains— But I digress...

Erick grabbed the first coil of rope he found, before opening the toolbox behind the driver's seat, grabbing the first thing he saw; a hammer.

"Will this work?" he asked, showing Fetch the items.

"Good enough," Fetch said with a groan, "tie the rope around my leg, right here."

Erick nodded, wrapping the rope around Fetch's thigh where he pointed and tying a knot in it.

"L-like that?"

"Yeah, now stick the hammer between and twist it to tighten it," Fetch instructed.

"I-isn't that dangerous? To cut off the blood flow like that?" Erick asked.

"That bullet nicked a fucking artery, do you want me to bleed out?!" Fetch snapped, grabbing the teen by the front of his shirt.

"S-sorry, you're right," Erick quickly said, before sliding the hammer underneath the rope as instructed and beginning to turn it to tighten the rope.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Fetch said, "find a way to fix it in place."

"Tape!" Erick said, quickly retrieving a roll from Fetch's bag, even remembering to grab a piece of cloth as well to put additional pressure on the wound, planning to tape that into place as well, but it was hard to work when Fetch kept pulling away and even kicked at him.

"God damn it! Are you trying to kill me?!" he growled.

"I know it hurts, but I can't help you if you don't stop moving," Erick said.

"Don't talk back to me!"

"I think you can make an exception just this once," Erick said, pressing a bit harder than necessary on his wound.

"Son of a— Fine! Just hurry up!"

"Then hold. Still."

Fetch growled, but tried a bit harder to hold still while Erick finished taping everything into place, before sitting back, absent-mindedly wiping the blood on his hands onto his jeans.

"O-okay, now what?" he asked.

Did Fetch know someone who could treat him? Could they trick someone at the hospital so they wouldn't call the police? Was he even in the right state of mind to think clearly?

"Now we switch seats," Fetch said, already holding his arm out.

Erick somewhat awkwardly let him lean on him as he switched from the driver's seat to the passenger's seat, attempting to hold back a pained groan before pulling his phone from his pocket. Erick sat back on the floor between the two seats still. Even though Fetch had told him they were switching, he still felt it would be wrong to just go sit in his seat without express permission. Was he going to ask him to drive? He'd only had a lesson or two when Fetch happened to have a good day, so he wasn't too sure he was up for it just yet.

"Tito, it's me," Fetch suddenly said, pulling Erick from his thoughts. It seemed he'd finally started his call.

"Jonas? I don't have time for your bullshit, put me through to Tito," Fetch continued, pulling his cigarettes from his pocket and handing them to Erick so he could help him.

Erick gingerly took a cigarette from the pack, handing it to Fetch before taking his lighter and lighting it for him. It sounded like he could use the nicotine to get through the phonecall alone, let alone the fact that he just got shot.

"I don't care if he's having sex with his wife right now. Put him on!" he yelled.

Fetch took a couple of drags from his cigarette while waiting for Jonas to put his boss on the line, almost managing to finish it before he finally got an answer again.

"Tito, about time," he said, "I need a doctor, pronto."

Erick couldn't help but to feel relieved as Fetch got through to Tito. He wouldn't put it past Jonas to stall until Fetch bled out, but it seemed like today wouldn't be the day...yet.

"I don't think I can make it that far. I got two hours and an inexperienced driver. Can't you send someone to meet me halfway?" Fetch explained, "tell them I got an arterial bleed and a tourniquet, they'll understand— Erick start the car."

That seemed like a clear enough order. Erick nodded, quickly getting behind the wheel and needing an attempt or two before he managed to get the van's engine going. He winced a bit, it didn't help his confidence much, but they didn't have much choice. He put on his seatbelt and adjusted the mirrors while waiting for Fetch to finish his phonecall.

"I told you they'd understand," he grumbled, "we're leaving now. I'll call you when we get there."

He hung up, tossing his phone in the little compartment below the radio, before putting on his own seatbelt as well.

"Okay," he said, surprisngly calmly, "check your mirrors, put her in first gear, and if the road is clear, turn on your blinker and slowly take your foot off the clutch until you feel it catch then give a little gas to pull up slowly."

Erick nodded, following his instructions and managing to pull away surprisingly smoothly. Frankly, it was easy to stay calm if Fetch was calm too. He hadn't gone much further than a drive around the block or two in his first driving lessons, so Fetch knew he had to keep the teen calm to be able to get to their destination safely and without being pulled over.

"Okay, now turn onto the ramp and start speeding up. You gotta be going fast enough to merge onto the freeway safely."

"I-I've never driven on the freeway before," Erick said, panicking slightly.

"You were gonna have to do it a first time eventually, now step on the gas," Fetch said, "keep an eye on your mirror, check over your shoulder, and turn on your blinker. People will give you space if you don't cut them off."

"There's no one next to me or behind me," Erick reported, checking over his shoulder before turning on the indicator.

"Small movements on the wheel at this speed," Fetch reminded him.

"Y-yes sir."

"Great, now just stay between the lines, I'll let you know when you have to get off. Keep your speed constant, don't slow down too much, and for the love of god don't speed. We don't need any cops on our ass right now."

"What if there are cops?" Erick asked, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of every vehicle around them.

"You ignore them," Fetch said, "if you act nervous you'll only draw their attention."

"But I am nervous."

"How do you think I feel?! I got shot in the fucking leg!" Fetch snapped.

"Don't yell at me! I'm driving you to your doctor, aren't I?" Erick snapped back.

Fetch looked like he wanted to hit him, but he knew better. Erick also knew very well that his attitude would catch up with him eventually, but for now he was in the right. Fetch needed him right now...wait, maybe Fetch was also scared? Erick immediately felt bad.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "it's going to be okay. I'll try not to draw any attention to us, and we'll get to your doctor in time, and it's all going to be okay."

"I don't care whether I die or not, but if you don't scrub every inch of this van once we get there, you'll have another thing coming," Fetch grumbled.

"Yes, sir," Erick just said.

Honestly, he was already planning to clean the van as soon as he got the chance. It would give him something to do while waiting for the doctor to treat Fetch, and the slippery pool of blood just below the pedals were already getting on his nerves.

Either way, Fetch settled down a bit, returning to giving directions as calmly as he could. Erick decided to pretend it was just a very long driving lesson, trying his hardest to ignore how pale Fetch was looking, or the tremble in his hand when he pointed to something, or the waver in his voice when he spoke up again after being quiet for a bit.

Eventually they left the freeway, and the city behind them, beginning to drive down long, empty roads. Erick relaxed a bit more. The odds of being seen by police, or causing an accident in his inexperience decreased a lot. However, it seemed Fetch's odds were also decreasing a bit, as his condition seemed to keep getting worse. Was the tourniquet not tight enough after all? They had a long stretch of empty and straight road ahead, so Erick wagered a bit of a longer look, finally noticing the second pool of blood gathering underneath the passenger's seat.

"F-Fetch? Fetch! Are you bleeding anywhere else?!"

"What?" Fetch replied, seeming to have trouble focusing, "Of cours'not. I'd know if I was...bleeding anywhere else."

"J-just stay awake, please, I-I don't know what to do!" Erick said, "how far out are we? Where are we going? Fetch? Fetch?!"

He promptly slammed the brakes as Fetch didn't reply, the engine nearly stalling until he remembered to switch gears, before pulling over and bringing the van to a full stop. It seemed Fetch had passed out, and he didn't have a lot of time to figure out what to do next. He quickly grabbed Fetch's phone, the screen thankfully covered in bloody fingerprints to help him figure out his passcode, especially as the prints got vaguer after each input.

"No way it's that easy," Erick mumbled, trying the combination 1-2-3-4.

"Okay, fuck, it was that easy," Erick sighed, shaking his head as he opened the contacts app and swiped to the 'recents' tab. All numbers were unlisted, but the one at the top started with 702, the area code for Las Vegas. It had to be Tito's number, or at least the fastest way to reach him. He quickly pressed 'call' and held the phone to his ear as he listened to it ring.

"Ah, Fetcher, that was quick. I thought you said you were further away?"

"Mr Rana!" Erick said, "i-it's me, actually. Fetch passed out and I don't know where to go!"

"Oh dear, oh you poor boy," Tito said, "if I give you the address, do you think you can find it on your own?"

"Y-yeah, I think so, thank you," Erick said, "please hurry, I think he's lost too much blood."

"Just breathe, Erick. I'll have Jonas text you the address right away," Tito said, "I'm putting you on speaker, can you put me on speaker too so you can call and drive at the same time?"

"R-right, okay," Erick said, lowering the phone and finding the speaker button. He turned the volume all the way up and kept the phone in his lap as he started the van again when the text already came though.

"When you open the link Jonas sent you, it should automatically show you where you are and how far away you are from the destination, okay?" Tito said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know how Maps works," Erick said, "um...looks like I'm ten minutes out. I-it's just down the road."

"Very good," Tito said, "now watch your speed. Ten minutes should be just fine."

"There's a cemetary only six minutes down the other way, sir."

"Jonas... Ignore him, Erick. Just keep going like you were before."

Erick was already ignoring Jonas, the sound of his voice sending chills down his spine otherwise. He also didn't quite watch his speed. What were the odds of police catching him these last ten minutes? Fetch would run out of time if he didn't hurry, and honestly he couldn't even begin to imagine what to do if he died here today.

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, glancing down at the map to make sure the next turn coming up was his. He slowed down a bit too late, nearly spinning out as he turned onto the dirt road, but he managed to get the van straight again. His destination would come up in about two minutes, but he had no idea what to look for.

"Mr Rana, what am I looking for?" he asked, wincing a bit at how teary he sounded.

"Our associates should have a plain truck, like a small moving truck," Jonas answered, "it'll probably be hidden from the road behind a building. If you can't locate it just honk the horn and they'll show themselves."

"O-okay, okay," Erick said breathlessly, eyes darting to either side of the road to look for anything that could hide a small truck.

The phone beeped that he had reached his destination, and all there was was a large barn. Erick slammed the brakes again, pulling up in front of the barn and just started honking.

The barn doors swung open, revealing the small truck parked inside, and Erick was too relieved that they'd made it to care about the two men approaching the van with guns. He just stopped honking and showed his hands, showed he was unarmed. He wanted to ask Tito for advice, but when he looked down at the phone he saw the call had ended. Great.

One of the men ordered him to get out of the van, making him stand with his hands on the hood, while the other one dragged Fetch out of the passenger's seat and towards the barn. Erick was searched for any weapons, before being allowed to relax.

"Sorry about that, can't be too careful these days," the man said.

Erick wasn't sure what to reply, he felt like throwing up, or collapsing, or anything, but he couldn't really move.

"Okay, why don't you go inside and help yourself to some water?" the man said, "I'll park the van behind the barn. Go on."

Erick managed to nod, slowly heading inside the barn. He was probably going to get shit for not cleaning the van right away like he promised he would...if Fetch would even survive to give him any.

shoutout to @momagie-blog for helping me come up with the plot for this prompt. I was a little lost in the sauce and she helped me simplify it~

Open end, ftw!

Jonas and Tito are side characters in Villain's View.

Masterlist Main account

[brandstifter-sys]

These Dreams

Chapter 6: Crushcrushcrush        (Ao3) (must be signed in)

For @dukexietyweek 2023 Day 6 - Music

Word Count: 1058

Rating: T

Characters: Remus, Virgil, Remy

Warnings: ftm Remus, genderfluid Virgil, mtf Virgil, alcohol, sexual themes, dreams

Vi is fed up with Remy dragging her to bars every weekend just to see the live acts, mainly because a certain hottie keeps trying to get close, and he is willing to make a fool of himself for her

---

It wasn't exactly her favorite way to spend a Friday night. Vi was not a fan of dive bars that offered live music, mainly because the acts were usually mediocre. But her best friend needed a designated driver, and Remy was a pain in the ass to drive around so no one else would. 

She was leaning against the bar, as inconspicuous as possible for a 6 foot tall, broad trans femme. She didn't want to be mistaken for a drag queen or a very feminine man, so she tried to stay out of the way and drink her soda in peace. 

But she couldn't really hide when he spotted her. A wily little imp with a mustache just had to see her. She had seen him around a few times and talked with him before Remy got so drunk they had to leave. He was fun and sweet and far too hot to handle. 

"Hey there, gorgeous, funny seeing you here!" the imp purred and leaned on the bar to meet her gaze. 

"Sometimes my bitch needs to go to the dog park even if I don't," Vi said flatly and took a sip of her drink, "But you already knew that." 

"Yeah! You know, if you want a new dog, I don't mind wearing a collar and leash for you!" he purred and threw in a coy wink. He just knew how to make Vi blush like a schoolgirl without a second thought. 

"Get a flea bath first." 

"Only if you're the one soaping me up!" he giggled and shimmied. He knew he was being cute and alluring—he had to know. 

Vi took another sip of coke and tried to calm her racing heart. She was as red as a tomato and she needed a life line before she fainted from nerves. 

"Boo Boo!" 

Her saving grace, Remy, sauntered up to the bar and got between the pair, flopping back and signaling the bartender. 

The imp was only a little miffed but Remy sure as hell didn't give him a chance to voice it. 

"Babe, can you buh-lieve it!" Remy groaned, "The band is late! The hottie I wanted to smash is totes leaving if they don't play soon!" 

"You're not smashing anyone," Vi huffed, "You're drunk." 

"Vi!!" Remy whined, "He's so hot!" 

"Don't care," Vi rolled her eyes and spotted the bartender coming over. 

"Can I get you anything?" they asked and eyed Remy. 

"Another coke please, and water for him," Vi sighed as Remy fumbled to turn around. 

"Babe! Lemme get a screwdriver!" Remy huffed. That's when Vi realized that her imp was gone. She would have to thank Remy when he was sober. She couldn't handle any more embarrassing situations. 

And then loud rapid drums rang out from the stage. Vi looked over and nearly had a heart attack as soon as the guitars came in. That feral imp was on stage, holding the microphone. 

"I got a lot to say to you, yeah I got a lot to say," he sang and looked directly at her from across the room. 

"I noticed your eyes are always glued to me, keeping them here and it makes no sense at all!" 

Even at a distance she could feel the intensity of his stare. His voice vibrated through her bones. Vi wrapped her hoodie around her chest and glanced at her drunk bestie. 

Remy was smirking at her. He was not nearly as clueless as he seemed. He just had to open his mouth.

"Boo, you have a—" 

"Crush, crush, crush! Crush, crush—two three four!" 

Vi felt her face heat up again. 

"Nothing compares to, a quiet evening alone. Just the one, two I was just counting on!" 

That imp was absolutely delighted to see her squirming. 

"That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again! Let's be more than this!" 

That impish little man was absolutely killing it on the stage. He was flexible, bopping around like he was singing karaoke in his room alone. 

"You're coming with me!" Remy jeered and grabbed her arm. Vi was too flustered to fight him, and let him drag her through the small crowd and assorted tables to the stage. 

The little imp spotted them and grinned as he continued to perform. Vi swore he had some trick up his sleeve. 

"—That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again, let's be more than this now!" he sang and leapt from the stage. 

"Rock and Roll, baby," he practically purred and sauntered up to Vi, "Don't you know that we're all alone now? I need something to sing about."

He casually ran his fingers through her hair and giggled at the way her knees trembled. 

"Rock and Roll, hey, don't you know baby," he hummed as if they were the only two people in the world, "We're all alone now? I need something to sing about!"

Vi instinctively cupped his cheek and smiled shyly when he leaned into the touch. 

"Rock and Roll, hey. Don't you know baby, we're all alone now?" he kept performing and stepped back. 

"Give me something to sing about!" 

He leapt back on stage, pissing off the guitarist in the process. He didn't seem to care. He was too giddy because of a simple touch. 

Vi couldn't look away as he performed the final chorus. He was so wily and cute, and she just wanted to drag him away to smother him with kisses. 

"—I guess I'm dreaming again," he sang and put the microphone on its stand, "Let's be more than, more than this! Oh-ho oh-oh oh-oh! Ooh—" 

Vi dragged him from the stage by his shirt and closed in on his lip. Her eyes fluttered shut as—

    A harsh guitar riff woke Vi from her impromptu nap. She groaned and sat up, peeling her face away from her keyboard. She turned off the alarm on her phone and sighed. At least she didn't have anything on screen that could be ruined by a face to the keys.

These dreams were driving her crazy! She tried therapy, different meds, but nothing kept that mustachioed gremlin from her dreams! She needed an excuse to research, so she switched from her werewolf novel to something else. She had an answer and absolutely no idea how to find a solution. But she could try one thing.

[misscrazyfangirl321]

Henry and Monroe, some kind of au with robots/androids?

"Nope. No way. This is way above my paygrade," Monroe says firmly before Henry can even get a word in. Nick is bad enough, bringing him bots to fix in the middle of the night, but at least they're the kind Monroe actually works on. Not... This.

Henry steps through the doorway, tugging his problem behind him, without so much as an invitation. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Um, anywhere else?" Monroe runs a hand over his face. "Literally, anywhere else. I'm begging you."

The droid hums, an unintelligible but undeniably questioning tone.

Henry pauses, nodding to her-it, it's a machine, Monroe reminds himself with a huff-with a smile. "It's okay, SALL-E. Monroe can help you."

"No, he can't," Monroe chimes in, but of course no one pays him a bit of attention.

"Monroe's the best there is." Henry actually pats the android's arm. "He knows wiring inside and out."

It's a ridiculously obvious play on Monroe's ego. (How incredibly rude is it that it works?) "Fine, I'll take a look. But I'm not making any promises, okay? I work with bots, not droids, especially not MERs."

MERS, or Marine Emergency Response droids, were designed to work as well in water as out of it, and they're able to withstand incredible pressure. They're also, Monroe would like to go on record of saying, highly illegal. Something about a glitch in the programming; all Monroe knows is that all of these should have been disassembled years ago.

He approaches the MER cautiously, half-expecting her to lash out at any moment. The lenses that eerily resemble eyes open and close, which is weird, because there's no functional reason for it. "Did she just... Make herself blink?"

"Probably." Henry's voice has gone a bit sheepish (now he's sheepish?). "I showed her a bunch of cat videos, and now she thinks that's the best way to say she trusts you."

"See, I've got a lot of problems with that sentence, starting with the part where you said she thinks. But, uh... What seems to be the problem?"

"She's been glitching."

He arches a brow. "She's a MER. They do that."

Huffing, Henry shakes his head. "Not-not that kind of glitch. Something new. She keeps losing files, and stopping what she's doing in the middle of programs." Burying his face in his hands, he continues. "I've tried everything I can think of, even a reboot, but... I've got nothing."

Losing files? That's actually something Monroe might be able to help with. He closes the gap between himself and the MER, brushing her artificial hair back so he can see the back of her neck. Sure enough, there's an access panel there, and he pulls a screwdriver from his pocket, starting to turn the first screw.

A piercing noise erupts from the droid, a scramble of electronic noise and squealing that fills the air. The screwdriver slips from Monroe's fingers as he hurries to cover his ears. Immediately, the sound stops.

"Wh-what on earth was that?"

Henry's looking up again, a grim expression on his face. "She was screaming." He pulls something small from his pocket, passing it to Monroe. "There's a USB port on the side of her neck. Put this in it."

Screaming? Monroe complies, and the drive slides in easily. The droid chirps once, sounding almost content, and Henry exhales.

Slowly, carefully, Monroe speaks. "So, when you say she was screaming..."

"You hurt her." Henry gestures to the screwdriver. "She'll be fine now if you want to take a look. The drive will disrupt her pain receptors, so she'll be fine for awhile. It's like a local, but for MERs."

The words rattle around in Monroe's head, not quite landing. "Okay, so why don't you have this in her all the time?"

"It only lasts around thirty minutes. Besides, SALL-E wouldn't want me to; she likes being able to feel things."

What he's saying is... Impossible. It has to be. (If it isn't, it would change everything.) "Listen, Henry, I get it, okay? I work with bots all day long; I know how easy it can be to convince yourself that the machines have feelings, and mine don't even have faces. But SALL-E is a droid; she doesn't want or like anything."

"She shouldn't." Henry shrugs. "That's why they call it a glitch."

The implications take just a few seconds. When they do, horror dawns. All of those droids were destroyed for-for what? Feeling things? They shouldn't be able to do that, sure, but that's the programmer's fault, not theirs. They could have been reprogrammed. As it is.... Were they killed? Officially it's impossible for a droid to be killed, seeing as they aren't alive. But-but-

But officially, droids don't scream, either.

"Okay. Okay, you said-you said thirty minutes, right?"

"Twenty-eight, now."

"Well, then." He inhales and exhales firmly, steadying himself as best he can. "I'd better get to work."

[realmythsmoved]

"Oh, really?" The Doctor says when he mentions not being foreign to the concept of helping people, it's just different from the usual way. She finds that hard to believe. He seems to her to be just like the Master, all domination and harm. And she doesn't like people like that. No, not at all. "I find that hard to believe."

When he says that omniscient knowledge can be weakened, and that it can be transformed, the Doctor scrunches her face up in confusion. "No idea what you're on about, dude." She frowns. She doesn't like not knowing. But she won't let him know that. She doesn't want to give him a weakness to exploit. She knows his type. The moment they spot a weakness, they move in for the kill. And no, she won't let him harm her or anyone else.

So she smiles, widely, showing her teeth yet again. When he mentions cooperation between them being possible but not easy, she rolls her eyes. "I highly doubt that. See, I have no reason to cooperate with you. And I know people like you. I don't have much time for you." A pause, a dark chuckle. "What's stopping me from leaving right now?" She must admit she's curious what he wants with her. But not enough. If he really wants her to stay he's got to give her a reason. And so far she's not seeing any. She puts her hands in her pockets, ready to take out her sonic screwdriver at a moment's notice. Just in case he tries anything.

She listens to his words, and as he continues speaking something occurs to her. Coulson is his alternate self, perhaps? The good to the evil. The light to the darkness. Yes, that makes sense. Though she doubts very much that this man has any good left in him. That's kind of the point. She feels bad for Coulson, having an alternate self like this. At least the Doctor's never been evil in any of her lives. "Got it. So Coulson is you....from another universe. You're each other's alternate selves."

Her smile is wide, enjoying sharing this information with him. She's beginning to unravel the mystery a bit. But what she still doesn't understand is where she comes into it. "Oh, so there's a greater villain than you? Funny, that you'd admit that. What, bad at it?" She gives another dark chuckle. "So...what do you want with me, Mr. Butler? Besides driving me out of my mind? Which seems to be a habit for your type." The Doctor faces villains daily. But if she can handle the Daleks and the Cybermen and the Master, she can handle him. She thinks. Hopefully she's right about that.

"And Coulson? Dangerous? Please, he's a puppy compared to you." From what she knows of Phil Coulson, he seems to be a good person. And Phil Butler seems just the opposite. A villain through and through. Luckily, that's the Doctor's expertise. Dealing with villains. All in a day's work. Though she wishes she hadn't dropped off her companions just now. She could use a bit of help fully unraveling this mystery. Not that she'd admit to it. No, she'll still bet on herself. And she's faced harsher foes than him, she's certain. Hopefully she's right.

Oh, come on, he was an miracle creator, granting wishes for everyone who were ready to sacrificing an fragment on their soul to the Underground … He was an witch, the kind of creatures able to generate happiness and wishes upon their path, in which accidentally he had been the cause of the creation of the greatest monster ever made because --- oh, there had been potential inside that innocent fifth incarnation of the Doctor he had met up, totally emotionally absorbed by his name and the possibility hanging on it, totally wrapped inside the slow realization the two people he coudn't save inside the future could be protected inside the past, within his mere survival … Amusement betrayed his features far more brutally than he expected it to showing up, holding back for not laughing at her face. Sure, he loved expressing right away he was a villian, he was one of these bad guys it was better not to have as enemy, nevertheless his hobby was to eat other villains, nevertheless his hobby was to expanding that value of help inside other manners … inhumans manners that cannot be qualified as humans.

❝ There is an little misunderstanding. I'm not foreign to that concept of helping people --- ❞ His laugh barely managed to be holded back, when he forced himself to not showing that much emotionality at the moment. At least, inside one sentence, he was convinced he would pass a good time wih her ! If some chessboard didn't have been observed since the beginning to the ending, when he found himself becoming an actor for anchoring further an play in which finality wasn't supposed to be transformed, he would have been ready to carry on that play towards uncorrected misunderstanding. Nevertheless, he perceived for too long the consequences, and as much it was pleasant to perceiving higher powers in middle of tourments caused by lack of communication, it remained the Doctor, she needed to having clues on where his true ambitions were. ❝ It's simply different of the usual way. ❞ There was complete awareness he had been totally manipulative inside his delicate manner. It wasn't even something he had tried to hide in front of the blessed souls. He gave to Alois Trancy an opportunity of freedom, simply because he couldn't remove himself the source of his frustration, and enjoyed the opportunity in front of Featherine recalcitrance, to ANCHORING an pre-defined result. If Featherine decided to do nothing for the kid because there was the shadow of Hades behind, he will make sure the kid will be an destructive power source in front of the God of the Underground. He gave the same option to Draco Malfoy indirectly, because he needed his acknowledgement for becoming the Witch of Illusions he wanted to be. He flattered his boss incarnation with the same deal. He offered an exit door to the Master towards that. Oh, and concerning his alternative self inside another universe, Coulson understood quickly he was that kind of man, though, inside that devilish deal, could found opportunities to expressing an dormant potential still unseen.

Playfulness inscreased inside his features. He was the observer of the darkness. He was monotoring everything in middle of the shadows. Compared to Featherine who had foreknoweldge and planned her plans depending the possible effect inside the Web of Time … he contented himself to having his fun by watching the scene happening in front of his eyes, simply by influencing in one manner or another the current players. They wouldn't even know some of his advices could be pleasant manipulative threads from another sphere. Currently, the Master searching his way out of the manipulative web imposed by Featherine and the one he was embracing around that Time Lord, was something funny. It was really funny to perceiving him struggling intellectually and emotionally in search of an miracle, wishing to having his support in some manner, for a wish barely possible. At least, not inside the timeline he was originally part of. ❝ Omniscient knowledge can find itself weakened, however. ❞ He simply expressed with another happy sound. ❝ This ultimate knowledge is possible because it is recognized as such, anchored in this result. Which means it can be transformed. ❞ He had been introducing to his boss the notion of Red Truth long before he came accoustumed to the terms in middle of higher spheres, which always had been turned uncomfortable the Doctor and still turned uncomfortable Featherine. She wouldn't mind, the current incarnation of the Doctor, some words game. He realized she didn't wanted show weakness, in which he remained indifferent.

He knew how to play that game too.

❝ Difficult. Cooperation between us is totally possible, nevertheless I can hardly believe it will be easy. ❞ He corrected slowly. ❝ There is couple of informations that will take some time to be digested~ ❞ He admitted with an smaller laugh that cannot be holded back anymore, when he really appreciated current moment he was passing. There was no apologies about how he could playing with that impression of the Master --- he was studying carefully every one of his moves and had admired more than one time his decomposed expression, of course, reflecting such sentiment was something natural. Though, his background was different of the Master concerning reasons why he had in first place had been antagonist of the Doctor. He had really wanted kill that Time Lord simply because he was meddling everywhere, too much stubborn and compassionate for his own good, too much insisting … and because he had annoy him, simple as that. Since he couldn't be harmful towards his own boss --- considering he will kill anyone attempting something on him --- he had only the Master for having an possible fun on murdering an Time Lord someday ! The other one was amusing by how he was used as an useful pawn. His nice manners to show his presence in front of an companion he had never see, but in which existence of his nephew crossing path time to time was an reminder of game of circumstances. He confirmed within his eyes that no, neither UNIT or SHIELD. Official organizations were something they had to handle for having an higher influence from their observer view.

UNIT was physically left alone inside the meaning they need no mole inside on it, however every single move of them was observed. Since the other Time Lord decided to pulling himself inside an comfortable position in middle of the CIA, he had to use his influence for best results. The SHIELD looked the official organization looking like the most as the MIB --- but they weren't exactly the same. Coulson needed to receive education for becoming an fearful leader, for be the one solving circumstances he would face coming from his direct influence. He would, on his part, simply acting inside their usual manners inside the cracks left behind. His expression showed understanding, as amusement showed once more in front of the remembrance of Coulson. One of his alternative selves he was approving, which was something rare. Though he approved enough of another alternative able to be the father of the kid … when it was only inside ONE TIMELINE he could be flattered to adopt some chaotic children. ❝ Something different. ❞ He admitted as playfulness inscreased inside his features. ❝ Something else handling aliens. ❞ He grinned at that, because returning inside half-indifference. ❝ Philip Butler. ❞ An smile showed up at end of his sentence, as the name difference was everything. ❝ Sadly, I don't have some pleasant demonic twin at my side, this is happiness of an adorable kid~ ❞ Content smile followed that playfulness. ❝ For once I can approve of myself, which is a terribly difficult thing. ❞ Obscurity inside that sentence resonated before that somber atmosphere higher up without warning, since the sound of his voice changed inside an sudden seriouness. ❝ Oh no, I disagree. I am giving all honor of the name I have. There is another Philip Butler who would have liked to have same guts. No doubt his fate would have been better, and could have destroyed great villain much sooner --- an error that I also made. Besides Coulson can also be a dangerous man~ ❞

[rockethorse]

going insane going INSANE I can successfully get this object to reference a Maxis mesh (yay for not needing unnecessary duplicate meshes!) but I cannot for the life of me get it to also pick up Maxis recolours and it’s killing me

[finniestoncrane]

May you pretty please write something with Arkham Riddler with a reader who has a degradation kink?

Trying to do the Riddler challenges in the Arkham games is so bad for me (especially with the Arkham Knight races) because I absolutely suck at them (I can’t drive for shit in video games). And so of course because I’m failing Eddie just starts dealing out insults and makes everything worse. Cause like then I don’t want to succeed right away you know?

I just need a reader that just adores Eddie degrading them please.

Totally don’t have to do this btw, sorry it was a long ask.

Pathetic. Worthless.

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1.7k don't ever apologise to me for long asks i swear or i'll smack you on the head with a broom i love the detail you've done all the hard work for me lmao but anywayyyy... you are speaking my fuckin language baby this is a tight as shit concept and i am ALL OVER IT because guess who likes to be called a silly little slut (it's me, i'm the silly little slut teehee) and i also spent a majority of what i've played so far fanning myself when he tells me i'm stupid 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: language, degradation, humiliation, forced oral just a smidge of aftercare cos he's a soft boy really

You placed the wrench on workbench where Edward was busy with another of his projects.

“Having fun tinkering?”

“It’s not tinkering! It’s…just, pass the screwdriver.”

Handing the wrench to him, you tried to hold your smile back.

“Are you stupid?”

“I don’t know, Eddie, why?”

He placed his fingers at his temples, obviously trying to hold back his irritation, or simmering rage. But it was the effect you had hoped to garner from him. All day you’d been purposefully obtuse, getting his riddles wrong, so wrong and so consistently wrong that he had stopped telling you them, which was a first. And this was now the third time you had brought him the wrong tool. Smacking his hands down on the desk he turned to face you, no doubt straining to keep his words curbed, trying to remember how fond of you he actually was, even if he struggled to show it sometimes. And when his eyes met your coy smile, noticed you batting your eyelashes and shuffling your feet, he understood immediately.

“Ah, I see.” There was a glint in his eyes as he narrowed his eyebrows, lips curling at the edges into a wicked sneer. “You are stupid.”

It took all of you not to jump up and down on the spot, but you couldn’t contain the little giggle that erupted.

“Enough of that! If this is going to be pleasurable for you, you can forget it.” With a wink, he stood up from his seat, inching closer to you until your noses were pressed together. “I’m not in the mood to be nice to you right now, nor to placate your insecurities and tell you that you are smart after all, that you’ve been very good today, when the exact opposite would be correct. Get on your knees.”

You fell to the ground instantly, knees making contact with the oil-stained floor, shards of metal and glass and whatever else luckily not pressing too hard against you where you knelt. Looking up at him, you tried to hide the excitement in your eyes, but it was a futile attempt. Eddie knew you. Very well.

“Now, I’m going to be very rough, but that’s only because you’ve been entirely insufferable today. And if I’m being too mean, you’ll just have to take it. I want to see just…how…much…you…can take.” As he spoke, he let his fingers trace your lips, pushing two inside and pressing down on the teeth, opening your mouth and lowering your jaw, his thumb resting on your chin. “To see how much of me you can take.”

Towering above you now, he began unbuckling his belts, tossing one to the floor, the other, clattering to the sides of his pants. Unzipping slowly, he slid the fabric down, unsheathing his cock, holding it in his palm, hardening from soft at the touch, growing ever more impressive as he became stiffer at the sensation, at the prospect of what he had in store for you. He palmed it, hissing through clenched teeth as he let his thumb stroke the head softly, tentatively.

“Ok, remember what I’ve told you.” He lifted your head up by the chin, smiling as he realised you were staring intently at his cock, mouth subtly open in preparation. “If a job is worth doing, do it well. We don’t half-ass things around here.”

He slapped softly at your cheek twice, letting his trousers fall further down to his knees, his legs exposed, deliciously thick, dark hair covering his thighs which you reached up to touch, letting your palm glide over them, fingers pressed in slightly.

“Put the whole thing in, don’t make me struggle to make it fit. This is the best way to shut you up, you insolent little pain. Take my whole cock in your mouth.”

Grasping himself at the base of his length, he dragged the tip along your lower lip, pausing before he inserted himself.

“I would say I’m going to fuck you stupid, but that would be a pointless task. You’re already completely stupid.”

There was no more waiting around, as you were taken back by his swift entry, the taste of sweat and salt hitting your tongue, saliva pooling instantly as you let your tongue swirl around his head, trying to savour as much of him as you could. Pressing the very tip against the slit of his head, you looked up in response to his light whimper, which he quickly shifted into a deeper groan when he spotted you looking at him.

“You’re a thirsty…shameless slut. Prove you’re good…for something. If you can’t please me…with your mouth…then you can leave.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of your head, no pressure on the touch, just letting his fingers brush through your hair. In response, you hollowed your cheeks and slid your mouth further up his length, taking more of him in, moaning around his cock as he grunted in pleasure.

“That’s more like it…mmmm…yes, that’s good…this is your only task right now…focus on me…I could replace you with a robot…in an instant…so you better do a good job…”

Edward’s breath hitched as you bobbed your head at a more rapid pace, slowing down as you got close to the base, drawing your tongue languidly back up the shaft before pursing your lips around the head.

“Keep your eyes on me, idiot.”

Staring up at him, trying to hold his gaze despite the fact you were consumed with pleasure, arousal building in your stomach, skin clammy and prickled with excitement.

“You stupid, pathetic, worthless little creature.”

He growled as his hand pushed on your head onto him, fingers gripping your hair at the root and directing you onto him, only letting go when you gagged loudly, choking on him.

“Oh, come on now! Put some effort into this, use your tongue, hollow your…ok no, I’m not going to tell you how to do this.”

With his hand softly on your cheek, he let his thumb gently pass over the skin, back and forth, soothing you.

“Dear, dear. Your mouth was big enough earlier, this shouldn’t be a problem for you. It doesn’t take brains to know what to do if you’re choking, no?”

Pulling himself out from your lips, groaning at the sound of you gasping for breath, he watched you quietly as he panted. Your moment of reprieve was done though, as he guided his tip, slick with your drool, back into your mouth, spit falling from your chin to the floor.

“You’re making such a mess, my dear. Is this really so hard for you? I’ll just take a hold of your hair then, to help you. Good thing you wore those silly little pigtails. Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re going to be my pathetic little sidekick like that idiot clown and his little jester?”

Your hair, tangled in his fingers as he gripped both of your pigtails, he forced your head down onto his dick, more of it hitting the back of your throat than before. Gagging against it, you focused on breathing through your nose, trying to do your best for him, despite the fact that you were desperate for him to degrade you further.

“This kind of humiliation and punishment really suits the intellectually challenged such as yourself. Is this an achievement for you? It should be, you should be grateful that I would pay this kind of attention to a little slut.”

You nodded, mouth still full, lips pouted around him, tasting his precum, your own saliva.

“Shall we try a little task, a challenge?”

Again, you bobbed your head, muffled moans of agreement emanating from your otherwise occupied lips.

“Ok, you tell me you’re stupid when I’m out. Time it right, take a deep breath in, say your piece, and then get ready to take me again. Got it?”

He gripped his cock at the base once again, bring it out for you to struggle a ‘yes’, waiting until you caught on and offered your statement.

“I’m stupid.”

With no time to process, he was pushing himself back in, sliding himself in and out of your mouth, giving you the bare minimum time to tell him how stupid you were, following his demands to say you were a whore, to tell him you were worthless, to beg him to choke you. He settled inside of you permanently again, allowing you to get back to a pace where you could properly satisfy him, the tip of your tongue pressed hard to his shaft, flicking over his head, stretching your mouth open wide enough that he wasn’t touching the edges before enveloping him in your wet, pouting lips.

“Using you…hmmm…like this, I’m disappointed it’s taken this long, but I am…phew…I am going to cum. And you’re going to take it…all down your…worthless…pathetic…mmm…throat.”

He growled every word, pausing only when his breath hitched and his whines managed to escape.

“And you…my silly little…idiot…you’re going to take all of it down your stupid throat…do not open your mouth…until I’m finished…this should be…a gift to you…hmph…a treat…mmm…as if someone…god…of my…urgh…calibre…would ever…hng…stoop so low…ah…ever…again…ah!”

Edward’s hands held firm to the back of your head as he came down your throat, leaving trails of his seed along your tongue and on your lips as he pulled out, holding your chin up and your head back until you swallowed it all, hands slipping to your throat as you opened your mouth wide to show him that you had done as he wanted.

“Good girl.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, shocking you by kissing you, lips against yours, tongue flicking out and then pulling back, his eyes screwing up as he tasted himself. He smiled though, as he stroked your cheek.

“I hate to ruin the illusion, my dear, but you are above and beyond. You are perfection. As if I would sully myself with anyone not intellectually worthy, hm?”

Ed pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he stood up, offering you a hand to help you onto your feet.

[awesomehoggirl]

Prim we are in this whole pathetic girl blogger together today i had the most pathetic date in the world. best friend of mine who’s always been super caring to me and i asked out two days ago agreed to go out with me today and he was literally so fucking different than usual like awkward but not in a cute way in an i don’t want to be here way there were two different times where i tried to talk about us and how i felt and he interrupted me by pointing at two or three colors together and saying “look it’s [Random country] flag” and i was being a good date too i filled every single awkward silence and there were sooo many fucking times where i gave him an opening to talk about us or even straight up told him like “hey if there’s anything you want to talk about lmk because this whole thing was kind of sudden so i’m sure you have questions” and he was like oh no it’s fine WHEN IT CLEARLY WASNT FINE at one point near the end he said “hey do you know when your dad is picking you up? no offense i just really want to go home” So naturally i’m KILLING MYSELF not as bad as your thing but jsyk you are not alone. and i planned on making out with him at this thing i have tomorrow too So like im literally driving a screwdriver into my eyes prim this is so fucking bad

ONHHHHHHHHH ANBGGEUIIEEE. Ohhh angie… tbf this seems like it isnt really your fault LIKE you airent the pathetic one here HE IS!!!!!!! HE IS FUCKING CRAZYYYYYYYY GIRLLLLLLL omfgg who fucking says that 😭 WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS.. L after L for the tumblrinas lately

[wayward-dreamer]

Life’s Lessons - Good Enough

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader

Word count: 6,372

Summary: Y/N and Dean are planning their wedding, but a reminder from the past gives him doubts about his relationship and whether he’ll ever actually be good enough for her.

Warnings: Swearing, Dean’s past with Lisa comes back to haunt him, ANGST, Tears, Dean’s self deprecation rears its ugly head, Making up, Fluff.

Music: Love Of My Life - Queen (Dean bar scene)

Life’s Lessons Spotify Playlist

A/N: The next time stamp is here! Stay tuned for another announcement soon about the saga! Hope you all like the time stamp! As always, happy reading and enjoy! :)

Life’s Lessons Saga Masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​​.

Y/N pressed the ‘end’ button on her phone, throwing it beside her on the couch with a loud groan of frustration.

Looking down at the coffee table in front of her, she shook her head at the sudden overwhelming feeling. The whole surface of the table was covered in bridal magazines, brochures, printouts of venues, her laptop with multiple tabs open, and everything else that came with planning a wedding. She kept hitting brick walls with every place she was looking at being unavailable for the date that she and Dean had decided on. The only thing she had managed to do was finalize the guest list, which was at 80 people. It wasn’t a big number, but knowing she would have to do the invitations as soon as a venue was decided, it was a lot of people. Luckily, it was everyone she or Dean cared about, without having to make sacrifices for their special day.

Y/N heard the key in the door and Dean’s boots on the wooden floors as he walked through the house. He smiled when he saw her, walking over quickly and leaning down, kissing her softly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered against her lips, kissing her again.

“Hey,” she sighed, a relief washing over her now that he was home. “How was work?”

He huffed out a breath as he leaned back against the couch. “Busy. Having the new guy on today didn’t help. I felt like how you must feel with the kids in class, keeping an eye on him most of the time.”

“He’ll get better soon enough, don’t worry,” she reassured him, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

Dean glanced over the coffee table, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. “That looks like a lot. You okay? Anything I can help with? Not that I know a damn thing about weddings.”

He smirked with a small laugh, kissing her cheek. Y/N smiled and shook her head, looking down at the table and sighing heavily.

“I keep hitting dead ends with venues, that’s all,” she stated, shrugging.

“Hey.” Getting her attention, he cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Everything’s gonna work out. We’ll find something and it’s going to be amazing. I know it.”

She nodded, even though she didn’t really feel better despite his comforting words. “I guess I’m just worried about a lot of this.”

“You know whatever you need from me, I’m here, right? Say the word and I’ll do it,” he told her, his hands leaving her face and taking hers.

“I know,” she whispered, smiling softly at him.

“Don’t worry about anything, sweetheart,” he said, smiling at her. “We got this, okay?”

“I know, I just…” she stopped herself, unsure of how to express herself.

“Something’s wrong,” Dean frowned, sensing something wasn’t right. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she reassured him, smiling softly. “But… I just need to know you want all of this. I know you keep saying you want me to have the wedding I want, but I want us both to have that, Dean. I want what you want too.”

“Don’t go thinking I don’t want all of this. I wanna do this for you. For us.” he said, smiling reassuringly. “I do. I promise you, I do, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” She nodded, her worried expression morphing into a soft smile.

“Okay, good. Now, take a break from all this stuff and let’s make dinner. Sound good?” he asked, smirking.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling wide as she leaned in and kissed him.

As they got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen to start cooking, Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, as she felt a pressure lift off her. Dean always had a way of doing that. It was incredibly cute to see Dean so excited, even if he didn’t understand what she was saying when she mentioned something to do with the wedding, but he secretly loved getting involved.

They couldn’t wait to get to the big day and start the next part of their journey together.

The doorbell rang, alerting Y/N that her guests for the evening had arrived. It was a Saturday, and unfortunately Dean had to go into work because of some problem with one of the cars, so Y/N was left to do more of the wedding planning herself. Dean felt guilty as he left, but she had assured him that it was more than okay.

She walked to the door and opened it, smiling wide as she saw Mary and John on the other side. They all hugged each other, before Y/N led her into the house.

“So, how are things going?” Mary asked, as they walked into the kitchen where Y/N had been making dinner.

“Things are… stressful,” Y/N replied, huffing a small laugh. “Though I managed to book a venue yesterday, and that’s taken a lot of pressure off. I was going to tell Dean first, but do you guys wanna know?”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mary exclaimed. “Yes, absolutely!”

Y/N opened her laptop that was kept to the side on the kitchen bench, bringing up the photos of the outdoor venue. “Dean was telling me once that you guys used to drive up here a lot when he and Sam were kids, and I thought I’d try it out. The land is owned by the ranch close by that’s a wedding venue and I asked if we could use this space. They said they had an opening for our date, so I booked it straight away.”

She showed them the photos of a beautiful location, surrounded by trees and a lake. It was perfect for the ceremony, and the clearing nearby would be perfect for the reception.

“Y/N, this is…” John shook his head, speechless as he looked over the photos. “God, the boys used to love going there.”

“Y/N, it’s stunning! Oh, it’s going to a beautiful wedding,” Mary told her, her smile radiant as put her arm around Y/N and brought her close.

“Do you think Dean will like it?” Y/N asked, nervously.

“He definitely will. We used to take the boys fishing there. They never caught a damn thing, but they always loved going,” John replied, reassuringly.

“Okay, good.” Y/N nodded as she closed her laptop. “Because we initially thought about having it here, we don’t have room for 80 people.”

“Well, this is perfect,” Mary said, smiling.

“It is. I can’t wait to show Dean,” Y/N smiled, before standing up and walking into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

“Anything I can help with?” Mary asked, leaning against the kitchen island.

“Nope, almost done,” Y/N replied, smiling over at her. “John, there’s beer in the fridge. Mary, wine?”

“I’ll take care of that,” John insisted, taking a beer out before finding the wine Mary liked on the small rack.

In the garage, Dean pulled the Impala up and cut the engine, turning off the car. He sighed tiredly as he leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. It had been a long day, and the last thing he had wanted was to go into work on a Saturday, but being the boss, he was needed. He hated that he couldn’t stay home and help Y/N out with whatever she needed and enjoy time with her, but at least he was back in time to have dinner with her and his parents.

Getting out of the Impala, he locked it and walked around the back of the car to the other side. He tried to slide past his work bench, but rammed right into it, cursing as the edge dug into him, sending a few tools flying to the floor.

“Fuck,” he groaned, closing his eyes.

He blinked a few times, crouching down and picking up the screwdrivers that fell on the floor. As he did, something that had fallen behind the bench caught his eye. He reached behind it, taking out the notebook that had gotten stuck. Opening it, he flipped through the pages, seeing old calculations and notes of his, knowing that they weren't of use now. Suddenly, a page fell out, falling at his feet, with unfamiliar writing on it.

“What…” he mumbled to himself as he held it up, reading over the page properly.

His face fell as he read over the words that were no doubt written by Lisa, recognizing her handwriting now that he could see it properly. She must have used this from his office in their house when she couldn’t find anything else.

Stubborn. Too close to his family. Doesn’t earn enough. Just a mechanic.

It was a pros and cons list. She had made reasons for whether she should stay with him or not. The only thing written on the pros list was that he was a good father figure to Ben. However, the cons outweighed everything as he read over them again. He didn’t earn enough. His job wasn’t good enough. And if that was true then that meant he wasn’t good enough. He knew he shouldn’t care what it said considering he was with Y/N now, and they were engaged, with his relationship with Lisa practically ancient history by now. Yet he couldn’t stop reading over her words.

Crushing the paper into a ball and shoving into his pocket, he shut the notebook, tossing it in the paper basket kept next to the bench. He walked over to the door that led into the house, closing it behind him and walked down the hallway, hearing Y/N’s infectious laugh coming from the living room.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, seeing him enter the room.

“Hey,” he said, walking over to her, kissing her softly as he leaned down. He went over to his parents and hugged them before sitting down next to her.

“How was work?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Tiring,” he replied, huffing slightly, but offered her a smile. “But good. Glad to be home though.”

“Well, I was telling your parents, but I can tell you now,” she started, sharing a smile with John and Mary before she turned back to him. “I found a venue for the wedding.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he said, smiling softly as he kissed her again.

Y/N frowned slightly as he pulled away, sensing something wasn’t right with him, but she let it go for now. She hoped that he was just tired from work and that was it.

“Do you want to hear about it?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, too quickly. “Actually, I’m gonna wash up and why don’t you tell me over dinner.”

“Sure,” she agreed, nodding. “Well, food’s ready. We were just waiting on you.”

“Okay,” he muttered, standing up and walking out of the room.

“Does he seem a little off to you?” John questioned, frowning as he looked between Mary and Y/N.

“Something must’ve happened at work,” Y/N sighed, worriedly.

“Well, let’s just hope it’s nothing too serious,” Mary added, her expression matching Y/N’s.

Dean returned after freshening up, just as Y/N, Mary and John walked over to the dining table. They all sat down, each of them taking turns to put food on their plate. They ate in silence, worried eyes glancing between each other and discreetly looking at Dean as he ate. Sensing they needed a distraction first, John and Mary exchanged looks, before she cleared her throat.

“So, we actually have something for both of you,” Mary announced, looking at John, giving him a firm nod.

The elder Winchester took out a small, folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket, and slid it across the wooden table to his son. Dean frowned curiously and Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, as she looked over Dean’s shoulder. He opened it, both of their eyes widening as they saw what it was. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to speak.

“That’s from us, and after we spoke to your mom and dad, we decided to split things between us, so there’s should be coming to you soon,” Mary told Y/N, smiling.

“Mary…” Y/N trailed off, shaking her head as she was still in shock. “We can’t accept this cheque-”

“Guys, this is insane,” Dean finally said, frowning as he looked up at his parents.

“I thought you’d say that, but-” Mary started but Dean cut her off.

“We’re not taking it, mom,” he interrupted, his frustration getting the better of him.

“Dean,” Mary sighed, thinking about how to make him understand. “We’ve been sitting on this money since before you started renovating this place. We tried to hint then too, but you didn’t take it, wanting to do everything yourself. Had you never had this place we would’ve given it to you on your wedding day to put towards a house, just like we did with Sam and Eileen. Considering you have this place now, the least we can do is help with the wedding.”

“You’re really sure about this?” Y/N asked, completely unsure if this was a good idea. Clearly Dean wasn’t accepting this.

“Absolutely,” Mary replied, smiling. “And don’t even think about paying it back, it’s for both of you to use, however you want. Put it towards the wedding, if there’s anything left, put it towards the honeymoon, or savings… whatever you want.”

Dean shook his head, the frown still evident on his face. “So what? This is a pity offer?”

“No,” Mary gasped, eyes wide with shock. “Of course not, Dean. How could you think we would do that?”

He scoffed, turning to glare at Y/N. “I don’t make enough money, right? That’s what this is. You asked them for money.”

Y/N looked at him, unable to get over her shock at the way he was reacting. “What? No. No! Dean, how can you think that?”

Dean chuckled bitterly. He looked down at his food, suddenly losing his appetite. He quickly stood up, pushing up his sleeves as he pushed his chair out. Y/N felt her heart banging repeatedly against her ribcage, as she watched him get up.

“We’re not taking this. No fucking way,” he hissed, pushing the cheque back across the surface.

“Dean,” John’s voice bellowed around the room, staring up at his son with a stern expression.

“Dean, we just wanted to contribute, that’s all, honey,” Mary reasoned, trying to calm the situation. “If this is how you feel, then it’s put to bed. Let’s just enjoy dinner.”

“Yeah, damn right that’s how I feel,” he snapped, as he turned to face her.

“I’m sor-” Mary started but he cut her off again, turning to Y/N.

“Do you think I can’t do this for us?” he asked, his voice eerily calm but the shakiness gave away how upset he was, as he faced Y/N.

Her eyes narrowed in upset as she stood up too, looking at him. “Of course I think you can do this, Dean. How could you even question that?”

“Because it’s exactly what it looks like, Y/N!” he yelled. He scoffed and shook his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. “What I do isn’t good enough. I’m not good enough.”

She visibly flinched; her eyes widened as she looked at him. She had never seen him this upset. She felt tears brim her bottom lids, threatening to fall. John and Mary watched on in horror, unable to understand what was going on with their son.

“What?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “How could you possibly think that?”

“Because it’s true,” he muttered, looking away from her, his jaw clenching tight. “And if you haven’t already, you’ll realize it one day.”

“Dean,” she breathed, a tear rolling down her face as she saw how dejected he looked.

“That’s not true.”

“If you don’t want this anymore, Y/N, there were easier ways to tell me,” he spat, turning away from her and storming off.

“Dean, stop! What’s gotten into you?” she yelled, following behind him.

“I can’t fucking do this right now,” he scoffed.

Mary and John were hot on their heels too as they stopped in the entrance, watching Dean pick up his keys and make his way to the door.

“Dean, where are you going?” Y/N asked, choking as a wave of sadness washed over her.

“I can’t be here,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I need to think.”

“Think about what?” Her voice was cracking, the tears finally falling down her face. Everything was falling apart in the span of a few minutes, and she had no idea why. Why was he acting like this?

“I don’t know, Y/N, okay?” he snapped, turning to pin her with a scowl. “I just… I gotta get outta here.” Gesturing around him, he turned to open the door.

His mind was cloudy with all the doubts he was having at that moment. He needed a drink and some time to cool off. He walked through the threshold, not looking back at Y/N.

“Dean, wait-” she started but the door slamming as he left, cut her off.

Y/N felt knots in her stomach, tightening and moving into her chest. She tried to breathe normally but started to feel as if her throat was closing off, cutting off her air supply. Tears stung her eyes as they continued to flow down her face. She began hyperventilating, her hands cupping over her mouth as she began to cry. Her body shook with the force of her sobs. Her legs felt like jelly, like any minute she would collapse and wouldn’t be able to get up again.

“Oh, honey,” Mary whispered, as she wrapped her arms around Y/N tightly.

“I don’t… k-know what I did to-to make him think-” she stuttered, stopping as she sobbed.

“You didn’t do anything, sweetie. I just… There's something wrong. I didn’t think he would act like this. At most, he would be annoyed and then eventually give in. But this?” Mary tried to figure out what was going on, but shook her head as she couldn’t think of what could be wrong with her son.

“I’ll go talk to him,” John offered.

“No, he just needs space to process whatever’s going on in his head,” Y/N sniffled, pulling away from Mary as she looked between them. “You can head home if you want to. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” John stated, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and hugging her as she was between him and Mary. “Everything’s gonna be okay, don’t you worry.”

The silence made her mind wander off into irrational directions. Had she done something to make Dean this upset? Had she said anything to make him think he wasn’t good enough? She loved him so much, and she wanted nothing more than to be his wife, but if she had really made him feel that way, then she was the one who wasn’t good enough for him.

She managed to convince John and Mary that she was fine enough for them to leave, insisting they take some food home with them. They said their goodbyes, and Y/N headed upstairs, completely exhausted after the whirlwind evening. As she got changed in the walk-in closet, she felt more tears sting her eyes. They rolled down her face, but she didn’t make a move to wipe them away as she changed.

She just wanted Dean to come home so that they could talk and forget about what just happened.

Dean drove around town for a while, the words he said to Y/N plaguing his mind. He was just so angry after finding that list from Lisa, it just came out in the worst way possible. He reached the regular bar that he would go to with the guys, needing at least one drink to calm himself down.

Sitting down at the bar, he ordered a whiskey double, neat, and gulped the first one down in one shot. Asking for another, he nursed it as he thought about everything that had happened in the past half hour. His anger had dissolved quickly and had morphed into fear. Fear at what he would or wouldn’t find when he got home. As a Queen song played in the background from the jukebox, he quickly realized how much it was mirroring the situation they had found themselves in.

Love of my life, you’ve hurt me

You’ve broken my heart, and now you leave me

Love of my life, can’t you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Don’t take it away from me

Because you don’t know

What it means to me

He realized how he had overreacted, that his parents, just being the people that they are, would just give the cheque to them. He shouldn’t have taken his anger out on them and Y/N. Hell, she didn’t even know what he was upset about. That considered, he knew that he wasn’t good enough for her, especially now. Taking out his phone, he looked at the screen and saw a few missed calls from her and a few texts. Gulping the lump in his throat, he opened the messages and felt his heart sink into his stomach as he read over them. There were three, and as he read the words over again, he felt tears prick his eyes.

She had nothing to be sorry for. He was the asshole that let things blow out of proportion, all because he let one stupid note get to him. Determined to make it home and fix everything, Dean paid for his drink and left the bar.

He hoped like hell that he hadn’t ruined his whole future in one evening.

Dean entered through the door from the garage. Not a single light was on as he walked further in, seeing the kitchen, dining and living area completely dark. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards the stairs and began the climb to the second floor, knowing he had to face whatever came next, even if he was fearing it so much that his stomach was in knots.

He walked towards their bedroom and stood at the threshold, his heart breaking at what he saw. Only one of the bedside lamps was on, providing the only light in the room. Y/N was lying on the bed, her back to the door, her knees drawn up as she laid in the foetal position, her shoulders shaking. She was sobbing quietly, the sounds low but somehow so loud in the quiet room. With every cry, a piece of his heart felt like it was shattering into smaller shards.

He moved slowly towards the bed, sitting down on the edge, watching as her head slowly turned. Her eyes were red and puffy, wet from the tears she had shed. She looked at him, sitting up slowly, their eyes meeting. Suddenly, she launched herself into him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, crying into the crook of his neck. He felt tears prick his eyes, letting a few escape as he felt his sadness wash over him.

“Y/N,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never should’ve said the things that I did, I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

“I was so scared,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry for whatever I did, please, just tell me.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling her away and cupping her face, looking her deep in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.”

“How could you ever doubt how I feel about you?” she asked, her voice croaky from how much she had cried. “How could you ever think you’re not good enough for me? What did I do to make you think that?”

“You didn’t do anything, sweetheart. I promise. This was… this was all me and my crap,” he said, shaking his head.

“What did I do to make you doubt me?” she cried, fresh tears making tracks down her face.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he reassured her, frantically moving towards her, grasping her shoulders. “You didn’t do anything, okay? This… this is the reason I overreacted.”

She frowned as he handed her the paper, but opened the folded page and read over the words written on there. She was confused, knowing she didn’t write this, her eyebrows lifting in realization as she read over the “pros” column.

“I’ll kill her,” she growled, looking up at him with a ferocity in her eyes. “I’ll… God, I wanna hurt her!”

Y/N stood up from the bed and paced the floor, her whole body shaking with how angry she was at that moment. She couldn’t believe that something like this could come between them, showing that Lisa still had a grip on Dean’s mind.

“She doesn’t get to do this to you anymore, Dean!” she yelled, holding up the piece of paper. “She doesn’t get to ruin our future!”

He scoffed a chuckle, shaking her head. “I nearly let her.”

“So, don’t,” Y/N said, walking up to him. She cupped his face in her hands, making him look up at her as he sat on the bed. “You are good enough for me. Every part of you. I love you for exactly who you are, and if I have to spend the rest of our lives together trying to convince you that you’re my one, my everything, that there’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re so right for me, then I’ll do it.”

Wrapping her arms around him, his forehead rested against her chest as she laid her cheek on his head. She held him tightly, neither of them wanting to move away from the other.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,” he muttered, his hands on her hips, feeling the material of his black t-shirt she was wearing against his skin. “I just saw that cheque, and I thought about that list, and I just overreacted.”

“No, you’re not,” she stated, kissing the top of his head. “You were upset.”

“That’s no excuse,” he whispered, hating himself for taking it out on her. “You didn’t deserve that. I uh… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to end this-”

“Dean, stop,” she choked out, pressing her forehead to his, combing her hand through his hair.

He shook his head, lifting it to look into her eyes. “I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about this even before finding that list. I’m always scared I’m gonna say or do something to give you a reason to leave me. If that happened… I know I wouldn’t survive it.”

Y/N frustratedly wiped her tears away, looking around the room for her sweats. Finding them, she roughly pulled them on and slipped on her sneakers, putting on a light shirt over the black t-shirt she was wearing. Dean watched her; confusion riddled his face as she moved around the room.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice wavering as his mind started to make up horrific scenarios.

“Come with me,” she said, firmly, a determined look on her face as she held her hand out.

“Where are we-” he started but she cut him off, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the bed.

“Shut up,” she muttered, scowling as she dragged him behind her, down the stairs and out of the house, just as she picked up her keys from the table at the entrance.

Knowing he couldn’t argue when she looked so distressed, he followed behind her as they made their way to her car.

“Get in,” she demanded, harshly.

He was shaking, wondering what the hell had come over her suddenly but again did as he was told without saying anything that would possibly make her angrier than he already had. He couldn’t tell what he had done, but she was upset with him.

Dean looked on in silence as Y/N backed out and turned the car, the tires screeching as she sped off down the road. He gulped as she drove, his mind trying to talk itself out of thinking she was possibly going to kill him and dump his body somewhere. However, he also found her anger strangely arousing. They drove ten minutes before he recognized that she wasn’t going to do that, and that she had turned down a very familiar street. They drove past several houses before she stopped, pulling the car up to the curb and cutting the engine.

“Get out,” she ordered, leaving the keys in the ignition and opening the driver’s side door, slamming it shut as she stood on the road.

He got out, closing the passenger door and following behind her, looking around the dark street and quickly realizing they were standing in front of her previous rental house, just across from his and Lisa’s, all that time ago. She pulled at his jacket and he stumbled, straightening when she pulled him to stand in a specific spot next to the curb. She looked up at him, standing directly in front of him as the deep glare, her eyes riddled with sadness, was still on her face.

“Do you remember what happened here?” she asked, her eyes welling with unshed tears.

Frowning, he shook his head as he was unable to think straight, his mind clouded by the sudden change in her demeanour. “Y/N, I-”

“Do you remember what happened here, Dean?” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly as she raised it.

He sighed, glancing between the two houses, giving her a curt nod. “Of course I do.”

“Tell me,” she ordered, not breaking her eye contact with him, the scowl still present.

“It’s…” he cleared his throat, pushing down the lump in his throat as he looked at her. “It’s where I helped you with your stuff. It’s… it’s where we met.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her face as she nodded slowly. “And it’s also where my life changed forever. Even if I didn’t know it at the time.”

“Y/N,” he breathed, trying to reach for her hand but she pulled away, making his heart sink. She had never done that. Never.

“Do you remember what was happening in that house?” she asked, the tears flowing freely down her face as she looked across the street.

He looked over, breathing heavily, his breath shaky as he exhaled but said nothing. He remembered all too well.

“You thought you were happy. You thought everything was fine… but you were losing yourself because of-” she choked, shaking her head, overwhelmed as she thought about those early days and her first impressions of his relationship with Lisa. “Because of her, and you didn’t even know it.”

He was silent, unable to say anything or even try to deny it, because he knew it was true. Turning his head to Y/N, he saw her looking up at him, the glare finally disappearing, her eyes holding a determined look despite the tears.

“And now, you could lose yourself because of her again if you don’t stop yourself from thinking that she's right,” she stated, stepping closer to him. “She was never right and she never will be. She didn’t know you like I do. She didn’t love you like I do. She’s gone from our lives… so don’t bring her back into it by going back into the shell she put you in.”

His jaw clenched as he shut his eyes, squeezing them tight as a tear slipped down his right cheek. Lifting her hand, she cupped his cheek and brushed it away with her thumb, stroking his jaw. She pushed up on her tiptoes, capturing his plump lips between hers, kissing him hard and desperately. She needed him to see there was nothing there to leave him over.

Pulling away from the kiss but keeping close, she looked at him as her thumbs stroked along his cheeks. “You’ll never give me a reason to leave you. Not now, not ever.”

“You got a lot of confidence in me, sweetheart,” he muttered, a slight scoff in his tone.

She smiled softly, knowing that if he couldn’t see it himself, she’d spend forever showing him he was worth more than he gave himself credit for.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I do.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Don’t be,” she whispered back, her eyes closing, content to be close to him again. “We’re going to be okay.”

“You think so?” he asked, his voice laced with hope, as he lifted his head to look at her properly.

“I know so,” she replied, a soft smile on her face. “You’re not getting rid of me any time soon, Winchester.”

“You still wanna marry me after that?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes,” she said, simply as she pushed herself closer into him. “You can’t let something she thought affect you because it’s not true. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. So… promise me, right now, that you’re going to let this go. All that matters is you and me.”

Looking deep into her eyes, he remembered everything they had been through together, and thought about all the amazing things they still had to experience. He wasn’t going to let someone from his past ruin his future.

“I promise,” he said, firmly.

She smiled up at him, moving in and capturing his lips, kissing him passionately. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered. “So fucking much.”

“Let’s go home,” she whispered back, stroking her hand lightly over the back of his head. “I think I need to show you just how much I love you.”

He hummed against her lips, kissing her softly. “Yes, please.”

She laughed, biting her lip. “I scared you a little, didn’t I?”

“Well, when I didn’t think about how you could be plotting to kill me,” he joked, smirking as she chuckled, “it was kinda hot to see you pissed off.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes as she giggled. “You’re crazy.”

“Hey,” he called out, pulling her closer, his hands sliding down to her hips. “I can’t help the fact that it turned me on, sweetheart. It’s just the magic of you.”

She felt her cheeks heat up, pressing her lips together as she tried not to smile. “Let’s go before someone sees us out here.”

Hand in hand, they walked back to the car, separating as they got in. He glanced back at the old house once more, feeling an enormous weight lift off him as he looked at the place that held a lot of pain before Y/N came along. That weight had resurfaced when he saw that list that Lisa had made, but as she always did, Y/N had been there to stop him from losing his way. She was the one who built him back up to the person that he used to be, the one who reignited his spirit. He had known early on how special she was, and she proved time and time again that she was there to stay.

And now, he was never going to lose sight of that. He let Lisa get into his head again, but for the final time, he was putting an end to that. He had someone by his side who wanted to be with him forever, and he was never going to forget that ever again.

Y/N sat at the dining table the next morning, her coffee in hand, all of her plans for the wedding spread out in front of her. She smiled as she sent a few texts out to the girls, asking them if they were available the next weekend to start looking for her wedding dress. As she was looking at photos, she flinched slightly, feeling Dean’s lips against her neck, moving down to her exposed shoulder, the sleeve of his t-shirt she was wearing having slipped down.

“Oh my god, Dean, don’t look!” she yelled, hiding her screen with her hands.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he sat down beside her. “Babe, you haven’t even found a dress yet. I’m pretty sure it’s okay if I can see those.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to see in case I do find something like this,” she explained, smiling sheepishly. “I want to surprise you.”

He smiled as he leaned forward, kissing her softly. “You’re gonna knock me out no matter what dress you pick. Just sayin’.”

“Even if I look like a frosted cupcake?” she teased, giggling.

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, his lips hovering close to hers. “‘Cause then you’ll look good enough to eat.”

“That’s so cheesy,” she snorted, laughing.

“You love it,” he grinned, chuckling along with her.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him lightly but he had other plans, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her off her chair, onto his lap. She moaned softly against his lips as his fingers ran lightly over her bare thighs, the t-shirt riding up as she straddled him.

“So…” she pulled away from the kiss, reaching for the cheque on the table and showing it to him. “What do we want to do with this?”

“We use it,” he replied, nodding confidently as he smirked. “If there’s any left, we save it for the future, including anything your parents are sending.”

She beamed, brushing her knuckles against his cheek. “Sounds good.”

As they sat there together, having breakfast and coffee as they talked about the plans, Dean was leaving all the negative thoughts behind with the confidence that the woman sitting next to him wasn’t going anywhere. With the promises already made the previous night, he smiled as he thought about all the new ones he would make on the day she finally became his wife.

On the day the next chapter of their lives started.

A chapter he couldn’t wait to explore with Y/N by his side.

-x-

Tags: @deanwanddamons​ // @winchest09​ // @downanddirtydean​ // @jensengirl83​ // @wonder-cole​ // @that-one-gay-girl​ // @whatareyousearchingfordean​ // @flamencodiva​ // @danneelsmain​ // @ellewritesfix05​ // @roonyxx​ // @akshi8278​ //@hobby27​ // @michellethetvaddict​ // @spngirl05​ // @kyjey​ // @440mxs-wife​ // @stoneyggirl​ // @stoneyggirl2​​ // @deanswaywardgirl​​ // @redbarn1995​​ // @marianita195​ // @babypink224221​​ // @deans-baby-momma​​ // @parinarain​​ // @thoughts-and-funnies​​ // @mandalou29​​ // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​​ // @supernatural-love14​​ // @vicmc624​​ // @prettyboyswow​​ // @lunarmoon8​​ // @irmcpar​​ // @compresshischest09​​ // @weepingwillowphoenix​​ // @xlynnbbyx​​ // @whiskey-infused-dreams​​ // @perpetualabsurdity​​ // @verytoadpapersoul​​ // @pink-sparkly-witch​​ //

[firebrands]

the square root of infinity | stevetony

2.7k, established relationship, first fight angst | on ao3 | for @maguna-stxrk

***

Tony finds out with his hands deep in JARVIS’ code. Former-JARVIS, actual-JARVIS, he hasn’t really decided on what to refer to the mess of numbers of letters that formed his former AI, and now, well—Vision, too. It’s all a mess, really, and Tony wanted something simple to do with his hands, minimal focus, low-risk.

He should have known better, really. Nothing about him, his work, his life, has ever been low-risk.

It’s a command from Steve with a privacy protocol. Search, identify, and surveil Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier. Missing, found, and missing again as of six months ago. Tony frowns at the monitor. He knows he hasn’t read it wrong, but can’t believe it; he reads it again.

Somehow, in the span of time of Steve coming back from Washington, of them settling in together, he’d done this. He’d asked JARVIS to do this for him, and keep it from Tony.

Tony leans back against his chair. “FRI,” he says.

His new AI chirps to life. “Boss?”

“Gimme everything JARVIS found on this.”

“It’s on your phone now, boss.” In front of him, a hologram materializes as well, displaying hundreds of photos, grainy and filtered, and copies of reports on sightings. Tony stands up, takes a step back and frowns some more. He opens his mouth a few times, borne of his need to verbalize even without anyone listening; he’s angry. He’s more shocked than angry, but the anger is there, low and simmering.

Beneath it, though, is a grain of doubt: Why? Why did he keep it hidden? Especially now—after all the truth came spilling out of them, crystallizing into something Tony held dear. And after all Steve had said, about keeping secrets, about trust. He briefly considers asking FRIDAY to print it all out, just so he can throw the sheaf of paper in front of Steve and demand: what the fuck, but he’s better now, more mature. Or so he likes to tell himself.

So instead, he walks to the penthouse and finds Steve reading.

Tony clears his throat.

Steve looks up. “Hey,” he says, setting his book down. “You done working?”

Tony smiles, pained and tight. “So,” he says, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Bucky.”

Steve’s eyebrows meet, looking concerned. “What about him?”

Tony shuts his eyes and counts backward from five. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Steve inches closer to him and rests his hand on Tony’s knee. Tony doesn’t open his eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Steve says very quietly.

Tony’s eyes fly open, the anger now boiling over. “Oh is that it?” He asks sarcastically. “So you decided to use JARVIS—without my permission, to look for him?”

Steve’s mouth works, and he looks genuinely shocked. “You said I could talk to JARVIS.”

“That’s not the point!” He pushes Steve’s hand off him and stands. “Why would you keep that a secret?”

“I—I didn’t,” Steve says haltingly. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to know if JARVIS could find him, but I knew it was almost impossible anyway, so there was no real point—”

“If there was no point,” Tony says, voice lowering, “then why’d you do it?”

“Tony,” Steve stands now, too, tries to reach out and touch Tony’s elbow, to disentangle Tony’s arms that have crossed over his chest on their own volition. “He’s my best friend. I’m worried about him. I just thought it was something I should do myself.”

Tony nods, not really listening. His head is swimming with what he thinks could be actual reasons why Steve had kept this from him. A tangled mess of fear and insecurity, then shock at his ability to be aware of it. Is this maturity? He doesn’t like it much. Better if it stayed Steve’s fault—and it is Steve’s fault, it is. But maybe Tony doesn’t need to work himself up like this. But then again, Tony’s already worked up. “Stop,” Tony grinds out.

So Steve stops, a foot away from Tony, looking more scared than Tony’s ever seen him.

“I’m going to go.”

“Don’t.”

Tony looks up at Steve. He hadn’t even realized he’d looked away. Steve takes a deep breath, closes the space between them, and takes Tony’s hands in his.

Tony sighs.

Steve threads their fingers together, squeezes Tony’s palms. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want to say more than one syllable, maybe?”

A joke? Now? Tony feels his frown deepen.

“No.”

“Is this a fight?”

Tony looks up at him. “A fight means you don’t think you should be sorry.”

“Now, hold on a second,” Steve says, a small frown beginning to form on his face. Barely perceptible, if you didn’t know the signs. “I already explained why—”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?”

“Where is this coming from?” Steve asks, letting go of Tony’s hands, which means he’s mad too, which drives Tony insane.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“There’s no need to raise your tone—”

“Don’t fucking use your de-escalation tactics on me.” Tony hisses, turns on his heel, and walks out the door. He gives himself the satisfaction of slamming it shut.

***

The next few days are filled with small acts of penitence: a cup of coffee on the bedside table when Tony wakes, a sandwich in the workshop, a completed report for a day-old mishap. It’s on Thursday that Tony’s heart finally softens. Over nothing, really, just a small doodle on his desk. He realizes, in that moment, that of all his achievements, perhaps learning to understand Steve Rogers should rank highest. Right up there with being understood by him, too.

Tony’s lying in bed, reading a report on his tablet, when Steve peeks in.

“Hey.” He sounds tentative.

Tony sighs, sets his tablet aside, and takes off his glasses. “Well, come in.”

Steve’s barely able to hide his grin, and nearly bowls Tony over when he hugs him. “Hi,” Steve says, burying his nose against Tony’s neck.

“Hello to you too, you overgrown labrador,” Tony laughs, pushing Steve away a little lest he be crushed under all combined weight of supersoldier and three bowls of pasta that Clint prepared for dinner.

“I missed you,” Steve says, hugging Tony closer to him. He looks up at Tony, resting his chin right on Tony’s sternum. “Was that our first fight?”

Tony snorts. “Unlikely to be our last,” he says.

“Hey,” Steve chides, leaning up and brushing Tony’s nose with his. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Anyway,” Tony leans closer, brushes their lips together. “Make it up to me.”

Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Tony warns.

Steve huffs out a laugh, tips them over until they’re lying down, and makes it up to him.

***

As a man of science, it behooves Tony to conduct experiments and to test hypotheses.

First, identify the problem.

Second, conduct research.

Third, develop a hypothesis: follow if / then structure.

Fourth, test through experiments: ensure factors are varied one at a time.

Fifth and final, draw a conclusion.

Tony’s tapping the tip of a screwdriver against his bottom lip as he thinks, and then two strong arms wrap around his waist and just like that, the problem has identified itself.

(One frustrating blind spot in Tony’s life: relationships. Which isn’t to say he hasn’t tried to make sense of them, sped read through self-help books and trawled through Reddit. Unlike everything else, research pales in comparison to experience, and there’s only so much he can do to make sure this one precious thing in his life is perfect.)

“Busy?” Steve presses a small kiss on the back of Tony’s neck. Tony can barely suppress a shiver.

He wants to say, I was, until you showed up. It doesn’t just apply to this moment. That fact shouldn’t hurt.

Instead, Tony says: “Yeah, kinda.”

“Okay,” Steve says easily, pulling away. He comes back to press a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek. “See you later?”

“Yup,” Tony says, and okay. Maybe he needs to spend a day or two really figuring out who the problem is, here. (It’s him. He knows this. He’s always the problem.)

 Two days later, Tony settles on having to review related literature. In this case, this means sitting alone in the workshop as he relives every moment when Steve was distracted. Was that a sign? In a brief moment of clarity, Tony asks: “Fri, am I crazy?”

“Signs point to no, boss. But I can pull up recent results on the search engines?”

“I’d rather not hear what the general public thinks, thanks,” Tony says, sighing. He rests his face in his hands. It’s not like he meant to think of this—what is wrong with his brain, that the intrusive thoughts come in the form of the few moments he’d asked Steve what was on his mind, only to be brushed off?

What did that mean?

Did it matter?

Step three: if that was a sign, then there was a problem.

If that wasn’t a sign, then there wasn’t a problem.

If Tony didn’t figure this out, then there would definitely be a problem.

This isn’t how a hypothesis is meant to sound. Tony’s a terrible scientist.

“Fri, call Bruce.”

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice is rough. He sounds annoyed.

“Hey, seven PhDs, how do I form a proper hypothesis?”

“Fuck you, Stark.” The line clicks off.

Tony turns his wrist, checks his watch. Three AM? Figures.

He stretches out his back. “Friday,” he says, standing up. “The search functions for Barnes.”

“On it, boss.”

“Atta girl.”

***

Try as Tony might—and he’s trying, which in itself feels like a failure, because Tony stark does or does not and there is no need to attempt—he feels like something has shifted between them, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Maybe he’s just making it all up in his head. That’s the easy solution, isn’t it? And that’s usually the answer: start with the easiest answer and work your way up. He can already see Natasha rolling her eyes at him. Maybe the solution is to stop treating your relationship like it’s quantum theory.

Steve’s hand is on his lower back, steering him inside a restaurant. He thinks only of what Steve said, all those weeks ago: I had to do it myself.

Tony wants to argue, right this moment. But how can he? It’s awful that they can be so alike. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut is because he knows that Tony’s used that argument before. Maybe this is growth, to know when to back down from a fight. Or to avoid one totally.

Steve reaches over the table, brushes his fingers over Tony’s wrist. “You okay?”

There are a lot of answers to that. Tony settles on the truth. “Not really.”

Steve’s brow creases with worry. “What’s wrong?”

Again: an infinite multiverse of answers to answer a question that simple. With this, Tony does struggle for a moment, and the next words are much harder to say—they almost feel caught in his throat, like a lump of meat. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Steve says gently. So gentle, it almost breaks him; Tony doesn’t deserve this. Steve doesn’t deserve this.

“I know,” Tony says, and this is him lying through his teeth, and this is what he’s good at, and maybe this is why he’ll never know how relationships are. It’s a trust issue, probably. He doesn’t know if the issue is with Steve, or with himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tony tries harder, now: smiles more, eats with gusto. He knocks Steve’s thigh with his knee, looks up at him from under his lashes. This is what life is like for Tony Stark: it’s acting. He knows the approximations to get his point across. As their evening goes on, the small wrinkle on Steve’s forehead smooths out, and maybe Tony wishes he wasn’t so good at pretending.

Maybe he wishes that Steve read him better.

***

The moment of epiphany is often described as transcendental.

This one hits like a ton of bricks—literally, because Tony does know what that feels like, and the suit is shock proof, sure, but that shit still fucking hurts, and even in moments of epiphany, somehow he still manages to go off on a tangent. The point remains: Steve’s hand is on his hip, and they’re in bed, and epiphanies usually equate clarity, peace.

Tony freezes up.

“Tony?” Steve murmurs, sliding his hand up Tony’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, sitting up. “I know I’m being difficult.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Steve sits up beside him, rests his hand on Tony’s shoulder, and turns Tony to look at him. “Who said you were being difficult?”

“Me, I’m saying it,” Tony says. Panic is beginning to bubble in his belly, slowly rising up his throat. Typical of him to mistake a eureka moment with a panic attack. Par for the fucking course for Tony Stark. “I’m being difficult right now.”

“No you’re not,” Steve says, rubbing up and down his arms. “Tony. Look at me.”

Tony breathes out through his mouth, then in through his nose. Steve tips his chin up and meets his gaze.

“Here are the variables,” Tony breathes out, is afraid of what he’ll say next, his brain is fogged over and full of static. “I love you, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Steve takes a deep breath, takes Tony’s face in his hands. “Here’s a constant,” he whispers, breath warm on Tony’s cheek. “I love you. I love you. You, Tony Stark. I love you.” He kisses Tony, hard and close lipped, more aggressive reminder than affection.

“Okay,” Tony says, because there’s a wild part of him that still thinks—there was a problem, there was a problem and if this is love, then what comes next? If this is constant, then what variable will arrive to change all of that?

Steve kisses Tony again, almost desperate, this time. “Is this about Bucky?” Tony sucks in a breath at the question, horrified at being discovered. Steve hums, then he runs one hand down Tony’s back, up his arm, down his side. A reminder of his presence. Tony is suddenly grateful for it.

“And if it is?” he murmurs.

“Tony,” and somehow, Steve sounds fond, which throws a wrench in this whole debacle, and deep in the recesses of Tony’s brain, rationality begins to take root. “He’s my best friend. You’re the love of my life.”

Tony breathes.

“Did you hear me? You. You’re the love of my life. Please don’t make me compare,” Steve huffs out a small laugh, and it warms Tony all over, like sunshine peeking through the clouds after a strong rain. “And maybe you don’t believe me just yet,” Steve touches their foreheads together, then rubs his nose against Tony’s, the affection plain and chaste. It makes Tony feel more loved than he’s ever felt in his life—not that there were many moments to compare against, but still.

“I feel a little crazy,” Tony says, finding it in himself to smile up at Steve.

“A little crazy in love?” Steve asks, grinning.

“I can’t believe you just made a Beyonce reference. In the middle of my panic attack.”

Steve bites his bottom lip, a poor attempt at stopping himself from laughing. Tony flicks his forehead. “Say it again,” Tony says, and his smile still feels a little wobbly, but it’s a step.

“Crazy in Love?” Steve asks, pulling Tony close and wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist.

It’s an odd angle, and eventually Steve shifts to lift Tony up onto his lap. “Ass,” Tony says. “You know what I meant.”

Steve smiles again, right before pressing a kiss to Tony’s shoulder. “Step one,” he says. “The problem is you’re afraid I don’t love you. Step two: find out how to show you that I do.” He pauses, and Tony feels breathless as he presses another kiss to Tony’s bare skin. “Step three. Hypothesis? If I show Tony I love him all the time, then eventually he’ll believe me.”

“Sounds like a shaky hypothesis,” Tony says, but his voice quivers a little as he says it. He can’t explain how he feels, other than warm in Steve’s embrace.

Steve tuts. “Step four, experimentation. Small gestures, date nights.” Steve rubs Tony’s back as he speaks, and stops to tilt Tony’s head up to face him. “Am I getting this right?”

Tony smiles. “I don’t know, what’s the conclusion?”

Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist once more. “You’re here. I’m here. I love you.” He leans up, brushes their lips together. “Is that enough?”

[pharaoh-khan]

G Eazy would say knock her out after I’m fouled and give her one gunshot to the head and 1 bitch yo sin didn’t land you in stardom we can get them rounds again and some I got more money I’m holy and some drag yo ass out the house bitch you threw a tantrum bitch tell yo ex to come over to I’ll hang ‘em bitch you did some shit to me and ray son had to tell this girl bitch you will know I’m white even tho I’m Caucasian had to grab that bitch by her neck she tried to steal money out my pockets bitch I am not a open treasure chest bitch I’ll beat you while I drive bitch and my driving is the best tore off her charm bitch I like the lucky charms to milk to bitch leave on your dress so what if I hit you let it rest and you ain’t boo tore out your teeth with some plyers it was the anthem yea I know I’m player boo no I won’t kiss your boo boos bitch Owie owie ooo ooo you sayin I’m doin shit I can’t do I’ll put beatin you in my songs to then I’ll eat some pudding a little for me a little after you bitch you want some of mine here let me take that from you o bitch watch the news While you in the kitchen I’ll saw come here pudding watch the news bring that ice bag to bitch pass the remote let’s watch looney tunes yea you yelling that’s a mighty fine tune stab yo ass with a broken broom how I do it bitch I learned this shit in school once beat this bitch In a girls bathroom bitch stop asking questions don’t look me in my eyes yea my eyes are blue I know they ain’t I kinda laugh to your eyelash fell out well here’s some Elmer’s glue stabbed yo ass with a screw driver broke your teeth then made you swallow screws you said screw you I said no blowin kisses boo heart colder than a igloo put the muzzle on you like a mule yea you’ll shut up yea thank you laugh at Elmer Fudd how he’s so random this fudge has some solves my sweet tooth you say you said has some solves my i say bitch I didn’t ask you look at you like a mirror like damn I’m so handsome I’m insecure and I make bands to do you like the abusive football player and the cheerleader in the locker room beat you and didn’t even lust after you they never kiss after schooli turn to the tv and adjust my body to get a clear view and say might try that not lust thing to it gives me more strength to backhand you I really think this dude in the tuxedo is we all follow is acesexual he’s a woman beater like me this dude is the khan pharaoh . I should put this on this song random tell her bitch here’s some tissue do that shit to me again no one will call or miss you you say fuck them they sin well bitch you sin to the reason you won’t be on the news to bitch you transgressed and broke the rules the reason God forsook you you remind me of the springs in the beat of random to yea you like that boo it reminds me of fashion to damn bitch it look like yo life screwed you I’m a celebrity I beat you for breaking the moral image rules bitch what you mean I’m not a moral image to for this even God would give a crown to damn bitch you looked fucked up bitch we are threw the devil can have you lookin at you I say Jesus I’ll listen to any command from you the first command is that the one I’m eager to learn what about command 2 thee meek shall inherit the earth and shall abide in the abundance of peace I say bitch I’m going to be rich infinite if you would of listened to that this would of never happened to you you got anymore fudge on the spoon boo I called the cops they said I was ok for me to beat you come on babe let’s watch the news boo don’t mind that broken glass boo h& me that screwdriver to that Glock on the table yea that to stop that saleing yo soul shit out cause you feel forgotten boo yo next door neighbor that girl I killed believed in the depths of Satan to I actually called the dude satan the dude ain’t sayin nothing new he lies and gets big headed just like you I’ll beat him like I beat you bitch I’m leaving I’m going to watch fifty shades in the back room it’s bad that some dude could do that to you the dudes that follow him are dirty & have dirty draws to they don’t know what bands do

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[biggest-stupidhead]

Bad Timing (Levi x reader) Part 9

Summary: How do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend? 

Word Count: 4.3K

__

You bounced your knee impatiently to the beat of the loud party music that was so loud it was vibrating the walls. For the first time in a long while you weren't in the mood to drink. So here you were sitting on a sofa in the middle of a crowded living room on a Saturday night. You were watching Sasha and Connie play a rousing game of beer pong against Bertholdt and Reiner. Annie, the only other sober person at the party, sat to your left scrolling through her phone. The rest of the people at the party were crowded into the kitchen or the basement. You had only been here about an hour and already the majority of the guests were drunk. Mikasa, Armin, and Eren had not yet arrived, you hoped that they would get here soon. Jean and Marco had disappeared about twenty minutes ago, leaving you stranded in the living room. You sighed and looked down at your phone, it was already eleven thirty. Just as you were setting your phone down you got a text.

"Be there in twenty" Mikasa's text put you at ease, you could survive for twenty more minutes.

"Okay, drive safe." You shoved your phone back into your pocket and stood up. Maybe you should drink tonight, your week had been stressful your homework load increasing substantially due to the end of the semester approaching. You wandered into the kitchen, pushing past a group of boys to get to the alcohol. You poured yourself a full shot glass of Pink Whitney and knocked the beverage back with ease.

"I didn't know Erwin's baby sister drank." A voice drawled from your right. You scrunched your nose, still feeling the burn of the alcohol as you turned to see who had addressed you.

"She does." you grumbled as you reached for a bottle of Smirnoff ice.

"I'm impressed." now his hand had crept into your line of sight, hungry for your attention. Hoping to deter the stranger you turned and frowned at him. You noted that he was clearly older than you with a shock of light blonde hair atop his head, when you met his eyes you couldn't help but admire his hazel hues as his own gaze took in your appearance. He slowly lifted a red solo cup to his lips and took a sip, his eyes now locked on yours.

"So, what's your name?" he asked.

"Thought you knew me." you countered as you lifted your own drink to your lips.

"I do, just asking out of courtesy." he shrugged, a sly smirk spreading over his face.

"Fine I'll play along. My name is (Y/n), and yours is?" you scoffed with a dramatic eye roll.

"Pleasure to meet you miss (Y/n), my name is Colt Grice." the boy said with a light chuckle.

"So tell me, how exactly do you know my name?" you quizzed, the alcohol making you feel bolder. The boy sighed and glanced up at the ceiling in thought.

"Hm well let's see...for starters I follow you on instagram. I also went to a football summer camp with your brother once." He answered, flashing you a bright smile.

"Ah gotcha." you nodded as you took a long sip of your drink. You turned, quickly losing interest in this conversation.

"Say, where is your brother?" Colt pressed, ah there it was.

"Out." you answered curtly as you turned to flee. You were shocked to feel a strong hand clasp around your bicep and pull you back. You spun around with full intention of smashing your bottle against this handsy creep. But he caught your wrist, with your hands out of commission he pulled you backwards into a dark hallway. Your eyes felt like they were about to pop out of your head as he pushed you against the wall.

"What. Are. You. Doing." you hissed a blind sense of rage washing over your senses.

"Look, just listen okay? I've been trying to get in touch with him for a few days now, I've got some questions for him." Colt's hazel eyes were wide and vulnerable as he begged for your attention once more.

"Let go of me."

"Please just ask him to check his instagram DMs, tell him it's important."

"Fine, let go of me." he dropped his hands and quickly shoved them into the pockets of his joggers.

"Sorry." he mumbled as he kicked the wood floor with the toe of his shoe.

"Just don't do that again." you snapped as you wrapped your own hand around your wrist, where he had held you.

"I promise I won't." he looked embarrassed now as he waved his hands in surrender.

"Good." you eyed him suspiciously as you moved to slip past him. He let you past, you walked briskly back into the kitchen, which was still busy. Just as you turned to wander back into the living room you bumped right into Eren. Thankfully your drink was mostly empty and Eren seemed to have just walked into the room so he was empty handed. His hand grabbed your bicep to steady you, which you were thankful for.

"Eren, when did you get here?" you asked as he squeezed your arm and smiled down on you. He had recently gone through a huge growth spurt, now standing at 5'9 instead of his previous height of 5'7.

"I just got here." he answered, still holding you close to him.

"What about Mikasa and Armin, did they come too?" you asked as you lifted your drink to your lips to finish the bottle.

"Armin wasn't feeling up for this scene so Mikasa is taking him home." Eren answered as he shifted his weight to prop himself up against the wall, bringing you with him. You grunted as your shoulder hit the wall, Eren let his hand slide down your arm slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. It had been quite some time since Eren had been to handsy with you, ever since you had started seeing Jean he had kept his hands to himself. Before you had began talking to Jean, all of your friends predicted that you and Eren would get together.

"Sounds like him." you giggled, craning your neck to peer around his broad shoulders to get a glimpse of the living room. Sasha scampered after a stray ping pong ball, loosing her footing she face planted, the sound of laughter filled the room and you smiled as you watched her snatch the ball and pick herself up.

"Yeah, I don't think Mikasa is coming back here either..." Eren continued, angling his body to block your view of the living room and redirect your attention back onto him.

"Really? Why? I was looking forward to seeing her." you pouted as you looked up at Eren.

"Where's horseface huh?" Eren quizzed, a playful gleam in his striking green eyes.

"Who knows?" you shrugged, your attention turning back to the counter where all the alcohol was. Eren chuckled and followed your gaze, he nudged you off the wall and the two of you crossed the room to get more booze. You poured out two shots of  pineapple Bacardi Eren accepted the shot glass with the most alcohol with a smile. You clinked the glasses together before knocking them back. Eren hissed as he sat the glass down, you coughed and slammed the shot glass down next to Eren's a triumphant grin on your lips.

"That was some pussy shit huh? " Eren laughed as he licked his lips.

"Yeah." you agreed. The alcohol left your stomach feeling warm, and your tongue felt numb already. Eren pulled out two more screwdrivers for the two of you and once again grabbed your bicep to drag you down the hall. You were a bit confused but you trusted Eren so you allowed him to guide you through the house, it was clear that he knew his way around. He paused in front of a door to knock, when there was no response he pushed through the door. You realized that Eren had pulled you to a den, a couple of arm chairs and a love seat. The back wall had a huge window with an oak desk. The walls were lines with bookshelves and a large fireplace that radiated heat and light across the cozy room.

"Why'd you bring me back here?" you asked as Eren dropped down on the love seat.

"There's something you should know." Eren's eyes turned dark as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his thighs.

"Okay I'm listening..." you sank down on one of the arm chairs opposite of Eren, your mind spinning due to the drinks.

"Jean's cheating on you." Eren stated rather bluntly. You blinked stupidly at him, Jean hadn't even asked you to be his girlfriend yet, and now Eren was accusing him of being a cheater? Nah this reeked.

"Ha ha very funny Eren." you rolled your eyes and stood up, not wanting to get into this.

"I'm serious. Connie told me that he saw Jean and Marco kissing in his car after Marco's shift at the cafe." Eren pressed, reaching out to grab your wrist.

"Marco?" you whispered, everyone knew that Marco was gay, but Jean? Not that it would be a bad thing if Jean was gay but the cheating thing....that was bad. But then again could you say anything after what you had done with Levi?

"Yeah, I'm sorry but I had to tell you before things got too messy." Eren apologized as he dropped your wrist once he realized you weren't going to run.

"I mean Jean hadn't even asked me out yet so is that really cheating?" You pondered as you dropped onto the sofa by Eren.

"I don't think that's any excuse for him to be fooling around with other people while seeing you." Eren shrugged, turning his eyes to the fire instead of your face. You followed his gaze a cloud of sadness was settling above your head as you thought back to every interaction you'd had with Jean. Where had you messed up? When did he decide that you weren't enough for him? You took a long chug from your screwdriver. Eren watched you with a blank expression, his green eyes filled with pity.

"What should I do Eren." you moaned, dropping your head into your hands as you slumped forward. Eren inhaled sharply as you tried to hold back your tears.

"Well if it was me...I would confront Jean." Eren answered earnestly. You nodded and blinked away your tears.

"But how? I honestly wouldn't had known if you hadn't told me." You fretted, sitting up to face Eren once more. Eren brought his hand up to cup his chin in thought.

"Just tell him what I told you." he shrugged, clearly not interested in how this confession would affect his relationship with Jean.

"But I wouldn't want to make Jean mad at you." you pointed out, Eren scoffed and rolled his eyes at that.

"As if I care about that. Jean and I always make up." Eren replied nonchalantly. You envied him, if only girls could be as simple.

"Agh this is all too complicated." you groaned and pulled your phone out. You couldn't stay here any longer or else you'd do something you would regret.

"What are you doing?" Eren asked as he tried to peek at your phone screen.

"Calling Hange to come pick me up." you mumbled as you scrolled through your contacts.

"Stay." Eren insisted, once again catching your wrist and demanding your attention. The firelight was casting a warm shadow over Eren's angular features. His teal eyes were shining with determination.

"I really shouldn't. I don't want to do something I would regret." you sighed as your eyes flickered over his features. He squeezed your wrist and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Just stay, you don't even have to see that horsefaced jerk." Eren shifted closer to you on the couch, his hand sliding from your wrist and into your own hand. Your mouth fell open in surprise, Eren usually wasn't so clingy, not even when he drank.

"Eren..." your tone was warning as he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

"Don't leave me here all by myself (Y/n)." Eren chuckled as he licked his lips and lifted his gaze from your intertwined hands.

"Eren I-" you were cut off by the sound of your cell phone ringing. You both turned to see who it was. Eren frowned when he saw Levi's name and contact photo lighting up your screen. You answered the call and lifted the phone to your ear, grateful for the interruption.

"Hey, hope I didn't wake you." Levi greeted. You smiled at the sound of his velvety voice.

"No, not at all. I'm actually out right now." You admitted.

"Really? Where at?" Levi quizzed, you could hear the sounds of water being poured and glasses tinkling.

"Marco's." you quipped as you shot Eren an apologetic glance.

"Ah the freckled brat." Levi mused as he dunked his tea bag in the boiling water.

"Yeah that's Macro." you chuckled nervously.

"You been drinking?" Levi asked as he allowed his tea to steep.

"Uhh yeah." you admitted as you rubbed the side of your tingling face.

"Tch." Levi clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Sorry did you need something?" you asked, Levi scoffed once more, you heard him take a sip of his drink before responding.

"No, I was just....checking up on you." Levi grunted, the last part was spoken softly, so quiet you almost missed it.

"O-Oh well thank you...I'm fine." your voice came out a bit shaky, Levi frowned at your unsteady tone.

"You don't sound fine." Levi observed, clearly not in the mood for your bullshit.

"It's just a bit overwhelming here." You admitted, not really wanting to dump your issues on Levi. Eren still had a firm grip on your hand as you spoke on the phone.

"Then leave." Levi's blunt response made you smile.

"I'm trying." you chuckled humorlessly.

"Call me when you get home." Levi grunted, before you could say anything else he had ended the call. You huffed and pocketed your phone, shooting Eren an apologetic glance before slipping your hand from his grasp.

"Sorry Eren but I really should go home." you cringed at his disappointed expression, but you knew that you needed to be alone.

"Text me when you get home." was all the brunette said before he got up and left the room. You took your phone out and texted Hange.

"Can you drive?"

"Yeah why?"

"I need a ride."

"Where are you?"

You shared your location with Hange before you also left the room, you had about twenty minutes before she would arrive. So why not knock back another shot? You were relieved to find the kitchen empty because the party had moved into the living room. You leaned against the counter as you retrieved a fresh solo cup and a bottle of Captain Morgan rum the golden liquid sloshed into the cup quickly, you scowled at the large amount of liquor and decided it would go down easier with some coke. You dumped in the soda, filling the cup the rest of the way. You took a long chug before wandering towards the living room. The room was crowded and loud, drunk teens milling about engaged in drunken conversations that they wouldn't remember in the morning. You slid your shoes on undetected and slipped out the front door. You tapped your shoe on the front porch as you looked out at the snowy trees.

Marco's house was like yours, nestled in a grove of trees with a large lawn. However Marco's house was mostly surrounded with pine trees, which were drooping under the weight of all the snow. You sipped your drink as you looked out at the quiet scenery, you tensed when you heard the sound of someone trudging through the snow. Your breath caught in your throat when you recognized Annie padding through the snow. Her cold eyes were distant, she hadn't noticed you yet. Your eyes were drawn to a small blunt that she had balanced between her slender fingers. She lifted the blunt to her lips and took a short drag. You knew little about the blonde, what you did know was that she had moved to the states from Russia when you were in middle school and that she was good friends with Bertholdt and Reiner. You tilted your head as you watched her blow the smoke out of her nose. Odd, you smiled and took a sip from your cup in an attempt to muster enough courage to talk to Annie.

"Staring is rude." Her voice echoed off the trees and the side of the house, startling you.

"Sorry..." you say meekly as you brush some snow off the porch railing. Annie scoffed and kicked a the snow in front of her.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked in an attempt to fill the silence.

"What does it look like?" she quipped as she lifted the blunt back to her lips. You chuckled awkwardly and gripped your cup a bit tighter. Annie exhaled another cloud of smoke before dropping the butt of the blunt and stalking over to the porch. She paused when she reached the top step, her eyes roaming shamelessly over you.

"You look like shit." she commented before she stalked past you and disappeared into the house, leaving you confused. You didn't have long to analyze Annie's cryptic way of conversing before Hange pulled up the driveway. You grabbed your drink and carefully stepped down the stairs and shuffled over Marco's icy driveway. You pulled the door open and climbed inside.

"Hey sweetie what's wrong?" Hange asked, her brown eyes softer than usual.

"Hey Hange, sorry to bother you. I guess it's just not my night." you muttered as you fiddled with your scrunchy on your wrist. Hange frowned but turned her attention to backing out of the driveway, throwing her hand over the back of your seat as she turned to check behind her. You relaxed into the seat, your head spinning from the alcohol.

"Erwin will want to know." Hange broke the silence a few minutes into the drive.

".....Jean cheated on me." you admitted, knowing that she would only continue to pester you for answers.

"O....kay." Hange was clearly taken aback by your bluntness. She said nothing as you knocked back the rest of your rum and coke and crushed the plastic cup.

"It's fine, I was thinking about ending things anyway." you shrugged nonchalantly as you looked out at the snowy scenery.

"Still..." Hange mumbled as she turned onto your road.

"You should know, Kenny is over....for dinner with your mom." Hange informed you, carefully choosing her words.

"Great." you huffed as you brought your knuckle to your lips and took the skin between your teeth.

".....great?" Hange was thrown off by your standoffish attitude and your indifference to being cheated on and your mother having a man over for dinner.

"Yeah, I mean this night wouldn't be complete without one more thing turning to shit." you chuckled darkly as you leaned back into your seat.

"I think that you're drunk and you need to go to bed." Hange said sternly as she pulled into your driveway.

"Me too." you agreed, your head spinning. You barely registered Hange shutting off the car and rounding the car to help you out and up the stairs into your house. You leaned heavily into Hange as she guided you through the kitchen and up the stairs, not even bothering to take your shoes off. She dropped you onto your bed with a grunt, you felt her tug your shoes off and then your jeans.

" Woah, Hange you're dating Erwin." you state gripping her wrist as she tried to lift the hem of your shirt over your head.

"Yeah I am now let me put you to bed." she was becoming impatient as she tugged your shirt off the rest of the way.

"No I....I have to call Levi." you insisted, your hand reaching for Hange's in an attempt to keep yourself grounded.

"No that's not a good idea sweetie." Hange frowned as she took your hand and helped you under the covers.

"Yes it is. He told me to call him when I got home." you stated as you tried to sit up to find your phone.

"You can call him in the morning.... not that you'll remember much of this anyway." Hange muttered the last part as she watched you pat your sheets down.

"Please Hange." you pleaded as you pawed around your messy bed.

"No (Y/n) just go to bed." Hange scolded as she stood up, subtly slipping your phone into her pocket. You whimpered as you leaned back into your pillows.

"What if he stops talking to me? We just started being friends Hange I don't want him to leave me." you whined as you gave Hange puppy dog eyes. Hange frowned, not sure who exactly you were referring to.

"Just....go to sleep." Hange sighed as she stood and crossed the room, pausing at the door as she flicked the light off. You sniffled and rolled over with a sigh of defeat, Hange's shoulders sagged with relief when you stilled and your breathing became steady. As soon as she shut the door she felt your phone buzz, she pulled it from her pocket and unlocked it.

"Did you make it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Levi's message. So you weren't lying about Levi wanting you to call him. How odd, Hange pursed her lips as she scrolled through your previous messages. Her eyes widened when she realized how many messages the two of you had shared over the past two weeks. What made Levi want to get so chummy with you all the sudden? She ducked into Erwin's room, Erwin rolled over in bed and sat up to see what all the ruckus was about.

"How is she?" Erwin yawned as he watched Hange pull the covers back and slip underneath them.

"Eh she's been better, but get this! Levi's been texting her, can you believe that?" Hange squawked as she held your phone up for Erwin to see.

"Huh that's weird." Erwin mused as he took the phone and scrolled through at his leisure.

"I know! I'm so proud of them, I knew that one day they would look past their differences!" Hange giggled as she took the phone back and plugged it in.

"Yeah that's a relief, hopefully they can be civil when he comes back." Erwin sighed as he rubbed a hand down his face as he reclined back into his pillows. Hange rolled over and pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

"Hopefully." Hange yawned, Erwin reached up and flicked off the lamp.

"Only time will tell." Erwin commented as he pulled Hange flush against him and nuzzled his nose into her shoulder.

______

Levi frowned at his phone, you still hadn't called or texted him. He hoped that you had made it safely back to your place, he would certainly scold you in the morning for failing to communicate with him. He sighed heavily and reached to pour himself a fresh cup of tea, the sun was casting soft morning rays across the kitchen. He dunked in a fresh tea bag, leaning heavily on the counter, although he had already spent a full two weeks in France, his body was still struggling to adjust to the time change. Not that he got much sleep when his body was in sync with the time zone anyway. He assumed that you had managed to get a decent amount of sleep since you had stopped responding to his texts and snaps around one am your time.  He frowned, catching himself thinking about you for what felt like the millionth time within the past couple of weeks. He had fallen into a strange rut, thoughts of you running rampant in his mind. He found himself wondering what you were wearing, who you were with, what were you thinking about?

Did you think about him they way he thought of you? Probably not, why should you? He was puzzled on his sudden infatuation with his best friends younger sister. At first he figured it was textbook lust, but now he was doubting that. He had lusted after others before you, but none had held his attention for so long. He scoffed at the thought, of course he would become attached to the very person who had been a thorn in his side for the past six years. Someone who he'd had honestly, little to no interest in until he was supposed to leave the fucking country.

"Bit early to look so angsty don't you think?" Farlan hummed as he padded into the kitchen still in his pajamas. Levi simply clicked his tongue and took a long sip of his tea.

"I'm not angsty, it's called thinking, you should really try it some time." Levi jabbed as he watched Farlan shuffle around the kitchen as he went about making breakfast and brewing a pot of coffee. Farlan snorted at his response, pleased with Levi's snarky attitude.

"I was thinking that we could visit campus today? Maybe grab a beer." Farlan offered as he cracked an egg into a pan.

"Hm."  Levi hummed as he stared into his dark beverage.

"You might like it, maybe enough to stay and study?" Farlan smirked as he turned to see his friend engrossed in his tea.

"Maybe." Levi agreed, images of him sitting in a lecture hall, of him up late flipping through a textbook, sitting in a cafe with an open laptop. It was a bit disturbing how easy it was to imagine a life away from his friends, away from you. He frowned, suddenly it didn't seem so glamorous, in fact it seemed lonely. But necessary, once he finished his degree he could come home, to you, to his friends. He had made a promise after all.